monks meet at certain hours, and where
novices are instructed during their term of
probation. So passing on, I come out into
the churchyard; a quiet, grassy place,
containing several mounds. At the head of
each mound stands a black wooden cross,
on which is painted the monastic name of
him who sleeps beneath, and the date of his
death. Of late, a portion of the garden has
been set aside as a burial-place. It is a more
cheerful spot, and contains vegetables, fruit-
trees, evergreens, and flowers in their season,
all in the highest state of cultivation. "The
last brother who died," says my conductor,
"was eighty-seven years old, and had been a
monk for fifty years." There is always a
grave kept half-dug, to serve, like the skull
at the feasts of the ancients, to remind the
living of their mortality. During my progress
I have encountered various brothers engaged
in different occupations; but none of them
have noticed my presence in the least, or
seemed, indeed, to see me. The dark-robed
monks are the lay-brethren, or those
employed in agricultural and other pursuits
conducive to the temporal welfare of the
fraternity; the choir-brethern, as the others
are called, are attired in light drab habits,
with dark scapularies and cowls.

Quitting the monastery, I follow my
conductor up a narrow path bordered with
shrubs, which conducts us to the summit of
Mount Calvary. From this place I overlook
the monastery, and obtain a clear idea of the
plan on which it is built; and have also an
extensive view for miles round.

As we come down again, I observe a
number of poor people standing before the
gate of the monastery. These, I learn are
waiting for the dole of bread and soup
which is given out daily to all who ask
for it.  The number of people thus relieved
averages sixty a day, the year round, without
distinction of creed.  The guest-master informs
me that, in hard winters, he has known poor
people to come from towns and villages six or
eight miles off, to obtain here, what they could
not obtain elsewhere,—a plentiful meal. I
may here mention that bread, cheese, and
all other manufactured articles of food used
in the monastery, are made by the monks
themselves on the premises; while their
garden affords them an ample supply of fruit
and vegetables.  The clothes they wear are
all cut out and made on the spot; and the
gas with which the establishment is lighted
is supplied from a small private meter at the
back of the house.

Next, away to what was formerly known
as the Abbey Grange, but which is now called
the Reformatory.

On Ash-Wednesday of last year this place
was opened as a reformatory for youthful
Roman Catholic criminals, or whose parents
are of that belief. The number of inmates
at present is one hundred and twenty; but
the building, when completed, will  hold about
three hundred.  The ages of the boys range
from ten to sixteen; and their terms of
imprisonment, from three to five years. Three
large towns, Birmingham, Manchester, and
Liverpool, supply a large proportion of the
inmates.

As I approach, I observe a number of
masons, carpenters and bricklayers, all
busily at work; and am obliged to tread
gingerly, and take little leaps here and
there to avoid the muddy difficulties by
which the place is surrounded. Nothing
about it is yet finished, but everything is in
a hopeful state of progress. After pulling a
bell, we are admitted through a side-door
by one of the lads, an urchin of ten years
old, who touches his cap at sight of us, and
greets Father Lawrence with unequivocal
delight. Entering, we find ourselves in a
large yard — the boys' playground —
surrounded by the various buildings of the
Reformatory. A number of the lads are
engaged with brooms and pails of water in
scouring the pavement; but everything is
suspended in a moment, and a cheerful circle
is formed round the Father, who has a
smile and a word for each.  After a little
pleasant chat, and a few words of commendation
here and there, we enter the building,
and proceed up a flight of stairs under the
guidance of the superintendent. Painting
and joinering are going on rapidly on every
side; the only rooms as yet complete in
this part of the establishment are three
dormitories, through which I am conducted.
A description of one will apply to the whole.
Down each side of the room, which is lofty
and well-ventilated, is ranged a row of small
iron bedsteads, one for each lad, furnished
with mattress, sheet, blanket, and coverlid,
In the centre of the room stands an iron
stove, which diffuses a grateful warmth
through the place on winter nights; and
winter nights in Charnwood must be bleak
indeed. In each room a brother from the
monastery sleeps among the lads, his bedstead
being undistinguishable from theirs.

Coming down stairs again, we take a peep
into the refectory, where the tin utensils
shine as brightly as if made of silver; and
then proceed to the workshops. Each boy
who enters the reformatory, in addition to
reading, writing, and religious exercises, is
taught some trade by which he may be able
to obtain his living in after life: gardening,
field-work, tailoring, shoemaking, and
watchmaking. It is left entirely to the lad's
own choice which of these occupations he
will adopt. The military system of discipline
which is in operation, rewards various
  degrees of merit and ability by the different
grades of corporal, lance-corporal, and
serjeant; each grade being marked by one
or more red stripes on the blue blouse, which,
together with a grey Scotch cap, is the
uniform. As the boys advance in grade, a
greater degree of confidence is placed in them: