oble the ancient words of the supplications which the priest
utters, and to which generations of fresh children and troops of bygone
seniors have cried Amen! under those arches! The service for
Founder's Day is a special one; one of the psalms selected being the
thirty-seventh, and we hear--

23. The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth
in his way.

24. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the Lord
upholdeth him with his hand.

25. I have been young, and now am old: yet have I not seen the righteous
forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread.

As we came to this verse, I chanced to look up from my book towards the
swarm of black-coated pensioners: and amongst them--amongst them--sate
Thomas Newcome.

His dear old head was bent down over his prayer-book--there was no
mistaking him. He wore the black gown of the pensioners of the Hospital
of Grey Friars. His order of the Bath was on his breast. He stood there
amongst the poor brethren, uttering the responses to the psalm. The
steps of this good man had been ordered him hither by Heaven's decree:
to this almshouse! Here it was ordained that a life all love, and
kindness, and honour, should end! I heard no more of prayers, and
psalms, and sermon, after that. How dared I to be in a place of mark,
and he, he yonder among the poor? Oh, pardon, you noble soul! I ask
forgiveness of you for being of a world that has so treated you--you
my better, you the honest, and gentle, and good! I thought the service
would never end, or the organist's voluntaries, or the preacher's
homily.

The organ played us out of chapel at length, and I waited in the
ante-chapel until the pensioners took their turn to quit it. My dear,
dear old friend! I ran to him with a warmth and eagerness of recognition
which no doubt showed themselves in my face and accents, as my heart was
moved at the sight of him. His own face flushed up when he saw me, and
his hand shook in mine. "I have found a home, Arthur," said he. "Don't
you remember before I went to India, when we came to see the old Grey
Friars, and visited Captain Scarsdale in his room?--a poor brother like
me--an old Peninsular man. Scarsdale is gone now, sir, and is where the
wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest; and I thought
then, when we saw him,--here would be a place for an old fellow when his
career was over, to hang his sword up; to humble his soul, and to
wait thankfully for t