evertheless, the pupils educated there love to
revisit it; and the oldest of us grow young again for an hour or two as
we come back into those scenes of childhood.

The custom of the school is, that on the 12th of December, the Founder's
Day, the head gown-boy shall recite a Latin oration, in praise of
Fundatoris Nostri, and upon other subjects; and a goodly company of old
Cistercians is generally brought together to attend this oration: after
which we go to chapel and hear a sermon; after which we adjourn to a
great dinner, where old condisciples meet, old toasts are given, and
speeches are made. Before marching from the oration-hall to chapel,
the stewards of the day's dinner, according to old-fashioned rite,
have wands put into their hands, walk to church at the head of the
procession, and sit there in places of honour. The boys are already in
their seats, with smug fresh faces, and shining white collars; the old
black-gowned pensioners are on their benches; the chapel is lighted,
and Founder's Tomb, with its grotesque carvings, monsters, heraldries,
darkles and shines with the most wonderful shadows and lights. There
he lies, Fundator Noster, in his ruff and gown, awaiting the great
Examination Day. We oldsters, be we ever so old, become boys again as
we look at that familiar old tomb, and think how the seats are altered
since we were here, and how the doctor--not the present doctor, the
doctor of our time--used to sit yonder, and his awful eye used to
frighten us shuddering boys, on whom it lighted; and how the boy next us
would kick our shins during service time, and how the monitor would
cane us afterwards because our shins were kicked. Yonder sit forty
cherry-cheeked boys, thinking about home and holidays to-morrow. Yonder
sit some threescore old gentlemen pensioners of the hospital, listening
to the prayers and the psalms. You hear them coughing feebly in
the twilight,--the old reverend blackgowns. Is Codd Ajax alive, you
wonder?--the Cistercian lads called these old gentlemen Codds, I know
not wherefore--I know not wherefore--but is old Codd Ajax alive, I
wonder? or Codd Soldier? or kind old Codd Gentleman, or has the grave
closed over them? A plenty of candles lights up this chapel, and this
scene of age and youth, and early memories, and pompous death. How
solemn the well-remembered prayers are, here uttered again in the place
wherein childhood we used to hear them! How beautiful and decorous the
rite; how n