atest
improvements in agriculture with the untiring industry of the Trappist
Monk. For several years, their grist-mill was the only one for a great
distance, and even now wheat is brought in, for grinding, from a radius
of fifteen miles.

The monks contain among themselves all the trades necessary to their
well-ordered community, _ex-gr_ two blacksmiths, two tailors, two
millers, a baker, shoemaker, and doctor, not forgetting the wonderful
Brother Benedict, who is at once architect, carpenter, mason and
clockmaker. In the last-mentioned capacity his ingenuity is shown by a
clock which has four faces; one visible from the road approaching the
abbey, the second from the chapel, the third from the infirmary, and the
fourth from the refectory, where the modest table service of tin plates
and wooden spoons and forks, offer but few attractions to those who
overlooking the final end of all created things, look at life from the
animal point of view.

We are also taken to the dormitory, and look into the narrow
compartments, where the good brothers sleep, with easy consciences, upon
their hard beds; and are also shown the _discipline_, which, though no
doubt a wholesome instrument of penance, does not in any way resemble
the article of torture under which guise it masquerades in the average
anti-Jesuit novel.

Descending again we are taken to the neat cemetery where the brothers
are deposited in peace after life's course is run, covered only by their
coarse serge habits, and without coffins. Every grave has painted in
white letters, on the black ground of a plain, wooden cross, the name in
religion once borne by him, whose mortal remains rest below.

In the centre of this final resting-place stands a tall cross, and near
by we observe a bare skull, whose mute lips powerfully preach the folly
of worldliness, and like an accusing spirit warns all beholders of the
dread day when every wasted minute, as well as every useless word, must
be strictly accounted for.

The costume of the monks, in its coarseness and simplicity, would not
commend itself to our modern dudes; but, then, life is a terrible
reality to these brothers, who, hearing the voice of God, have hastened
to follow his call, fully realizing, that without the one thing
necessary, all else is vanity.

These reflections are interrupted by the abbey bell, calling us to
Vespers, which are chanted by the monks (the music being supplied by the
organist Father Bernard),