At length, after sufferings of eighteen months, the trial passed. Gifts poured in from every side; the crops were reaped, and from the completed convent arose the voice of grateful psalmody.

Bounded by two wooded the east, the valley ran The sun shone on it all

Then followed days of peace. hills, which sloped gently towards into a narrow gorge at the west. day, and at evening sank to rest behind the forest. The clang of diligent labour, mingled with choral chants and the sound of church-bells, only broke the calm to consecrate it. One, who visited the place during Bernard's life, declared, "the solemn stillness so awed us, that we forebore to speak on any but sacred subjects as long as we were within the precincts of the valley."

Nothing can be more striking than the contrast between the effect of monastic ideas on Hildebrand and on Bernard. Gregory's world is peopled with ideas, and their incarnations in laymen and monks; Bernard's with men and his brethren. His monasticism is paradoxically social. Monasteries are for him, not so much islands of sanctity in the sea of corruption, as companies of Christian men, uniting in affectionate relationship to serve God ;-not so much segregations as congregations. His first impulse, on receiving the assurance of the love of God, is to communicate it; and it is characteristic that his first converts are among his own family. He commences his life of seclusion with a society of thirty personal friends. His family circle is reunited in the cloister. His father dies in his arms. His brother Gerard is his dearest friend. The abbot of a rival monastery declares that he "would rather pass his life with Bernard than enjoy all the kingdoms of the world;” and an Archbishop of Treves journeys to Rome to entreat the Pope to relieve him from his charge, that he might spend the rest of his days at Clairvaux. Constantly do we hear of his

THE DEATH OF GERARD.

181

"angelic countenance," and of the "benevolent smile" which habitually lit up his attenuated features. His monks loved him as their father; and years of separation, and the dignity of the Papal crown which one of them (Eugenius) attained, could not dissolve the tie. Surely, to have been so much loved, he must have loved much.

It has been said that men of genius have always something feminine in their nature, and this seems to have been the case with Bernard. Gregory VII. might have sprung from Jove's forehead ;-in every line of Bernard's history we read that he was "born of woman." His love for his brother Gerard was almost motherly. Gerard became ill. During his illness the abbot wept, and watched, and supplicated his restoration. But Gerard died. Bernard folded up his grief in resolute resignation, and saw his brother buried without a tear. His monks wondered at his firmness, for hitherto, at the death of any of the brotherhood, his heart had overflowed in sorrow. He ascended the pulpit, and repeating the text, endeavoured calmly to continue his exposition of the Canticles, but recollections rushed thick on his mind and overpowered him. His voice was lost in sobs, and for some minutes he was unable to proceed. Then, recovering a little, and feeling the hopelessness of further restraint, he poured out his grief "before his children," and in the most touching words entreated their sympathy.

"Who," he said, "could ever have loved me as he did? He was a brother by blood, but far more by religion. . . Thou art in the everlasting presence of the Lord Jesus and hast angels for thy companions; but what have I to fill up the void thou hast left? Fain would I know thy feelings towards me, my brother, my beloved, if, indeed, it is permitted to one bathing in the floods of divine radiance to call to mind our misery, to be occupied with our grief. Yet God is love; and the more closely a soul is united to God the

His nature is to have

mercy and to forgive. Thou must needs then be merciful, since thou art joined to Him who showeth mercy; and thy affection, though transformed, is nowise diminished. Thou hast laid aside thine infirmities but not thy love, for 'love abideth;' and throughout eternity thou wilt not forget me.'. . . . . God grant, Gerard, that I may have not lost thee; but that thou hast preceded me, and I may be with thee where thou art. For of a surety thou hast rejoined those whom in thy last night below thou didst invite to praise God, when suddenly, to the great surprise of all, thou, with a serene countenance and a cheerful voice, didst commence chanting, 'Praise ye the Lord, from the heavens.' 'Praise Him, all His angels.' At that moment, O my brother, the day had dawned on thee; though it was night to us, the night to thee was all brightness. . . . . Just as I reached his side, I heard him utter aloud those words of Christ, Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.' Then, repeating the verse over again, and resting on the word 'Father,'' Father,' he turned to me, and smiling, said, 'Oh, how gracious of God to be the Father of men; and what an honour for men to be His children;' and then, very distinctly, if children, then heirs.' And so he died, and so dying he well-nigh changed my grief into rejoicing, so completely did the sight of his happiness overpower the recollection of my own misery."

Was there ever a funeral sermon which came so fresh from the very fountains of tenderness, or which goes so direct to the heart? To the man who uttered it Christianity could never become stoicism, or monasticism itself other than a bond of brotherhood, giving new ties of kindred, whilst the old ones continued undissolved.

(To be continued.)

E. C.

CLOUDS.

"He spake to them out of the cloud."- Psalm.

"The invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made."-Paul to the Romans.

DENSE are the Clouds that veil the face of heaven;

Deep is the Gloom that darkens air and sky;
And the thick rain, in blackening tempest driven,
Recalls earth's first expiatory cry,

When, by o'erwhelming deluge well-nigh riven,
Nature acknowledged its mortality.

Sad is the Soul-by gloom of spirit clouded;
Heavy the Heart-oppressed by earthy care;
And the mind's clearer reason overshrouded,
Sees only storm and tempest everywhere;

And owns, with doubts, fears, faintings, tremblings crowded,
Strength but to question,-life but to despair.

Faithless! why soul-sad? see the world around. It
Is not less gloomy than thy world unseen;

And yet the same bright heavens for ever bound it,
Though hidden for a time by clouds between;
'Tis its own earth-born vapours that surround it,
All else is clear as it hath ever been.

Be not faint-hearted, weak one, and repining,
Canst thou believe in nothing but in sight?
Look up! ! behind those clouds the sun is shining,
As it shines ever, genial and bright,
Although unseen. Be patient, fear resigning,
Till thy own clouds disperse in purer light.

ALFRED A. WATTS.

MY BROTHER'S KEEPER.

CHAPTER XI.

She doeth little kindnesses,

Which most leave undone, or despise ;
For nought that sets one heart at ease,
And giveth happiness or peace,

Is low-esteemèd in her eyes.-Lowell.

FULLY determined that if her brother had any cause of complaint against her it should not go unatoned for, Rosalie's first desire the next morning was to see him.

If he only knew !—she thought.

But he did not know--he could not guess that of all the cares upon her heart his welfare was the chiefest,-that for his sake she would have gone through any possible difficulty or danger. Sometimes she half thought he did know it,that her love was appreciated if not quite returned; and sometimes she did not know what to think.

In this mood she got up as early as the tardy daylight would permit, and dressing herself softly that she might not wake Hulda, stood leaning against the door-post with clasped hands and a very grave, quiet face, waiting to hear him go down. She was not sure but this was one of his mornings for an early drill. The step came at last, and no sooner had it fairly past her door than her light foot followed. Down the stairs and into the breakfast-room-but he was not there. Had she mistaken another step for his? He came behind her at the moment, and with his lips upon her forehead inquired, 'What in the world she was after, at that time in the morning?'