sighed, as he left it, "here, as elsewhere, she alone can give us life; let me fly rather to some desert spot till she returns. I shall less sadly feel her absence, where naught is near me that resembles pleasure." BOOK X. PASSION WEEK. CHAPTER I. Oswald passed next day in the gardens of the monasteries; going first to that of the Carthusians, and paused, ere he entered, to examine two Egyptian lions at a little distance from its gate. There is something in their physiognomy belonging neither to animals nor to man: it is as if two heathen gods had been represented in this shape. Chartreux is built on the ruins of Diocletian's baths; and its church is adorned by the granite pillars which were found there. The monks show this place with much zeal: they belong to the world but by their interest in its ruins. Their way of life presupposes either very limited minds or the most exalted piety. The monotony of their routine recalls that celebrated line-- "Time o'er wrecked worlds sleeps motionless." Their life seems but to be employed in contemplating death. Quickness of thought, in so uniform an existence, would be the crudest of tortures. In the midst of the cloister stand two cypresses, whose heavy blackness the wind can scarcely stir. Near them is an almost unheard fountain, slow and chary;---fit hour-glass for a seclusion in which time glides so noiselessly. Sometimes the moon's pale glimmer penetrates these shades--its absence or return forming quite an event; and yet these monks might have found all the activity of war insufficient for their spirits, had they been used to it. What an inexhaustible field for conjecture we find in the combinations of human destiny! What habits are thrust on us by chance, forming each individual's world and history. To know another perfectly, would cost the study of a life. What, then, is meant by knowledge of mankind? Governed they may be by each other, but understood by God alone.