were guided by the simple, upright, and good Christian counsels of M. Gosselin.  This division of opinion was scarcely noticeable among the masters.  Nevertheless, M. Gosselin, disliking anything in the way of singularities or novelties, often looked askance at certain eccentricities.  During recreation time he made a point of conversing in a gay and almost worldly tone, in contrast to the fine frenzy which M. Pinault always imported into his observations.  He did not like Pere Hanique and would not listen to any praise of him, perhaps because he felt the impropriety of a hall-porter being taken out of his place and set up as an authority on theology.  He condemned and prohibited the reading of several books which were favourites with the mystical set, such as those of Marie d’Agreda.  There was something very singular about M. Pinault’s lectures, as he did not make any effort to conceal his contempt for the sciences which he taught and for the human intelligence at large.  At times he would nearly go to sleep over his class, and altogether gave his pupils anything but a stimulus to work; and yet with all that he still had in him remnants of the scientific spirit which he had failed to destroy.  At times he had extraordinary flashes of genius, and some of his lectures on natural history have been one of the bases of my philosophical strain of thought.  I am much indebted to him, but the instinct for learning which is in me, and which will, I trust, remain alive until the day of my death, would not admit of my remaining long in his set.  He liked me well enough, but made no effort to attract me to him.  His fiery spirit of apostleship could not brook my easy-going ways, and my disinclination for research.  Upon one occasion he found me sitting in one of the walks, reading Clarke’s treatise upon the Existence of God.  As usual, I was wrapped up in a heavy coat.  “Oh! the nice little fellow,” he said, “how beautifully he is wrapped up.  Do not interfere with him.  He will always be the same.  Fie will ever be studying, and when he should be attending to the charge of souls he will be at it still.  Well wrapped up in his cloak, he will answer those who come to call him away:  ’Leave me alone, can’t you?’” He saw that his remark had gone home.  I was confused but not converted, and as I made no reply, he pressed my hand and added, with a slight touch of irony, “He will be a little Gosselin.”

M. Pinault, there can be no question, was far above M. Gosselin in respect to his natural force and the hardihood with which he took up certain views.  Like another Diogenes, he saw how hollow and conventional were a host of things which my worthy director regarded as articles of faith.  But he did not shake me for a moment.  I have never ceased to put faith in the intelligence of man.  M. Gosselin, by his confidence in scholasticism, confirmed me in my rationalism, though not to so great an extent as M. Manier, one of the professors of philosophy.  He was a man