CONVENT OF THE VALLOMBROSA.

91

walls a little brotherhood of devotees might hope, by their strict observance of the external rites of worship, and by self-imposed personal sufferings, to win the favour of Him who "delighteth in mercy." Here, therefore,

"Mid frowning hills crown'd by eternal snows,"

he founded the convent which has since become so famous. Forsyth, and other modern travellers, have given accounts of their reception at Vallombrosa, and of the kindness and hospitality which they received from its inmates. During the summer months, troops of strangers, attracted by the striking character of the scenery around it, flock to visit this ancient convent; and in winter, the indigent peasantry of the district expect and receive from the monks their daily sustenance.

Who must not regret, that the fetters of Romish superstition should render heavy a yoke which the Divine Founder of Christianity declared to be easy, and its burden to be light?

Sweet Vallombrosa! I have seen

Thee in thy solitude;

These feet have trod thine emerald turf,

With brightest blossoms strew'd;

While far off roll'd the shining sea,

Its blue waves rippling silently.

E'en now, thy gray old convent walls

To my mind's eye arise,

From out the lonely, dark pine wood,
Beneath Etruscan skies;

Those hoary towers, in days of yore,
How oft they braved the tempest's roar!

And now the lustrous moonlight shines,
I hear the vesper hymn,

Waking the echoes of the aisles,

And forest arches dim;

Ah! moons have wax'd and waned again,
Yet still the night-breeze bears that strain!

Now mem'ry's waking dream is o'er,

Sweet, peaceful spot, farewell!

Oft do I think on thy still woods,

Oft list thine evening bell.

When shall that TRUTH which makes men free,

Sweet Vallombrosa, sound for thee?

Ir is an established old English axiom, that "a kind action never loses its reward." Every reader will recollect so many exemplifications of this proverb, that it may seem superfluous that we should add another to the number; however, as the annexed plate has been chosen for publication in "The People's Gallery of Engravings," it may not be amiss to accompany it by a new illustration of the oft-repeated maxim.

It was early in the present century, and of course during the war which then existed between England and France, that the son of an English nobleman, having been taken prisoner, and retained several years in captivity, at last succeeded in making his escape. His little stock of money was soon exhausted, and he did not dare to solicit aid, lest his English accent should betray him. He had travelled for nearly a fortnight, alone, in poverty, on foot, and with a constitution enervated by long and close confinement; and at length, his strength failing, this unfortunate child of nobility, who had been reared amid every comfort and luxury, found himself totally unable to proceed further on his toilsome and dangerous journey. Early one morning, he quitted an outhouse, in which he had found shelter during the night; but in passing through a retired street in the town of Auxerre, he became so utterly exhausted, as to be compelled to rest upon the steps of a dwelling-house, whose inmates did not appear to be as yet astir. A young French lady, however, inhabiting the sombre-looking mansion, had risen betimes, with the intention of taking an early walk. On opening the door of the house, attended by her mother's confidential servant, she discovered the wandering exile, reduced by hunger and fatigue to a state of complete insensibility. The kind and lovely Mélanie instantly hastened to procure refreshment, and desisted not from her benevolent efforts, till they had proved successful for the poor pilgrim's restoration to consciousness. Although it was of course highly dangerous to shelter an escaped English prisoner, Mélanie and her mother were not to be deterred from an act of Christian charity. They nursed the sufferer, fed him, supplied him with sufficient money to prosecute his journey, and finally aided him in a plan for embarkation. With a grateful heart, the youth left their hospitable roof; and, in due time, was restored to his sorrowing parents, who had long mourned him as dead.

Three years passed away. Mélanie lost her fortune, and a much greater misfortunelost the excellent mother, who was her only surviving parent. Peace with England was ratified; and in the family of a gentleman who resided in London, she found a home as governess to his three daughters. Her situation was arduous; her pupils were indolent; and her employers cold-hearted and haughty: so that within a few months, the gay and happy Mélanie could scarcely be recognized in the pensive but elegant French governess of Portman Square.