'Oh, the dear girl will do very well in the large dress-thought it right to check her mildly, and in private, for ing-room

'Very true. I recollect we could not please her, all we could do; so, to get rid of her whims, we got rid of herself. But I have never rightly understood how Miss Penson has displeased you, that she is to leave us?'

Why, it is all owing to Clotilda's return from Paris, I assure you,' answered my wife emphatically; for the two years Miss Penson has been here, no one could have gone on better. In every respect capable, and always attentive to the children, she has given me great satisfaction; but, latterly, her conduct has completely changed. She is dissatisfied and uncomfortable; and when people are uncomfortable themselves, they always manage to make everybody else so.'

into tears, and exclaimed against the discourteous treat-fortable amongst strangers, vanished at first sight, for ment to which persons in her unhappy situation were Miss Littlejohn made friends of us quite impromptu. exposed. Another time she retired to her room in She shook our hands with all the cordiality of a very dudgeon, and sulked for a week, because I did not ask old acquaintance, and patronised the children by pather to sing at one of the children's parties.' ting their cheeks, and calling them 'nice little dears,' as if she had been their god-mother. By dinner-time, it was evident that she felt herself perfectly at home; she carved the fowls as a matter of course, and told the children what they ought and what they ought not to eat, like a person perfectly au fait to the details of her business as a family governess. After dinner she talked -an expression the reader must understand in its most extensive signification. She began to afford us an insight into the domestic arrangements of the Right Honourable the Lady Hoppleton, whose house she had just left; dropping a delicate hint, that ours was the first untitled family in which she had ever had the honour to be engaged. She then conversed with Mrs Johnson about the fashions-with Clotilda concerning poetry and the concertina, and kindly took me up now and then upon geology, the use of the globes, and French literature. My wife seemed astounded at the extent and variety of Miss Littlejohn's information; but as she made use of a few geological terms in their wrong places, and as her knowledge of French literature was manifestly confined to Telemachus and Chambaud, I was not in the least dazzled by her attainments.

'But what has Clotilda's return from the continent to do with all this?'

'Everything. jealous of her."

The fact is, my dear, Miss Penson is

I raised my eyebrows in wonder.

It is the truth, I assure you. When Clotilda departed for Paris, she was Miss Penson's pupil; but she has come back, it would seem, as her unwitting rival. The little friendly offices, which I must do Miss Penson the justice to say she used to perform for me so readily and well, are now taken out of her hands by my daughter. She no longer helps me to play the hostess when we have guests, nor the companion when I go to town. It is unfortunate, but unavoidable; and I am sure Clotilda does all she can to treat her like a sister. Again, the other evening at the party, Clotilda completely eclipsed her in singing, for Miss Penson was foolish enough to attempt more than she could perform, and was obliged to leave off in the middle. She has also taken it into her head that the servants do not pay her the same respect they formerly did; and, in short, she is so unhappy, that, having given us notice to quit, she leaves us to-morrow."

After dinner I retired to my study; for Miss Littlejohn had innocently inflicted upon me a severe headache.

Days rolled past, and as each returned, my afterdinner headache came with it. The new governess chattered incessantly, and instead of retiring to superintend the children's lessons for the next morning, stuck to us incessantly. We could never be alone. All the ingenious schemes devised by Mrs Johnson and my daughter to get the governess out of the drawing-room, even for an hour during the evening, were fruitless. It was in vain Clotilda endeavoured to entice her to try over a new song at the school-room piano-forte: she would have it done at the instrument in the room where we sat. Miss Littlejohn had stipulated that she should be treated as one of the family,' and was determined that we should keep to our bond to the letter. If visitors dropped in, she treated them with the same condescending familiarity as ourselves, never failing to relate anecdotes of her late right honourable mistress, to show she had served in the best families.' She monopolised the conversation completely; for, should any one break in upon her discourse with a new subject, in the hope of silencing her, off she started upon that with as great speed, and with the same volubility, as the one just quitted. It was all the same to her; she had something to say upon everything. Like the lady in Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield, she was equally at home in Shakspeare, taste, and the musical glasses,' and determined never to hide her light under a bushel: All this was unfavourable to the new comer. She with her, 'Terence was not too heavy, nor Plautus too would have to make head against the strong feelings light.' Though a very bad player, she constantly chalwhich existed in behalf of her predecessor, whom she lenged me to chess, and never lost an opportunity of had in a manner supplanted. Comparisons would be cutting in' to a rubber at whist, though she sorely constantly instituted between her and Miss Penson, to tried Mrs Johnson's patience by committing sundry the advantage, of course, of the absent. To guard high crimes and misdemeanours; such as revoking, and against this, I co-operated in all my wife's arrangements taking tricks twice over. Besides, she put herself comfor Miss Littlejohn's reception: I lectured the chil-pletely out of the pale of the whist-playing proprieties, dren, added some books to the school library, and gave by constantly talking. In short, Miss Littlejohn was a up my table without a sigh. bore.

