“I will conclude this morning’s entertainment with a few lines by the princess Amelia, whom I mentioned to you in my notice of our late excellent monarch.” ‘Unthinking, idle, wild, and young, I laugh’d, and talk’d, and danc’d, and sung; And, proud of health, of freedom vain, Dreamt not of sickness, care, and pain; Concluding, in these hours of glee, That all the world was made for me. ‘But when the days of trouble came; When sickness shook this trembling frame; When pleasure’s gay pursuits were o’er, And I could dance and sing no more; It then occurr’d, how sad ’twould would be, Were this world _only_ made for me.’ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAP. X. ---------- “PRAY, Sir,” said Susan, “what place does this gloomy picture describe?” “It is a drawing of the monastery of La Trappe,” answered Mr. Wilmot; “remarkable for the austerity of its monks, and celebrated, in ancient times, as the residence of the learned but licentious Abelard; and, in more modern, by the singular reformation and self-devotedness of Monsieur de Rancé. “I will give you an account of it, as described by a gentleman who visited it in 1819. “The situation of this monastery was well adapted to the founder’s views, and to suggest the name it originally received of La Trappe, from the intricacy of the road which descends to it, and the difficulty of access and egress, which exists, even to this day, though the woods have been very much thinned since the French revolution. Perhaps there never was any thing in the whole universe better calculated to inspire religious awe, than the first view of this monastery: it was imposing even to breathlessness. “The total solitude, the undisturbed and chilling silence, which seem to have ever slept over the dark and ancient woods; the still lakes, reflecting the deep solemnity of the objects around them;—all impress a peaceful image of utter seclusion and hopeless separation from living man; and appear formed at once to court and gratify the sternest austerities of devotion—to humour the wildest fancies, and promote the gloomiest schemes of penance and privation. “In ascending the steep and intricate path, the traveller frequently loses sight of the abbey until he has actually reached the bottom; then, emerging from the wood, the following inscription is seen, carved on a wooden cross: ‘C’est ici que la mort et que la verité Elevent leurs flambeaux terribles; C’est de cette demeure, au monde inaccessible, Que l’on passe à l’éternité.’