hour in
meditating upon it.

Then one morning it happened that the monk descended from the library
into the cloister garden, and there he saw a little bird perched on the
bough of a tree, singing sweetly, like a nightingale. The bird did not
move as the monk approached her, till he came quite close, and then she
flew to another bough, and again another, as the monk pursued her. Still
singing the same sweet song, the nightingale flew on; and the monk,
entranced by the sound, followed her out of the garden into the wide
world.

At last he stopped, and turned back to the cloister; but every thing
seemed changed to him. Every thing had become larger, more beautiful,
and older,--the buildings, the garden; and in the place of the low,
humble cloister church, a lofty minster with three towers reared its
head to the sky. This seemed very strange to the monk, indeed marvelous;
but he walked on to the cloister gate and timidly rang the bell. A
porter entirely unknown to him answered his summons, and drew back in
amazement when he saw the monk.

The latter went in, and wandered through the church, gazing with
astonishment on memorial stones which he never remembered to have seen
before. Presently the brethren of the cloister entered the church; but
all retreated when they saw the strange figure of the monk. The abbot
only (but not his abbot) stopped, and stretching a crucifix before him,
exclaimed, "In the name of Christ, who art thou, spirit or mortal? And
what dost thou seek here, coming from the dead among us, the living?"

The monk, trembling and tottering like an old man, cast his eyes to the
ground, and for the first time became aware that a long silvery beard
descended from his chin over his girdle, to which was still suspended
the key of the library. To the monks around, the stranger seemed some
marvelous appearance; and, with a mixture of awe and admiration, they
led him to the chair of the abbot. There he gave the key to a young
monk, who opened the library, and brought out a chronicle wherein it was
written that three hundred years ago the monk Urban had disappeared; and
no one knew whither he had gone.

"Ah, bird of the forest, was it then thy song?" said the monk Urban,
with a sigh. "I followed thee for scarce three minutes, listening to thy
notes, and yet three hundred years have passed away! Thou hast sung to
me the song of eternity which I could never before learn. Now I know it;
and, dust myself, I pray to