when I remember that I descanted principally on my appetite, and

that it must have been by that time more than eighteen hours since
Father Michael had so much as broken bread, I can well understand

that he would find an earthlysavour in my conversation. But his
manner, though superior, was exquisitelygracious; and I find I

have a lurking curiosity as to Father Michael's past.
The whet administered, I was left alone for a little in the

monastery garden. This is no more than the main court, laid out in
sandy paths and beds of parti-coloured dahlias, and with a fountain

and a black statue of the Virgin in the centre. The buildings
stand around it four-square, bleak, as yet unseasoned by the years

and weather, and with no other features than a belfry and a pair of
slated gables. Brothers in white, brothers in brown, passed

silently along the sanded alleys; and when I first came out, three
hooded monks were kneeling on the terrace at their prayers. A

naked hill commands the monastery upon one side, and the wood
commands it on the other. It lies exposed to wind; the snow falls

off and on from October to May, and sometimes lies six weeks on
end; but if they stood in Eden, with a climate like heaven's, the

buildings themselves would offer the same wintry and cheerless
aspect; and for my part, on this wild September day, before I was

called to dinner, I felt chilly in and out.
When I had eaten well and heartily, Brother Ambrose, a hearty

conversible Frenchman (for all those who wait on strangers have the
liberty to speak), led me to a little room in that part of the

building which is set apart for MM. LES RETRAITANTS. It was clean
and whitewashed, and furnished with strict necessaries, a crucifix,

a bust of the late Pope, the IMITATION in French, a book of
religious meditations, and the LIFE OF ELIZABETH SETON, evangelist,

it would appear, of North America and of New England in particular.
As far as my experience goes, there is a fair field for some more

evangelisation in these quarters; but think of Cotton Mather! I
should like to give him a reading of this little work in heaven,

where I hope he dwells; but perhaps he knows all that already, and
much more; and perhaps he and Mrs. Seton are the dearest friends,

and gladly unite their voices in the everlasting psalm. Over the
table, to conclude the inventory of the room, hung a set of

regulations for MM. LES RETRAITANTS: what services they should
attend, when they were to tell their beads or meditate, and when

they were to rise and go to rest. At the foot was a notable N.B.:
'LE TEMPS LIBRE EST EMPLOYE A L'EXAMEN DE CONSCIENCE, A LA

CONFESSION, A FAIRE DE BONNES RESOLUTIONS, ETC.' To make good
resolutions, indeed! You might talk as fruitfully of making the

hair grow on your head.
I had scarce explored my niche when Brother Ambrose returned. An

English boarder, it appeared, would like to speak with me. I
professed my willingness, and the friar ushered in a fresh, young,

little Irishman of fifty, a deacon of the Church, arrayed in strict
canonicals, and wearing on his head what, in default of knowledge,

I can only call the ecclesiastical shako. He had lived seven years
in retreat at a convent of nuns in Belgium, and now five at Our

Lady of the Snows; he never saw an English newspaper; he spoke
French imperfectly, and had he spoken it like a native, there was

not much chance of conversation where he dwelt. With this, he was
a man eminently sociable, greedy of news, and simple-minded like a

child. If I was pleased to have a guide about the monastery, he
was no less delighted to see an English face and hear an English

tongue.
He showed me his own room, where he passed his time among

breviaries, Hebrew Bibles, and the Waverley Novels. Thence he led
me to the cloisters, into the chapter-house, through the vestry,

where the brothers' gowns and broad straw hats were hanging up,
each with his religious name upon a board - names full of legendary

suavity and interest, such as Basil, Hilarion, Raphael, or
Pacifique; into the library, where were all the works of Veuillot

and Chateaubriand, and the ODES ET BALLADES, if you please, and
even Moliere, to say nothing of innumerable fathers and a great

variety of local and general historians. Thence my good Irishman
took me round the workshops, where brothers bake bread, and make

cartwheels, and take photographs; where one superintends a
collection of curiosities, and another a gallery of rabbits. For

in a Trappist monastery each monk has an occupation of his own
choice, apart from his religious duties and the general labours of

the house. Each must sing in the choir, if he has a voice and ear,
and join in the haymaking if he has a hand to stir; but in his

private hours, although he must be occupied, he may be occupied on
what he likes. Thus I was told that one brother was engaged with

literature; while Father Apollinaris busies himself in making
roads, and the Abbot employs himself in binding books. It is not

so long since this Abbot was consecrated, by the way; and on that
occasion, by a special grace, his mother was permitted to enter the

chapel and witness the ceremony of consecration. A proud day for
her to have a son a mitred abbot; it makes you glad to think they

let her in.
In all these journeyings to and fro, many silent fathers and

brethren fell in our way. Usually they paid no more regard to our
passage than if we had been a cloud; but sometimes the good deacon

had a permission to ask of them, and it was granted by a peculiar
movement of the hands, almost like that of a dog's paws in

swimming, or refused by the usual negative signs, and in either
case with lowered eyelids and a certain air of contrition, as of a

man who was steering very close to evil.
The monks, by special grace of their Abbot, were still taking two

meals a day; but it was already time for their grand fast, which
begins somewhere in September and lasts till Easter, and during

which they eat but once in the twenty-four hours, and that at two
in the afternoon, twelve hours after they have begun the toil and

vigil of the day. Their meals are scanty, but even of these they
eat sparingly; and though each is allowed a small carafe of wine,

many refrain from this indulgence. Without doubt, the most of
mankind grossly overeat themselves; our meals serve not only for

support, but as a hearty and natural diversion from the labour of
life. Yet, though excess may be hurtful, I should have thought

this Trappist regimen defective. And I am astonished, as I look
back, at the freshness of face and cheerfulness of manner of all

whom I beheld. A happier nor a healthier company I should scarce
suppose that I have ever seen. As a matter of fact, on this bleak

upland, and with the incessantoccupation of the monks, life is of
an uncertain tenure, and death no infrequent visitor, at Our Lady

of the Snows. This, at least, was what was told me. But if they
die easily, they must live healthily in the meantime, for they

seemed all firm of flesh and high in colour; and the only morbid
sign that I could observe, an unusual brilliancy of eye, was one

that served rather to increase the general impression of vivacity
and strength.

Those with whom I spoke were singularly sweet-tempered, with what I
can only call a holy cheerfulness in air and conversation. There

is a note, in the direction to visitors, telling them not to be
offended at the curt speech of those who wait upon them, since it

is proper to monks to speak little. The note might have been
spared; to a man the hospitallers were all brimming with innocent

talk, and, in my experience of the monastery, it was easier to
begin than to break off a conversation. With the exception of

Father Michael, who was a man of the world, they showed themselves
full of kind and healthy interest in all sorts of subjects - in

politics, in voyages, in my sleeping-sack - and not without a
certain pleasure in the sound of their own voices.

As for those who are restricted to silence, I can only wonder how
they bear their solemn and cheerless isolation. And yet, apart

from any view of mortification, I can see a certain policy, not
only in the exclusion of women, but in this vow of silence. I have

had some experience of lay phalansteries, of an artistic, not to
say a bacchanalian character; and seen more than one association

easily formed and yet more easily dispersed. With a Cistercian
rule, perhaps they might have lasted longer. In the neighbourhood

of women it is but a touch-and-go association that can be formed
among defenceless men; the stronger electricity is sure to triumph;

the dreams of boyhood, the schemes of youth, are abandoned after an
interview of ten minutes, and the arts and sciences, and