The long black dresses, conical caps, and white scarfs of the monks, standing in silence with arms crossed upon their breasts, contrasted well with my own more varied costume, and that of my lay companion. After grace, pronounced in Latin by the prior, to which the rest of the fraternity made the necessary responses, we sat down to an excellent and substantial dinner, with good wine of Piedmont, to which we all did ample justice. The monks of St. Bernard are a cheerful race, and by no means rank silence among the vows of their order. The general topics of the day (among which Lord Grey and his Reform Bill were not forgotten) were discussed with a freedom and intelligence that savoured of more intercourse with the world than the inmates of the Hospice might be supposed to possess. The refectory is a large wainscotted apartment, containing an enormous granite stove, reaching to the ceiling. Among the small library of books I noticed "Buchan's Medicine." Two paintings decorated the walls: one the portrait of an ecclesiastic; the other, that of the Virgin with the infant Saviour, holding a bunch of three cherries, probably intended by the painter as a symbol of the Trinity. I This we had pursued, that we must be within hearing of the monastery. therefore came to a halt, and gave the order for a general halloo. was repeated many times, when, at last, a responsive but distant halloo reached our ears, and acted upon us all like a reprieve from death. I now advised that we should remain stationary, in the hope of aid. Time passed heavily along, and no aid arrived. We renewed our outcries, but no responsive greeting again reached us. We began to fear that assistance could not be afforded, when at length a rustling was heard at a distance in the snow; the sound approached, and, in a few minutes, several of the great dogs of St. Bernard came bounding towards us. But these sagacious animals were unattended, for now not even a holy monk dared venture forth to save a fellow-creature. The dogs, however, gambolling round us, led the way, and our four-footed guide following them, we resumed our former plan of march, and arrived in safety at the monastery." When we arose from the table grace was repeated, and the English traveller took his leave, after entering his name in the visiters' book, and expressing, in feeling and appropriate terms, his acknowledgments for the hospitality he had received. The monks also retired, each to his respective cell, and I was left alone to amuse myself with the manuscript volume before mentioned. I turned over its leaves with considerable interest, from the number of my distinguished countrymen who had there recorded their names and their gratitude. The greater number of these travellers visited the Hospice in the months of July and August; and, consequently, beheld the scene under a far different and more cheerful aspect than myself. A few, however, appeared to have encountered all the hardships of the most inclement weather, and the horrors of the tempest. The following extract, which I copy verbatim, will afford some notion of the nature of these records : — "Sept. 13th. A tremendous night of thunder, lightning, hail, and snow, made George Talbot of Temple Guiling, Gloucestershire, and his daughters Isabella and Jane, doubly grateful for the kind hospitality they experienced from the benevolent brethren of St. Bernard, who may justly claim the beautiful motto, - Humani nihil alieni." While engaged in making transcripts from the album, coffee was served, of which I alone partook, as none of the fraternity appeared; and shortly afterwards, fumes of incense, that filled the refectory with their grateful odour, the solemn swell of the organ, and the deep-toned voices of the choristers, reechoing through the vaulted corridors, announced the hour of vespers. Profiting by this opportunity of inspecting the church, I joined the slender congregation, consisting only of the domestics. This part of the edifice is decorated with a profusion of paintings, sculpture, and other embellishments. The most remarkable are a figure of St. Michael trampling on the devil, who, it must be confessed, is represented with a most satanic aspect; an armed warrior displaying the banner of the cross, an emblem of the church militant; and the tomb of General Dessaix, bearing the simple, unostentatious inscription,-"Dessaix, mort à la bataille de Marengo." After inspecting the lower portions of the Hospice, where a number of spades and other implements for rescuing persons who are buried in the snow were arranged against the wall of one of the passages, I prepared to retire for the night. In passing the kitchen, the four noble dogs that had greeted me as I ascended rushed out, and repeatedly destroyed my equilibrium by the warmth of their salutations; rubbing their huge heads against my side, leaping upon my back, licking my hands, and appearing to consider me as under their peculiar protection. An undisturbed night's rest restored me to my wonted strength and spirits. The morning was bright and cloudless, yet so cold, that, on throwing open the casement, the air had all the keenness peculiar, in England, to the month of January. After breakfasting with the prior, and dropping a free-will offering into the box placed for that purpose in the church, I took my leave, impressed, like many others, with the deepest respect for this truly Christian society. * If the ascent of the snowy precipice on which the Hospice of St. Bernard is erected was slow and toilsome, my return was sufficiently rapid. I lost my footing on the frozen surface, and was precipitated to the bottom, fortunately at the * The monks are by their vows forbidden to demand payment in return for their hospitality. expense of only a few slight bruises. A walk of eight hours brought me again to Martigny, and the following morning I proceeded on the tour I had originally projected, being, probably, the first Englishman who ever accomplished the arduous ascent of the St. Bernard in similar weather, and unaccompanied by mules or guides. THE DREAM. BY MISS E. L. MONTAGU. "T WAS night, and sleep had fall'n upon my breast: Methought I heard soft voices breathe my name; And round about the pillow of my rest, Joy, Memory, Hope, and Love, with offerings came. And Memory gave her sorrow-clouded eyes; January, 1834. |