"I think the food beastly. I have been into the kitchen; and I have seen--things. I am afraid to eat anything except boiled eggs. They cannot deposit--sputum inside the shells of boiled eggs. But the servants complained of the extra trouble in boiling eggs especially for me. The bread is not made in the college. In order not to be singular, I eat and drink what I can eat and drink of that which is set before me; and I am deemed more singular than ever." "Have you said this to the rector?" "Yes." "Do you like bread and water?" "I think them both exceedingly nasty." "Does it affect your health?" "Not in the least. It makes my head ache. But I am as strong as a panther." "Why 'panther'?" "I really don't know. It seemed to be the just word." "And you believe that you are able to go on?" "I intend to go on." "You know that this college is not the place for you?" "I suppose not: but my diocesan sent me here; and I intend to serve my sentence." "Dear son, what is your ambition?" "Priesthood." "With a small patrimony, you would be on a more satisfactory footing here; and afterward you need not take the mission oath. The mere fact of the possession of a patrimony would purchase courtesy and consideration for you during your college-life: and would give you an opportunity of cultivating your individuality independently when you reach the priesthood." "Oh, yes. But I am a church-student." "So were We." "And Your Sanctity persevered?" "Yes." "So will I." "What is your name?" "William Jameson." Hadrian took a sheet of paper and wrote the apostolic benediction to William Jameson. "You will like to have this? Persevere, dear son; and pray for Us as for your brother-in-the-Lord. And--do you know Cardinal Sterling? Well: come to Vatican whenever you please and make his acquaintance. He will expect you. Good-bye. God bless you." The Pope went down to the bald old amiability, who was correct and mild enough in expressing a profound sense of the honour. Hadrian spoke to him of himself; and found that a public-school, university, and Anglican parsonage, had dulled what capability of emotion he ever had had, or had taught him the rare art of self-concealment. He was a capital specimen of the ordinary man, stinted, limited: one whose instinct prevented him from asserting an individuality. But he was a gentleman; and a Christian of a kind, actuated by the best intentions, paralysed by the worst conventions. "We wish to speak to you of Jameson:" at length the Apostle said. "Ah, poor fellow!" "Now why do you say that, Mr. Guthrie?" "Well, Holiness, I'm afraid he's in a most uncomfortable position. I'm sure this is not the place for him. You see he doesn't get on with the men." "Does he quarrel with them?" "Oh, dear me no! But he avoids them." "Perhaps he has his reasons." "Well, I'm afraid he has. But then it doesn't do to shew them. I often tell him so--try to chaff him into a more come-at-able frame of mind, you know, Holy Father."