CHAPTER III. Our own Wisdom and our Fathers' Folly. "As for poor people themselves. she will admit of no complaints from them; she is very positive they are all cheats and liars, and will say anything to get relief, and therefore it must be a sin to encourrage them in their evil ways. You would think Flavia had the tenderest conscience in the world if you was to see how scrupulous and apprehensive she is of the guilt and danger of giving amiss." LAW'S SERIOUS CALL, WHEN Mr. Livingstone had appeased his appetite, Aunt Amy needed no second invitation to inspect the lions of St. Swithun's, and taking the Warden's arm she speedily found herself once more in the quadrangle of the Hospital, with its neatly-kept gravel walks, and lawn of short, well-mown turf. In the centre rose the conduit which supplied water for the use of the establishment,—a quadrangular structure passing into an octagon at its midway height, each alternate angle being bevelled off, so as to ad mit the erection of a stone lion of considerable size, ("sejant affronte," as the heralds would say,) supporting in his paws a staff surmounted by a square vane of metal perforated in various patterns and gilt. On each of the four sides was a richly canopied niche, with a lion's head projecting from the back, and from the open mouth issued a stream of sparkling purity, which fell into a basin beneath and immediately disappeared. Under the battlements on the top of the building ran a cornice, on which stood forth in high relief the appropriate text in the Latin of the Vulgate, "Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: but whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him, shall never thirst." And above the battlements rose the bulb-shaped dome, (so often introduced in Tudor Architecture,) crowned at its summit with the well-chosen emblem, —a “pelican in her piety" pecking her breast, with her brood clustering round her. "Rather a handsome building, Aunt," observed Mr. Livingstone, "in spite of those grotesque monsters: but it only shows one how lavish and careless of expenditure the old fellows used to be in former times, and what poor notions of comfort they had. Why, for half the sum that this conduit must have • John iv. 13, 14. cost, they might have erected a pump in every set of apartments." Mary Clinton coloured and bit her lip,-but like a good girl she held her tongue, and discreetly kept to herself her opinion of the utilitarian theory. "I did'nt know that pumps were invented in those days," replied Mrs. Becket; "and I own that if I lived here, I should prefer seeing this pretty building from my window, and hearing the sound of the falling water, to that of a dozen or two creaking pump-handles." "I assure you I am quite of your way of thinking, Madam," said Dr. Clinton smiling; "there is no need to be very studious, or very sick, in order to gain a distaste for experiments in that part of hydraulic science. I well remember when I was a curate in a small lodging, how I used to dread the indefatigable vigour of the washerwoman's arm at the rusty pump under my window, as she roused me, (still dead-tired with the preceding day's exertions) at day-break on a Monday morning. To attempt to get any more rest was useless: I could only lie and toss about, and draw comparisons between the effect of Betty Sudd's activity, and the voice of Macbeth's consci ence, 'Still it cry'd, 'Sleep no more' to all the house: Glamis hath murder'd sleep; and therefore Cawdor "I dare say," said Mrs. Becket," it was consideration for the old brethren, and care that when they are sick they should not be disturbed by unnecessary noise, which caused the erection of this conduit in preference to the common pump." "You forget, my dear Madam," observed the Warden, smiling once more at the old lady's simple manner, "you forget a difficulty you have yourself raised but without entering into a discussion upon the antiquity of pumps, I think I can give you a reason why the conduit was preferred. The existing arrangement accorded with the spirit of the times in which it was made, which Mr. Livingstone's proposal would not. The spirit of the present day is exclusiveness: the temper of our fathers was to consider themselves in all things as members one of another. With us, as it has been truly said, the individual is every thing; the common almost nothing. Of old it was not so. The Church carried her hallowing influences into the minutest, as well as into the most important matters. She laid down principles, and men were content to abide by them, and to carry them out thankfully wherever the opportunity was afforded them. She taught that love was the fulfilling of the law; and, therefore, in every institution with which she was connected, love of man for the love of God, was the warm and living current which circulated through every limb, issuing from and returning back to herself, as the source of vital strength. Selfishness was no part of her system; it was excluded at every outlet, and by every barrier which the wit of man could devise. She taught her sons through the possession of common privileges and common blessings, to feel their common responsibilities, and discharge their common duties with brotherly charity and mutual good will. And see how carefully this system was enforced and carried out in this place. We are, by our statutes, all brethren; we address one another by no other name than that of Brother.'* We have a common garb, and the same common provision. We have our seats in common in our common house of prayer. The common meal is partaken in our common refectory: the sick among us have all the same care and comforts bestowed on them in the common infirmary, and our dead lie side by side in the same burial-ground. So far as it is possible, we have and are all things in And, therefore, Livingstone," concluded the Warden, "you must forgive me if I prefer our old conduit to your more convenient arrangement; since I verily believe that it was erected in accordance with the principle of which I have been speaking, and that it is not without a latent meaning (to This is the practice at St. Cross. common. F |