The Butte inter mountain. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1901-1912, 1901-11-08
LEGEND OF ANCIENT RUINS
Last Of the Monks Gathered to His
Fathers in a Manner That Is
Weirdly Solemn and
Beautiful.

Far to the south of one Of the great
peaks OF the southern range of the
rockies stands today the ruined pile of
monastery of Monterey.
1t was originally founded by band Of
"a monks, who three centuries ago ira
versed what are now the Gulf States in
search of a suitable place in which to
worship.
Such site they found in this land Of
the eternal sun AMI flowers. BY means
of trunks of trees and soft mud they
succeeded in erecting a massive building
that withstood the ravages of time long
after the last Of the band had passed
away, many Of whom persisted in fruit
less efforts to civilize and spiritually
recreate the unnumbered hordes of saw
ages that frequently camped in the
neighborhood.
Monks Pass Away.
One by one. however, as the years
rolled by, the members of the order died.
The shuffling of sandaled feet upon the
floor grew less and less.
halls with noble chants were weakened
by the dying away of numbers; and the
voices of those, who, through the lapse of
years, still survived, cracked and broke
Woefully.
Finally but two remained, Father
Minovetti, and the bell ringer, Giovanni
Cintello. Yet the services never ceased.
At vespers, when at the close of day
the mournful notes of the stationed bell
rang out upon the still autumn air, the
two brothers. now bent and gray with
age, mingled their voices in chant as in
long ago, the father informing the SER
vices as formerly.
At last Father Minovetti, too, sue
cumbed to his great age. Giovanni
watched beside his bedside until the last
spark of life had fled, then in huge, un-
couth box, made of split logs, and with
a similar slab for headstone, he laid
him away silently and tearfully among
the others in the little plot at the rear of
the chapel.
Only One Remained.
There was now no one left but Clio
vanni. YEARLY he gathered up his well
worn spade, and leaning upon its arm
let his gaze lnger far away. where the
.whitened peaks of the ridge shifted from
. OF the summer sun.
GaZed to where, at the foot of the
hills. the mists at the edge of the wood
appeared like wraiths of the departed
spirits of the mountains.
Giovanni had always loved to stand in
this hallowed spot, amid the low rust
ling of the evergreen trees, and let his
mind fly away to the city of Florence
that hallowed city of Italian art-and
there let it rest at the gate that led to
a little vine-covered cottage.
Here, when the heart was young, he
would sit in the twilight, just sucn a
twilight as this he remembered, and
twirl his hat foolishly, while he chatted
gayly of the doings of the great noble
men on the top of the hill.
He was young, of course, and, he ad-
mitted. quite foolish. but then, why
should La Belle-but why should he think
of it at all, he asked himself. Surely his
dotage was upon him; his loneliness was
fast expressing him.
Surveys the Crumbling Chapel.
He turned and surveyed the now
crumbling chapel in which SO many days
of his arduOus life had been expended.
The rough hewn roof was now deep en-
crusted with layer Of green moss. Near
the gable end the belfry stood out IN the
garish light stark and grim.
Close beside the door was the window
from which the father, but few brief
days before had TESTED with him about
his little garden patch, which for so
long had been the object of his solicit
tude. Well, it was he that would go
next; he wondered how long it would be.
Slowly, dragging his spade beside
him, he entered the door Of the monastery
and closed it behind him. How lonely it
seemed. He could barely bring himself
to look over at the bed from which but
an hour before he had carried to it's last
resting place all that remained OF his
superior. p.
! The thought occurred to him that it