Poor Brethren feel and know that it is
considered a bore.

And so it indeed is, the moment we dismiss
the spirit of the charity that offers decayed
gentlemen in Charterhouse a place of rest and
solace, tenanted not at the caprice of any
neighbour, but by the goodwill towards them,
and all men like them, of a money-maker
whose bones long since crumbled into dust.
Let it be granted that a churchman taking
twenty shillings of the dead man's money
for attending to the comfort of the brother
who gets only one, can look on the shilling
brother as an inferior being, because he has
the inferior dole; and at once you may write
for Poor Brother, Poor Bore. As to lodging,
the deceased Sutton, is drawn upon by the
Master for thirty-three luxurious apartments;
by the Poor Brother for only one
room, with, in some cases, a bed closet, one
bed without sheets, one deal table, and a
chair. How paltry a recipient of charity must
the Poor Brother be in his great Master's
eyes! And in what way the Poor Brother
is made to feel that he owes his pittance, not
to the dead Sutton, but to the pleasure of
his living Master, let the following little story
tell.

Probably the most impracticable Bore who
ever puzzled Charterhouse officials, was its
hero, Simon Slow. The name is fiction, but
the story is made public in a pamphlet
wholly thereunto devoted, as a piece of fact.
The author of the pamphlet does not see that
Simon was a bore; we do. Mr. Slow had
been for half a century a city merchant, a
shipowner, and manufacturer, well known as
a man not only wealthy, but beneficent. He
suffered sudden shipwreck of his fortunes,
and became a pauper, with unsullied character
for honour and integrity; he became even
as Colonel Newcome, and upon the nomination
of a noble lord, this old man, in March,
eighteen hundred and fifty, entered Charterhouse
as a Poor Brother. Now, this
Newcome certainly did grumble a little when he
found that he was lodged in a room without
curtains, or even shutters to the window ;
witli a bare floor; and with the gaol allowance
of one elm-chair, one plain deal table, and
less bedding than is to be had in gaols; the
whole, moreover, as it soon appeared, a
nest of vermin. Of the vermin the old
gentleman complained to a servant of the
place, who told him in a familiar merry way,
—for your Poor Brother is nobody in the
eyes of any underling at Charterhouse,—that
"he would find plenty of companions of that
sort." The new Brother found that he was
put down much more emphatically when he
carried complaints against dirt to the
manciple, and his dignity was hurt at finding that
he was become a man for the porter at the
gate to patronise, with a clap on the shoulder
and a familiar, "How are you, old fellow?"
A multitude of small daily reminders of his
poverty taking such form as these, wounded
an old gentleman tenacious of the respect
due to his age and former standing in the
world, which no misdeed had forfeited. But
he suffered all quietly. His character of
Bore grew out of a distinct department of
his mind. Mr. Slow was, unfortunately for
himself and his superiors strictly a religious
man.

There is service in the chapel every day at
Charterhouse, a morning and an evening
service, at one of which, on pain of threepence
or a shilling, according to the holiness
of the day, every Poor Brother is commanded
to be present. There is no exemption from
this law, except for the sick; one Poor
Brother, deaf for twenty years, is nevertheless
required to do his share of coughing
in the chapel. Now, on the days that are
least holy, when worship may be dispensed
with for the charge of threepence,—on the
ordinary week-days,—prayers in the chapel
seem to have been got through by common
consent with all convenient expedition.
Every one knows how such prayers of form
are disposed of in cathedrals and other
establishments before the presence of a dozen
wheezy worshippers, and (consciously) before
no other Presence, let us hope. Something
of this kind was the case at Charterhouse;
where it turned out that this old merchant
was so strict a formalist as to be resolved on
having time to think of what he said when he
repeated his prayers. The Master, although
himself bound to attend in chapel daily, was
but seldom present to observe how service
was performed. Probably he was too rich a
man to be fined threepence; or, if fined, was
able to afford the money for a dispensation.
The old merchant was not,—he, moreover,
did not wish to stay away from chapel. His
fault was, that he was obstinately bent on
being reverent when there, and would persist
in giving the responses audibly and slowly,
with a full deliberation of their import. His
fellow-brethren naturally looked upon this
lengthening of daily penance with no friendly
eyes, and the old bore was abundantly
tormented by them. But he persevered. After
all, may we not believe his to have been a
weakness pardonable enough in an old man?
The defect in his judgment was only, that he
did not understand his place. He expressed
his feeling to the preacher, who replied,
that he had "no right to any opinion
on the subject. Circumstanced as you
are, instead of making complaints, you
ought to be grateful for the asylum the
Hospital affords you." The ungrateful
man said, that he should attend another
place of worship, if his sense of decency
were further outraged. The reverend
gentleman replied, "I dare you to do so, at your
peril."

On the tenth of February, eighteen
hundred and fifty-one, the old gentleman's
impatience of what he considered an irreverent
mockery of sacred duties, became manifested