I felt great reluctance to part with Miss Penson, but nevertheless saw the necessity of it. Her manners and deportment had always pleased me; yet, as she took a fatal crotchet into her head, the effect of it was just as inconvenient as if she were the most disagreeable person imaginable. The children, one and all, shared in my regret; and when she went away, Clotilda shed tears, and, to relieve them, she and the departing governess took an off-hand vow of friendship; and they who had been in their small way rivals, were now suddenly converted into the fastest friends. The parting was a new circumstance in their acquaintance, the effects of which had not been anticipated, and it was evident that, despite little tetchy differences, they were, in the main, much attached to each other as companions.

At the hour appointed Miss Littlejohn arrived in a double fly,' which was completely crammed with boxes and packages. Having superintended the proper disposal of her treasures, a job in which all our servants were obliged to take a part, Miss Littlejohn allowed herself to be announced to us in the drawing-room, where we had all assembled to welcome her. She was showily rather than well dressed, and not at all bashful; for she had arrived at an age at which that peculiarity ceases to be a necessary characteristic of ladies. All my wife's fears that our new inmate would feel uncom

All this might have been the more easily endured, had her conduct in school been satisfactory; but after a time, we found out that it was not. She had not the patience to give the children regular lessons, but was continually talking-in short, indulging her propensity to loquacity, under pretence of explaining everything to them to use her own expression-in an easy and familiar manner. These explanations were not always correct, and involved such a heterogeneous mass of subjects, that our children's heads got filled with a confused phantasmagoria of information, good, bad, and indiffe

rent, calculated to retard rather than advance their education.

It was evident that Miss Littlejohn must have notice to quit; and this was accordingly given her, very much to her astonishment; for, poor woman, she thought she was succeeding admirably.

When this step became known to the family, its wishes at once reverted to Miss Penson, with whom Clotilda still corresponded. Mrs Johnson consulted me on the propriety of trying her a second time; premising, that it was possible, were I to have a little conversation with her on the subject of the disagreement which caused us to part, she might in future be everything we desired. This I promised to do.

I could not help pitying Miss Littlejohn, for she seemed greatly mortified at her failure, and was perfectly unconscious of the cause of it; for there is no doubt she deemed herself the most amusing companion it was possible for a family to possess; and, as a governess, perfection itself. We all felt ourselves bound to endeavour to get her another situation, and conned over whole columns of advertisements in the newspapers to that end. At length we saw one likely to suit her; it ran thus:

WANTED, A GOVERNESS.-Wanted, in a private family of the utmost respectability, a young lady fully competent to impart instruction to three little girls and a boy, varying from the ages of four to eleven. She must be a perfect mistress of the usual branches of an English education, including geography (with the use of the globes), arithmetic, history, and composition. None need apply who are not proficient in singing and pianoforte playing, and fully competent to teach dancing, calisthenic exercises, the French language (with a Parisian accent), drawing, oriental tinting, and Berlin embroidery.-N. B. A lady who, in addition to the above requisites, plays the harp, and is able to impart the rudiments of the Italian language, would be preferred. Address pre-paid, &c. &c.

Miss Littlejohn applied for this enviable situation, and thought herself lucky in obtaining it. We afterwards learned that she filled it to the entire satisfaction of her employers.

tion, I readily own, is a difficult one; but it is not difficult for the governess only; it is often as much so for her employers, many of whom I have heard say that it cost them as much trouble, in company, to keep that single person in good humour as the whole of the rest of their guests, and this simply because of the peculiar proneness of that individual to think herself neglected or undervalued. I think, if young ladies of good sense and good principle were to take a candid view of the whole case, instead of an inconsiderate view of their own portion of it, they would be more easily contented, and therefore more generally happy. After they have been made by kindness to feel and appear members of the family, they forget that they are governesses, become dissatisfied with their lot at the smallest opposition to their wishes, be they ever so extravagant, and finally swell the number of complaints that are daily made to the world of the universal disregard in which the sisterhood is held.'

Miss Penson would allow me to say no more. She had, she said, long seen her error, and determined never to commit it again. We re-engaged her: she has been with us ever since; and though the children have grown up, Clotilda and Mrs Johnson find her so necessary to their happiness as a companion, that I do not think we shall ever part with her.

MONASTIC AND SOCIAL LIFE IN THE
TWELFTH CENTURY.

