t that in this
sublime solitude their souls may have found the peace arising from the
consciousness of forgiveness. I have never been more impressed with the
Catholic service than I was this morning, when the voices of the priests
blending with the organ, rose on the stillness of that early hour in one
of the familiar chants of the Church. It seemed, indeed, like heavenly
music. Here with the first dawn of morning on these lofty mountaintops,
where returning day is welcomed earlier than in the great world below,
men had assembled to pour forth their worship to God, here so manifest
in his mighty works. The ever-burning lamp swung in the dim chapel, and
it seemed a beautiful idea that morning after morning on these great
mountains, the song of gratitude and praise should ascend to Him who
fashioned them; that so it has been for years, while successive winters
have beat in fury on this house, and the snows have again and again shut
out all signs of life from nature. As my heart filled with emotion, I
could not but think of the aptness to the present scene of those
beautiful lines of our poet:

'At break of day as heavenward
The pious monks of St. Bernard
Chanted the oft-repeated prayer.'

Time and place were the same, and the service seemed as beautiful and
solemn as might have been that chanted over the stiff, frozen body of
the high-souled but too aspiring boy. The service ended, and we were
left alone in the chapel. In one corner of it is the box in which those
who can, leave a contribution for the support of the establishment. No
regular charge is made, but probably most persons leave more than they
would at a hotel--and our party certainly did. I believe that the money
is well applied; at any rate, for years the hospice afforded shelter
before travel became a fashionable summer amusement, and in those days
it expended far more than it received.

Our breakfast was very simple, and the Superior of the establishment
confined himself to a small cup of coffee and morsel of bread. They have
but one substantial meal a day. I was interested in observing our host.
His appearance and manner were prepossessing and agreeable, but this
morning something seemed to weigh anxiously on his mind. He was
abstracted in manner, and once as I looked up suddenly, his lips were
moving, and he half checked himself in an involuntary gesture. Had the
confession of the penitents, perhaps, troubled him? I believe he was a
sincere