or　〃old　world。〃　　No　such　weary　adjectives　are　spoken　here；　unless　it
  be　by　the　excursionists。
  With　large　aprons　tied　over　their　brown　habits；　the　Lay　Brothers
  work　upon　their　land；　planting　parsnips　in　rows；　or　tending　a
  prosperous　bee…farm。　　A　young　friar；　who　sang　the　High　Mass
  yesterday；　is　gaily　hanging　the　washed　linen　in　the　sun。　　A　printing
  press；　and　a　machine　which　slices　turnips；　are　at　work　in　an
  outhouse；　and　the　yard　thereby　is　guarded　by　a　St　Bernard；　whose
  single　evil　deed　was　that　under　one　of　the　obscure　impulses　of　a
  dog's　heart　…atoned　for　by　long　and　self…conscious　remorse　…　he　bit
  the　poet；　and　tried；　says　one　of　the　friars；　to　make　doggerel　of
  him。　　The　poet；　too；　lives　at　the　monastery　gates；　and　on　monastery
  ground；　in　a　seclusion　which　the　tidings　of　the　sequence　of　his
  editions　hardly　reaches。　　There　is　no　disturbing　renown　to　be　got
  among　the　cabins　of　the　Flintshire　hills。　　Homeward；　over　the　verge；
  from　other　valleys；　his　light　figure　flits　at　nightfall；　like　a
  moth。
  To　the　coming　and　going　of　the　friars；　too；　the　village　people　have
  become　well　used；　and　the　infrequent　excursionists；　for　lack　of
  intelligence　and　of　any　knowledge　that　would　refer　to　history；　look
  at　them　without　obtrusive　curiosity。　　It　was　only　from　a　Salvation
  Army　girl　that　you　heard　the　brutal　word　of　contempt。　　She　had　come
  to　the　place　with　some　companions；　and　with　them　was　trespassing；　as
  she　was　welcome　to　do；　within　the　monastery　grounds。　　She　stood；　a
  figure　for　Bournemouth　pier；　in　her　grotesque　bonnet；　and　watched
  the　son　of　the　Umbrian　saint　…　the　friar　who　walks　among　the　Giotto
  frescoes　at　Assisi　and　between　the　cypresses　of　Bello　Sguardo；　and
  has　paced　the　centuries　continually　since　the　coming　of　the　friars。
  One　might　have　asked　of　her　the　kindness　of　a　fellow…feeling。　　She
  and　he　alike　were　so　habited　as　to　show　the　world　that　their　life
  was　aloof　from　its　〃idle　business。〃　　By　some　such　phrase；　at　least；
  the　friar　would　assuredly　have　attempted　to　include　her　in　any
  spiritual　honours　ascribed　to　him。　　Or　one　might　have　asked　of　her
  the　condescension　of　forbearance。　　〃Only　fancy；〃　said　the　Salvation
  Army　girl；　watching　the　friar　out　of　sight；　〃only　fancy　making　such
  a　fool　of　one's　self！〃
  The　great　hood　of　the　friars；　which　is　drawn　over　the　head　in
  Zurbaran's　ecstatic　picture；　is　turned　to　use　when　the　friars　are
  busy。　　As　a　pocket　it　relieves　the　over…burdened　hands。　　A　bottle　of
  the　local　white　wine　made　by　the　brotherhood　at　Genoa；　and　sent　to
  this　house　by　the　West；　is　carried　in　the　cowl　as　a　present　to　the
  stranger　at　the　gates。　　The　friars　tell　how　a　brother　resolved；　at
  Shrovetide；　to　make　pancakes；　and　not　only　to　make；　but　also　to　toss
  them。　　Those　who　chanced　to　be　in　the　room　stood　prudently　aside；
  and　the　brother　tossed　boldly。　　But　that　was　the　last　that　was　seen
  of　his　handiwork。　　Victor　Hugo　sings　in　La　Legende　des　Siecles　of
  disappearance　as　the　thing　which　no　creature　is　able　to　achieve：
  here　the　impossibility　seemed　to　be　accomplished　by　quite　an
  ordinary　and　a　simple　pancake。　　It　was　clean　gone；　and　there　was　an
  end　of　it。　　Nor　could　any　explanation　of　this　ceasing　of　a　pancake
  from　the　midst　of　the　visible　world　be　so　much　as　divined　by　the
  spectators。　　It　was　only　when　the　brother；　in　church；　knelt　down　to
  meditate　and　drew　his　cowl　about　his　head　that　the　accident　was
  explained。
  Every　midnight　the　sweet　contralto　bells　call　the　community；　who　get
  up　gaily　to　this　difficult　service。　　Of　all　duties　this　one　never
  grows　easy　or　familiar；　and　therefore　never　habitual。　　It　is
  something　to　have　found　but　one　act　aloof　from　habit。　　It　is　not
  merely　that　the　friars　overcome　the　habit　of　sleep。　　The　subtler
  point　is　that　they　can　never　acquire　the　habit　of　sacrificing　sleep。
  What　art；　what　literature；　or　what　life　but　would　gain　a　secret
  security　by　such　a　point　of　perpetual　freshness　and　perpetual
  initiative？　　It　is　not　possible　to　get　up　at　midnight　without　a　will
  that　is　new　night　by　night。　　So　should　the　writer's　work　be　done；
  and；　with　an　intention　perpetually　unique；　the　poet's。
  The　contralto　bells　have　taught　these　Western　hills　the　〃Angelus〃　of
  the　French　fields；　and　the　hour　of　night　…　l'ora　di　notte　…　which
  rings　with　so　melancholy　a　note　from　the　village　belfries　on　the
  Adriatic　littoral；　when　the　latest　light　is　passing。　　It　is　the
  prayer　for　the　dead：　〃Out　of　the　depths　have　I　cried　unto　Thee；　O
