of the Hundred Men's Hall, an
ancient staircase leads to an upper chamber of which we shall
presently speak; and on the newel-post of this staircase stands one
of the curiosities of St. Hospital--a pelican carved in oak, vulning
its breast to feed its young. Brother Copas, lifting a pensive eye
from his plate, rested it on this bird, as though comparing notes.

"The plague take your double meanings!" answered Brother Warboise
gruffly. "Not that I understand 'em, or want to. 'Tis enough, I
suppose, that the Master preached about it this morning, and called
it the bird of love, to set you miscalling it."

"Not a bit," Brother Copas replied. "As for the parable of the
Pelican, the Master has used it in half a dozen sermons; and you had
it by heart at least as long ago as the day before yesterday, when I
happened to overhear you pitching it to a convoy of visitors as you
showed them the staircase. I hope they rewarded you for the
sentiment of it."

"Look here," fired up Brother Warboise, turning over _his_ portion of
duck, "if it's poor I am, it don't become you to mock me. And if I
haven't your damned book-learning, nor half your damned cleverness,
maybe you've not turned either to such account in life as to make a
boast of it. And if you left me just now to stand up alone to the
Master, it don't follow I take pleasure in your sneering at him."

"You are right, my dear fellow," said Brother Copas; "and also you
are proving in two or three different ways that I was right just now.
Bird of love--bird of wrath--they are both the same thing. But, with
all submission, neither you nor the Master have the true parable,
which I found by chance the other day in an old book called the
_Ancren Riwle. Ancren_, brother, means 'anchoresses,' recluses,
women separated, and living apart from the world pretty much as by
rights we men should be living in St. Hospital; and _riwle_ is
'rule,' or an instruction of daily conduct. It is a sound old book,
written in the thirteenth century by a certain good Bishop Poore
(excellent name!) for a household of such good women at Tarrent, on
the River Stour; and it contains a peck of counsel which might be
preached not only upon the scandal-mongering women who are the curse
of this place--yes, and applied; for it recommends here and there, a
whipping as salutary--but even, _mutatis mutandis_, upon us
Brethren--"

"We've had one sermon, to-day," growled Brother Warboise.

"I am correc