Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1875-04-02

Ou hhNb ht ohlu warmly
"a mind is the luxury of life, to others a'
well as to yourself. | should prefer youi
companionship TO that of the canons who
lnhabit this comfortable close. They read
Greek and drink port but mind, sir, mind
is the thing"
Could doubt him 10 be man ur obser.
vation?
"How domestic this seems T. continued
my friend, az we stood at the entrance to
the cloisters. 1--WE can hardly imagine
that the home-loving clergy who live in
these nests of repose are successors of the
men who prayed half the night for the
souls OF the living and the dead. Times
change, like the cities. Since tho night
when, as the legeud assures us, the fisher
men, fishing in the Thames, caught sight
of ST. Peter and his companions, and fer
ried them across the river to consecrate the
abbey-which then was but partially built
London is not more changed in charac-
ter and area than her people in faith and
habit"
This was really too much for cold ar-
ternoon. But before had time to suggest
our return my friend proceeded to rave.
"Do you know" the had a constant habit
of saying "Do you KNOW" as though he
would convey real sysmpathy and an in
telligent apprehension Of me,) "wheuever
come bere l always regret that did not
live and die monk. MY father was Il
! clergyman Of the church OF England. He
was rector of Breadstone in Suffolk, aud
he wrote the lives OF some saints, which
used to read when boy. always believ-
! ed that to be n monk was the most thought
ful and philosophical life; but 1 was mar
rled when was only 10; so you see was
| born to be a Benedict"
! Like a good many Others" / replied,
"who are monks in theory or sentiment,
you were eminently connubal in fact.
Celibaay Is charming abstraction, but 1t
not unfrequently ends in twins"
"Ah, true" he continued. "Mv brother
wrote book on the blessings OF celibacy,
but his wife was the prettiest woman to be
found in :he county OF Dorset"
And then We stood still in the coister.
| Nor can tell why did not move away.
scarcely know what it was that aroused
nv suspicious in this very remarkable
man. lie was gentleman, and evidently
| educated; hut there was something unnat-
ural about him. / defy man to act for
three-quarters Of an hour without doing
something that Is odd. He will stand still,
| or be will move, when he should do lust
the contrary, and he VIII speak his words
| without soul. A contrast that strnck ME
In this man was the finish and ardor of his
language with a coldness of eve and tone.
man who is an enthusiast will throw
about his limbs, and feeling will CLEAN
from his face but this man spoke always
by rOte, like an actor who has got up a
part.
| was about 10 insist on departure, when
there passed us, very hastily indeed, a
stranger dressed apparently in black. What
struck me about him was the singular fact
that could wee him but could not hear any
sound. lie must have worn fantastically
thin boots; or perhaps he wore slippers
which would he little unusual on cold
afternoon in December. Any way, he was
totally inaudible, and, gliding like a vision,
he paused under an archway in the direc-
tion of Little Deans yard.
| fflend.
He looked a little disturbed; then he
said hurriedly, and with obvious effort:
"No-what man? / was thinking at the
Instant Of this Interesting passage, which
led to Little Deans yard. 1t was one oi
the oldest bits of the abbey. 1t has OF
course been spoiled by modernism white.
washed, like the cathedral plety hut you
cannot etiace the real. Do you know, be.
lleve If you coRld detach the beauties ol
London from the mass of modernism and
money, and place them in one spot by
themselves, you would make resort com.
pared 10 which Rome would be u dusibin
and Athens Ramsgate and Margate."
thought this absurd, but did not "a
80. Ny friend was obviously mad. But
then his white halr-his very white hair
seemed to give him excuse for being ex
ceptional, since age has the right to be dog
matte with youth, and was but a you'll
in his presence.
| We were now in the passage which my
friend had panegyrized as one of the mos
ancient OF the abbey. Ancient or not, /
was certainly very dark, and | coult
scarcely see where l was going. Hardly
conscious Of what was doing, or why
should feel very anxious, | looked over III,
shoulder behinG me. l perceived in th,
darkness that same strange figure whicl
had passed rs three minutes before. No
sound-not mutiied one the humal
being alone-its form its very dark form
|
Now here | might descend from thes,
very lofty flights of aesthetic disquisitiol
and lore, with which my friend had in
structed me, and tell plainly exactly wha
happened. am not going to do anything
of the kind. II the reader wishes TO en-
Joy an account of a robbery, of "garrotinl
with violence in London" he has only I,
take In copies of Reynolds Sunday
newspaper and he will be able TO satisf,
his yearnings. | was garroted but sine
the sensation was quite enough for myself
and l have no wish to live il over again
the reader will be - kind as to supply hi
imagination with whatever particulars h
pleases. lost my bank notes. neve
recovered them. But let that fact sufic
as to detail. | hate garrotlng, both th
reading OF 1t aud the suffering 1t myself
and shalInot allude further to the sub
ject.
SO soon as | recovered passed throug
Deans yard and made for the cloisters.
hailed a policeman and Informed him O
my wrongs. He stationed himself jus
outside the gate. and we two waited for fu
ture results.
We stood perhaps five minutes nobod
: passed. But Just as | was despairlng G