The Argosy — page 65: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

52 A Night ina Monastery. away down in the heart there is a memory that never dies ; a love that never grows old ; a face and a tone that, whether present or absent, linger for ever and ever in the soul. In this after life there may be blessings innumerable ; a Benjamin’s share of happiness: but where are the old hopes and dreams? where the bright couleur de rose that in those former times enveloped the distant life and the future? The trees are green; they bud and blossom ; the sky is blue ; the sun shines, we have spring and autumn; summer and winter : nothing outwardly seems changed. But the rose- glow has fled for ever. The next day, Sunday, was spent quietly, as it is just and fitting Sunday should be spent. It was arranged that on the following day, Monday, H. and I should together visit the Monastery of the Grande Chartreuse, distant some thirty miles from Grenoble ; embedded far away up amongst the pine forests of the Alps; a place I had long desired to see. There were various ways of reaching the Grande Chartreuse, and we finally decided that, all things considered, our wisest plan would be to take the omnibus as far as St. Laurent du Pont, a small village about ten miles from the monastery, lying at the foot of the long, 1 narrow gorge or defile leading up to it. The omnibus started at half-past six, and on Monday morning soon after five we were on the alert. “T wish I was going with you,” said M., who was occupied with household cares for our benefit; seeing that hot coffee was being pre- pared and a bountiful table spread. ‘‘ What a shame of those terrible old monks not to admit ladies within their walls! How barbarous and unrefined they must grow! Come, C., it’s six o’clock. Take your coffee and some of this delicious paté de foie gras.” ‘‘Could we not dress you up as a man and smuggle you in?” I suggested, obeying her commands. ‘ You are not tall, and might pass very well for a boy.” ‘And my hair!” cried M., with quite a diminutive shriek of vanity. “Cut it off for a pack of uncivilized monks ? Le jeu ne vaudrait pas la chandelle.” So H. and I started for the omnibus, which we found on the very point of departure. “ How glorious!” I exclaimed. “Not a pas- senger inside. We have it all to ourselves.” It was a short-lived glory. By-and-by there got in a man who had evidently been making his breakfast on a dish of garlic, the popular luxury of the pays there. H., whose olfactory nerves had become of necessity somewhat less sensitive to the prevalence of this agreeable perfume, though /e found it bad enough that morning, grinned as the man entered. ‘‘ Now you're in for it,” said he. ‘I will do violence to my inclinations, and for your sake light up.” This generous self — ‘ ——— ——————— ,—( rr — — —_ COMMIE NX (E(0)