UNDER this title, Messrs Whittaker have presented to us, in the form of a cheap publication, a translation (by Mr T. E. Tomlins) of a very curious Latin memoir, written by a monk of St Edmundsbury towards the close of the twelfth century, with relation to the affairs of his monastery. This memoir was first published in its original language by the Camden society, and in that form it was made known to the public by Mr Carlyle, through the medium of his work entitled The Past and Present, which is indeed simply a contrast between the style of English life developed in this Miss Penson was at first invited to Clover Hall as a ancient chronicle, and that which is now exposed to visitor, that our lecturing scheme might be carried out living observation. Perhaps a more valuable book of with more delicacy and propriety. She came-her eyes radiant with joy at again being with us; and I think its kind was never before printed; for while such early our reception must have been flattering to her, for the memoirs are generally meagre in detail, and unsatisjunior branches took no pains to conceal their satisfaction. factory in the objects to which they relate, this gives One day, when the term of her visit was drawing to a almost as minute a narration of special domestic circlose, and the time came for a new engagement on the cumstances, as we find in any modern book of the old footing to be talked about, Mrs Johnson enticed her Boswellian class, written expressly to gratify the ininto my sanctum, and I took upon myself to offer her a cessant crave of the reading public,' and thereby fill few words of advice; for the want of which, perhaps, the purse of the author. It is indeed a most lucky cirwe had been obliged to part with her in the first instance. She was most attentive. I have been think-cumstance that an English monk of King John's days ing,' I began, that it was a great pity you left us, Miss should have possessed a literary taste so extraordinary, Penson; pray, why was it?' and should have been impelled to indulge it in making such a compilation.

She could hardly tell; but she thought she had lost Mrs Johnson's confidence, by having several little offices taken from her when Miss Johnson returned from Paris.

'You lost nothing of the kind, my dear young lady; it was confidence in yourself which fled from you. I know that the situation of governess in a private family is a peculiar one; but as it is a profession, as much as law or medicine, it should be studied as such in every bearing. Its duties do not consist solely in teaching the young pupils; there are secondary ones; such as setting a general example of cheerful good humour and contentment to them. Now, unfortunately, this is seldom done; first, because in some families governesses have in reality something to complain of on the score of ill-treatment; and secondly, because, even when properly treated, they often expect too much, or, under the influence of circumstances, for which, at least, their employers cannot be blamed, are too ready to assume offence when nothing of the kind is meant. The posi

Jocelin of Brakelond-for such is the name of our monk-commences his narrative with an account of the abuses practised in the monastery during the latter years of an indolent, though well-meaning abbot. So far had the expenses of the establishment exceeded the income, that the abbot had run into debt to a large amount to Jews, and this evil was allowed to increase by a constant adding of interest to principal, until it reached an almost overwhelming amount. Nay, more than this; many of the inferior officials contracted debts in their own departments; and we are told that at one time there were thirty-three seals in the monastery, all in the course of being employed in such transactions. When we know that the interest of morey in those days was sixty per cent. [how blest were the city' now with a tenth of the rate !], we may readily imagine what serious embarrassments must have interfered to break

up the calm of a cloistered life. There were two or three of the inmates who beheld the abuses with pious indignation; but they could not safely make head against them. The higher officials listened only to flatterers, and when any disagreeably conscientious man presumed to open his mouth, he was generally got quit of by being sent on some distant and dangerous mission. Even the sacred utensils of the church, and the ornaments of the shrine of holy St Edmund, were pledged away for money, without any punishment following; and when Abbot Hugh came to his deathbed-ere he died, everything was snatched away by his servants, so that nothing remained in the abbot's house except the stools and tables, which could not be carried away. There was hardly left for the abbot his coverlet and two quilts, old and torn, which some who had taken away the good ones had placed in their stead. There was not even a single article of a penny's worth that could be distributed among the poor for the good of his soul.' Clearly, we should be far wrong in supposing that the persons devoted to religion in those days were very much elevated by their profession above the common frailties of humanity.

It is, however, generally observed, that even among the erring, those who do not err are looked up to and preferred; and so it happened that in this corrupt community the man chosen as the new abbot was the only one who seems to have been possessed of strict honour or prudence. Under Abbot Sampson a new system of things was commenced, and in a wonderfully short space of time he had cleared the house from debt, and introduced the strictest rule and discipline. Not that he was stingy or avaricious; he was only careful and diligent. To put the former imputation out of the question at once, his inauguration dinner was attended by one thousand guests! A specimen of his good management