  Lord。〃
  The　little　flocks　of　novices；　on　paschal　evenings；　are　folded　to　the
  sound　of　that　evening　prayer。　　The　care　of　them　is　the　central　work
  of　the　monastery；　which　is　placed　in　so　remote　a　country　because　it
  is　principally　a　place　of　studies。　　So　much　elect　intellect　and
  strength　of　heart　withdrawn　from　the　traffic　of　the　world！　　True；
  the　friars　are　not　doing　the　task　which　Carlyle　set　mankind　as　a
  refuge　from　despair。　　These　〃bearded　counsellors　of　God〃　keep　their
  cells；　read；　study；　suffer；　sing；　hold　silence；　whereas　they　might
  be　〃operating〃　…　beautiful　word！　…　upon　the　Stock　Exchange；　or
  painting　Academy　pictures；　or　making　speeches；　or　reluctantly
  jostling　other　men　for　places。　　They　might　be　among　the　involuntary
  busybodies　who　are　living　by　futile　tasks　the　need　whereof　is　a
  discouraged　fiction。　　There　is　absolutely　no　limit　to　the
  superfluous　activities；　to　the　art；　to　the　literature；　implicitly
  renounced　by　the　dwellers　within　such　walls　as　these。　　The　output　…
  again　a　beautiful　word　…　of　the　age　is　lessened　by　this　abstention。
  None　the　less　hopes　the　stranger　and　pilgrim　to　pause　and　knock　once
  again　upon　those　monastery　gates。
  RUSHES　AND　REEDS
  Taller　than　the　grass　and　lower　than　the　trees；　there　is　another
  growth　that　feels　the　implicit　spring。　　It　had　been　more　abandoned
  to　winter　than　even　the　short　grass　shuddering　under　a　wave　of　east
  wind；　more　than　the　dumb　trees。　　For　the　multitudes　of　sedges；
  rushes；　canes；　and　reeds　were　the　appropriate　lyre　of　the　cold。　　On
  them　the　nimble　winds　played　their　dry　music。　　They　were　part　of　the
  winter。　　It　looked　through　them　and　spoke　through　them。　　They　were
  spears　and　javelins　in　array　to　the　sound　of　the　drums　of　the　north。
  The　winter　takes　fuller　possession　of　these　things　than　of　those
  that　stand　solid。　　The　sedges　whistle　his　tune。　　They　let　the　colour
  of　his　light　look　through　…　low…flying　arrows　and　bright　bayonets　of
  winter　day。
  The　multitudes　of　all　reeds　and　rushes　grow　out　of　bounds。　　They
  belong　to　the　margins　of　lands；　the　space　between　the　farms　and　the
  river；　beyond　the　pastures；　and　where　the　marsh　in　flower　becomes
  perilous　footing　for　the　cattle。　　They　are　the　fringe　of　the　low
  lands；　the　sign　of　streams。　　They　grow　tall　between　you　and　the　near
  horizon　of　flat　lands。　　They　etch　their　sharp　lines　upon　the　sky；
  and　near　them　grow　flowers　of　stature；　including　the　lofty　yellow
  lily。
  Our　green　country　is　the　better　for　the　grey；　soft；　cloudy　darkness
  of　the　sedge；　and　our　full　landscape　is　the　better　for　the
  distinction　of　its　points；　its　needles；　and　its　resolute　right
  lines。
  Ours　is　a　summer　full　of　voices；　and　therefore　it　does　not　so　need
  the　sound　of　rushes；　but　they　are　most　sensitive　to　the　stealthy
  breezes；　and　betray　the　passing　of　a　wind　that　even　the　tree…tops
  knew　not　of。　　Sometimes　it　is　a　breeze　unfelt；　but　the　stiff　sedges
  whisper　it　along　a　mile　of　marsh。　　To　the　strong　wind　they　bend；
  showing　the　silver　of　their　sombre　little　tassels　as　fish　show　the
  silver　of　their　sides　turning　in　the　pathless　sea。　　They　are
  unanimous。　　A　field　of　tall　flowers　tosses　many　ways　in　one　warm
  gale；　like　the　many　lovers　of　a　poet　who　have　a　thousand　reasons　for
  their　love；　but　the　rushes；　more　strongly　tethered；　are　swept　into　a
  single　attitude；　again　and　again；　at　every　renewal　of　the　storm。
  Between　the　pasture　and　the　wave；　the　many　miles　of　rushes　and　reeds
  in　England　seem　to　escape　that　insistent　ownership　which　has　so
  changed　（except　for　a　few　forests　and　downs）　the　aspect　of　England；
  and　has　in　fact　made　the　landscape。　　Cultivation　makes　the　landscape
  elsewhere；　rather　than　ownership；　for　the　boundaries　in　the　south
  are　not　conspicuous；　but　here　it　is　ownership。　　But　the　rushes　are　a
  gipsy　people；　amongst　us；　yet　out　of　reach。　　The　landowner；　if　he　is
  rather　a　gross　man；　believes　these　races　of　reeds　are　his。　　But　if
  he　is　a　man　of　sensibility；　depend　upon　it　he　has　his　interior
  doubts。　　His　property；　he　says；　goes　right　down　to　the　centre　of　the
  earth；　in　the　shape　of　a　wedge；　how　high　up　it　goes　into　the　air　it
  would　be　difficult　to　say；　and　obviously　the　shape　of　the　wedge　must
  be　continued　in　the　direction　of　increase。　　We　may　therefore
  proclaim　his　right　to　the　clouds　and　their　cargo。　　It　is　true　that
  as　his　ground　game　is　apt　to　go　upon　his　neighbour's　land　to　be
  shot；　so　the　clouds　may　now　and　then　spend　his　showers　elsewhere。
  But　the　grea