At length, on the ringing of _a small bell_, the solemn, distant sounds of an organ were heard (a very good barrel-organ in the nursery, that played hymn-tunes), and a curtain, slowly rising, revealed the hospice of St. Bernard!—or, at any rate, so good a transparency of it as to give a very vivid impression of the place itself. There was the old monastic pile, shut in among craggy, snow-clad rocks—the adjacent church, the _morgue_—the gloomy little lake—the tiny patches of garden, in which the monks grow a few cabbages and lettuces. To add to the illusion, a twinkling light was seen in one of the distant windows; a dog’s short, sharp bark was heard afar off, and the tones of the organ conveyed the impression of a midnight mass. It was very impressively, capitally got up; and at small amount, as we afterwards learnt, of trouble and cost. Ingenuity had been the prime artificer; and Mr. Pevensey was much pleased at the cleverness with which Arbell had seconded him. Altogether, the entertainment was well thought of, and gave unmingled satisfaction. * * * * * ——I have come to the last page of my little note-book. Oh that the last page of my life’s story may end as happily! THE END. FOOTNOTES [1] Ecclesiasticus xix. 1. [2] These hymns have been inserted by the kind permission of the publisher of “The Invalid’s Hymn-book.” [3] These golden words were once spoken by a wiser tongue than Mrs. Cheerlove’s. [4] Jane Taylor. [5] Isaiah xlvi. 1. [6] The Rev. F. Close’s Sermon, addressed to the Female Chartists. J. S. VIRTUE, PRINTER, CITY ROAD, LONDON. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Day of Small Things, by Anne Manning