6

time of his election, there was not one who could de-
fraud him of the rents of the abbey to the value of a
single penny; whereas he himself had not received from
his predecessors any writing touching the management
of the abbey, save one small schedule, wherein was con-
tained the names of the knights of St Edmund, and the
names of the manors, and what farm-rent attached upon
each farm. This book he called his kalendar, wherein
also were entered the debts he had satisfied; and this
same book he almost daily perused, as if in the same he
contemplated the reflection of his own prudence.'
Sampson is described as temperate and simple in his
habits. He condemned persons given to murmur at
their meat or drink, and particularly monks who were
dissatisfied therewith, himself adhering to the uniform
course he had practised when a monk: he had likewise
this virtue in himself, that he never changed the mess
you set before him. Once when I, then a novice, hap-
pened to serve in the refectory, it came into my head
to ascertain if this were true, and I thought I would
place before him a mess which would have displeased
any other but him, being served in a very black and
broken dish. But when he had looked at it, he was as
one that saw it not. Some delay taking place, I felt
sorry that I had so done, and so, snatching away the
dish, I changed the mess and the dish for a better, and
brought it him; but this substitution he took in ill
part, and was angry with me for it.' He was kind to
poor relations, and remembered all such as had been
serviceable to him in his early days, when only a poor
student or monk. 'A certain man of low degree, who
had managed his patrimony, and had been most de-
votedly attached to him from his youth, he looked upon
as his dearest kinsman, and gave to his son, who was a
clerk, the first church that became vacant after he came
to the charge of the abbey, and also advanced all the
other sons of this man. He invited to him a certain
chaplain who had maintained him in the schools of
Paris by the sale of holy water, and bestowed upon him
an ecclesiastical benefice, sufficient for his maintenance,
by way of vicarage. He granted to a certain servant
of his predecessor's, food and clothing all the days of his
life, he being the very man who put the fetters upon
him at his lord's command when he was cast into
prison. To the son of Elias, the butler of Hugh the
abbot, when he came to do homage for his father's land,
he said, in full court, "I have, for these seven years,
deferred taking thy homage for the land which the
abbot Hugh gave thy father, because that gift was to
the damage of the manor of Elmeswell; but now I feel
myself quite overcome when I call to mind what thy
father did for me when I was in chains, for he sent to
me a portion of the very wine whereof his lord had been
drinking, and bade me be comforted in God." To
Master Walter, the son of Master William de Dissy,
suing at his grace for the vicarage of the church of
Chevington, he replied, "Thy father was master of the
schools, and at the time when I was a poor clerk, he
granted me freely and in charity an entrance to his
school, and the means of learning; now I, for the sake
of God, do grant to thee what thou dost ask." He
addressed two knights of Risby, William and Norman,
at the time when they were adjudged to be in his
mercy, publicly in this wise, "When I was a cloister
monk, sent to Durham upon business of our church, and
from thence returning through Risby, being benighted,
I

'After these things, the abbot caused inquisition to be made throughout each manor, touching the annual quit rents from the freemen, and the names of the labourers and their tenements, and the services due in respect of each, and reduced all into writing. Likewise he repaired those old halls and rickety houses where kites and crows hovered about; he built new chapels, and likewise inner chambers and upper storeys in many places, where there never had been any dwelling-house at all, but only barns. He also enclosed many parks, which he replenished with beasts of chase, keeping a huntsman with dogs; and, upon the visit of any person of quality, sat with his monks in some walk of the wood, and sometimes saw the coursing of the dogs; but I never saw him taste of the game. He approved much land, and brought it into tillage, in all things looking forward to the benefit likely to accrue to the abbey; but I wish he had been as careful when he held the manors of the convent in commendam. Nevertheless, he for a time kept our manors of Bradfield and Rougham in hand, making up the deficiencies of the farms by the expenditure of forty pounds; these he afterwards re-assigned to us, when he heard that dissatisfaction was expressed in the convent, on account of his keeping our manors in his own hand. Likewise in managing these manors, as well as in all other matters, he appointed keepers far more careful than their predecessors, were they monk or lay, and who looked after things more providently for us and our lands. He also held the eight hundreds in his own hand; and after the death of Robert of Cokefield, he took sought a night's lodging from Lord Norman, who on hand the hundred of Cosford, all which he committed utterly forbade me; but going to the house of Lord to the keeping of those servants who were of his own William, and seeking shelter, I was hospitably entertable; referring matters of greater moment to his own tained by him. Now, therefore, those twenty shillings, decision, and deciding by means of others upon matters to wit, the mercy, I will without mercy exact from Norof lesser import; and, in point of fact, wringing every-man; but contrariwise, to William I give thanks, and thing to his own profit. Moreover, by his command, a the amerciament that is due from him do with pleasure general survey was made throughout the hundreds of remit." the leets and suits, of hidages and fodercorn, of hen-rents, and of other dues, and rents, and issues, which, for the greater part, were concealed by the farmers, and reduced it all into writing; so that within four years from the

Sampson tells a curious anecdote of his early life, when obliged to go to Rome in order to obtain an order from the pope for attaching the church of Woolpit to his monastery. Owing to the schism between Pope Alex