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occasion to sit beyond all reasonable hour, it must be reckoned as a fatality-as an ignorance of men and things, against which you cannot possibly provide—as a sort of visitation which must be borne with patience, and which is not likely to occur often, if you know whoin you invite, and those who are invited know

you. -But with an occasional excess of the fireside, what social virtue shall quarrel? A single friend perhaps loiters loehind the rest :you are alone in the house ;--you have just got upon a subject delightful to you both; the fire is of a candent brightness; the wind howls out of doors; the rain beats; the cold is piercing ! Sit down. This is a time when the most melancholy tempe. rament may defy the clouds and storms, and even extract from them a pleasure that will take no substance by daylight. The ghost of his happiness sits by him, and puts on the likeness of former hours ;--and if such a man can be made comfortable by the moment, what enjoyment may it not furnish to an unclouded spirit? If the excess belong not to vice, temperance does not forbid it when it only grows out of occasion. The great poet whom I have quoted so often for the fireside, and who will enjoy it with us to the last, was like the rest of our great poets, an ardent recommender of temperance in all its branches; but though he practised what he preached, he could take his night out of the hands of sleep as well as the most entrenching of us. over, as foreign to our subject in point of place, his noble wish that he might" oft outwatch the bear, with what a wrapped-up recollection of snugness, in the elegy on his friend Diodati, does he describe the fireside enjoyment of a winter's night?

To pass

Pectora cui credam ? Quis me lenire docebit
Mordaces curas ? Quis longam fallere poctem
Dulcibus alloquiis, grato cum sibilat igni
Molle pyrum, et nucibus strepitat focus, et malus Auster
Miscet cuncta soris et desuper intonat ulmo?

In whom shall I confide? Whose counsel find
A balıny med’cine for my troubled miod?
Or whose discourse, with innocent delight,
Shall Gill me now, and cheat the wintry night,
When hisses on my hearth the pulpy pear,
And black’ning chesnuts start and crackle there,
While storms abroad the dreary meadows whelm,
And the wind thunders through the neighb'ring elm ?

COWPER'S Translation.

Even when left alone, there is sometimes a charm in watching out the decaying fire in getting closer and closer to it with

tilted chair and knees against the bars, and letting the whole multitude of fancies, that work in the night silence, come whispering about the yielding faculties. The world around is silent; and for a moment the very cares of day seem to have gone with it to sleep, leaving you to snaich a waking sense of disenthralment, and to commune with a thousand airy visitants that come to play with innocent thoughts. Then, for imagination's sake, not for superstition's, are recalled the stories of the Secret World and the midnight pranks of fairyism. The fancy roams out of doors after rustics led astray by the Jack-o-lantern, or minute laughings heard upon the wind, or the night-spirit on his horse that comes flouncing through the air on bis way to a surfeited citizen, or the tiny morris-dance that springs up in the watery glimpses of the moon ;

-or keeping at home, it finds a spirit in every room peeping at it as it opens the door, while a cry is heard from up stairs announcing the azure marks inflicted by

The nips of fairies upon maids' white hips,

or hearing a snoring from below, it tiptoes down into the kitchen and beholds where

-Lies him down the lubber fiend,
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength.

Presently the whole band of fairies, ancient and modern-the dæmons, sylphs, gnomes, sprites, elves, peries, genii, and above all, the fairies of the fireside, the salamanders, lob-lye-by-the-fires, lars, lemures, and larvæ, come flitting between the fancy's eye and the dying coals, some with their weapons and lights, others with grave steadfastness on book or dish, others of the softer kind with their arch looks and their conscious pretence of attitude, while a minute music tinkles in the ear, and Oberon gives his gentle order:

Through this house in glimmering light

By the dead and crowsy fire,
Every elf and fairy sprite

Hop as light as bird from briar;
And this ditty, after me,
Sing, and dance it trippingly.

Anon, the whole is vanished, and the dreamer, turning his eye down aside, almost looks for a laughing sprite, gazing at him from a tiny chair, and mimicking his face and attitude.--Idle fari.

cies these, and incomprehensible to minds clogged with every day earthliness but not useless, either as an exercise of the inven. tion, or even as adding consciousness to the range and destiny of the soul. They will occupy us too, and steal us away from ourselves, when other recollections fail us or grow painful-when friends are found selfish, or better friends can but commiserate, or when the world has nothing in it to compare with what we have missed out of it. They may even lead us to higher and more solemn meditation, till we work up our way beyond the clinging and heavy atmosphere of this earthly sojourn, and look abroad upon the light that knows neither blemish nor bound, while our ears are saluted at that egress by the harmony of the skies, and our eyes behold the lost and congenial spirits that we have loved, hastening to welcome us with their sparkling eyes and their curls that are ripe with sunshine.

But earth recalls us again; the last flame is out ;--the fading embers tinkle with a gaping dreariness; and the chill reminds us where we should be. Another gaze on the hearth that has so cheered us, and the last, lingering action is to wind up the watch for the next day.-Upon how many anxieties shall the finger of that brief chronicler strike-and upon how many comforts too! -To-inorrow our fire shall be trimmed anew; and so, gentle reader, good night :-nay the weariness I have caused you make sleep the pleasanter!

Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull tears,
Be heard all night within, por yet without;
Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden fears,
Break gentle sleep with misconceived doubt.
Let no deluding dreams, por dreadful sights
Make sudden, sad affrights,
Ne let hob-goblins, names whose sence we see not,
Fray us with things that be pot ;
But let still silence true night-watches keep,
That sacred Peace may in assurance reigne,
Aud timely Sleep, since it is time to sleep,
May pour his limbs forth on your pleasant plaine.

SPENCER's Epithalamion. 430


[From the Gentleman's Magazine.]

The Monastery of La Trappe lies between Lulworth Castle and the sea-coast, but secured from storins, and sheltered on all sides; the building stands in a bottom; the scenery about it is enriched with plantations. Soon after the commencement of the French revolution, when the religious of all kinds were obliged to seek this country for protection, some monks of La Trappe found an asylum at Mr. Weld's; and, as they increased in number, he erected the present building (under the sanction of government) for their habitation, which may, with strict propriety, assume the name of a convent. This monastery is of a quadrangular shape, with a schilling in the inside, forming the cloisters, and the area a depository for the dead. We observed seven graves, to some of wbich were added a wooden cross, either at the head or feet: the living may be said to reside with the dead, and that they may be continually reminded of their mortal state, a grave is always left open for the reception of the next that dies. The cloisters are used for air and exercise in bad weather, having a large cistern at one end for the monks to wash. The entrance to the monastery is on the west side, near the Porter's Lodge, under a long narrow building, which serves for offices of the meaner kind. The porter who received us was dressed in the habit of a convent-brother, wearing a long brown robe of coarse cloth, and a cowl of the same colour over his head, a leathern girdle encircled his waist, from which suspended his keys; he spoke to us in a whisper, and desired us to be silent. As we passed through the first court, we fancied ourselves in former days, when the monastic orders flourished; and strange and unusual seemed the appearance of the monks, in the full habit of their order, gliding along, intent on meditation, or employed in manual labour, but not a word spoken. Froin the court we came to an entrance room, on the walls of which were seen figures of saints, a crucifix on a bleeding heart, and other objects of devotion; thence to the cloisters are several crucifixes on the walls, to excite adoration. We then entered the chapel, which is not splendid, nor highly decorated, but elegantly neat, the altar having a crucifix on its summit, with the paintings of the Virgin and Child, and of patron saints; on each side are stalls for the monks, with their naines inscribed, and in each stall a large old missal on vellum, guarded at the corners and sides, and large clasps ; a lapp barning perpetually during the presence of the Eucharist; the roodloft contains the organ. Opposite to the chapel are private oratories, embellisbed, as usual, with paintings of a religious kind, crucifixes, the Virgin and Child, and a whole length of Armand Jean Bouthillier de Rancé, who was abbot and reformer of the order. From another part of the cloisters we entered the chapter-house, whither the monks retire after their meal is over, not to beguile away their time in trifling conversation, but in reading religious books, saying vespers and other evening prayers, and in public self-accusation ; the walls of this room are covered with religious prints; and at the entrance hung up a board with pegs, on which were suspended bits of wood, inscribed with the names of all the monks that had been and are now in the convent, P. Dionysius, P. Hyacinthus, P. Julianus, P. Barnardus, P. Martinus, P. Matthæus, P. Pius, and others, to the number of eighty-six : on another board was inscribed a list of the different offices of the church for the day, and the names of such of the fathers as officiated set opposite ; below it an exhortation in Latin and French, pointing out the advantages of devotion, and the importance of self-denial. We were next shown the refectory, a very long room, containing a wooden bench, extending on each side ; upon the tables were placed a wooden trencher, bowl, and spoon, with a napkin for each monk, and the name of each inscribed over his seat; at the upper end sat the prior, distinguished from the rest of the convent only by his pagtoral staff; during the repast the lecturer delivers a discourse to the

The dormitory next attracted our notice, which extends the whole length of the building, and on each side are ranged the cells of the monks, in which they recline themselves, on wood, with one blanket and a coarse rug; a window at each end to ventilate and air the room, which is dark and gloomy; a clock is stationed at one end, near the entrance, to warn the monke of the hour of matins; and the cells ranged together on each side, like so many caves of death, must unavoidably inspire melancholy reflections. Below is the vestment-room, where the vestments of the choir-brothers are hung up, with the name of each inscribed. The domestic offices surround the monastery; and contiguous is the poultry-yard, cattle-range, and rick-yard. The ground attached to the monastery contains about one hundred acres, which is cultivated by the inonks, with the assistance of a carter and his boy. The community rise at one o'clock in the morning, winter and summer : the choir- brothers then begin their devotions, and continue in the chapel till nine o'clock, when each goes to some manual labour, in the garden, on the roads, or on the grounds, till eleven, when there is a short service, which lasts about half an hour, then to labour again, till half past one, when they return to prayers for half an hour, and are then summoned to their frugal

poor monks.

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