THE MONK. ' 83 



of their days to the solitude of a cloister. Amongst this number, I 

 judged Father Stephano to have been. He was a man about thirty- 

 five years of age, although the lines of sufiering and sorrow were so 

 visibly impressed upon his countenance that he appeared much 

 older. His customary bearing was reserved and melancholy ; bu^ 

 at times the momentary gleam which spread over his dark features, 

 and the restless glances which flashed from his expressive eyes, told 

 the workings of a proud and sanguine spirit not altogether subdued 

 to endure the present, or steeled to the memory of the past. I had 

 a strong desire to become better acquainted with this person, as he 

 had been particularly active in our rescue, and seemed to possess a 

 superior mind to his companions. At first, he withdrew from every 

 advance to confidence : he even shunned the politeness of common 

 intercourse ; but, in time, he yielded so far as to converse freely on 

 indifferent subjects, and asked numerous questions relating to pass- 

 ing events and general opinions. 



His remarks exhibited a depth of understanding, and an intimate 

 acquaintance with the world, which could only have been acquired 

 by mixing with society and studying carefully the motives and pas- 

 sions which actuate mankind. He possessed liberal principles and 

 noble sentiments and a generous heart, but all his views were 

 clouded and discoloured with a morbid sensibility, an over-wrought 

 estimation of what things should be, which made him look upon 

 present realities with a jaundiced eye. It seemed as if his early 

 dream of happiness had fled, that the stream which fed his young 

 aspirations, and in whose crystal bosom he had seen reflected the 

 bright prospect of a golden future, was changed to a dark and 

 turbid current, which had swept away all his fairy palaces and 

 elysian groves, and had left him nothing to contemplate on the 

 dreary ocean of existence, but the remembrance of false anticipations 

 and withered hopes. 



The weather continued so inclement that I was obliged to remain 

 several weeks at the Hospice ; and, before my departure, I gained 

 so far on the confidence of Father Stephano as to induce him to 

 relate to me many interesting particulars regarding events which 

 had taken place on the St. Bernard, since his sojourn amongst the 

 brotherhood. One adventure of which he was an eye-witness, and 

 which was attended with the most singular and romantic circum- 

 stances, I shall now endeavour to describe as near as possible in his 

 own words. Having one day, after our principal meal, replenished 

 the blazing hearth with some dry wood, and drawn our seats 



