Three hours had been employed in suffering the horses to take their own course, during the last of which neither of us had spoken much, when my companion suddenly exclaimed, “We are stopped; here is a gate!” and sure enough the gate, with large wide folding compartments and a mud fence--as far as the darkness would allow our sight to extend--was distinctly visible, though no habitation nor the trace of human being could be seen. Immediately alighting and securing our horses to the gate-posts, we cautiously reconnoitred; but all ingress by that way appeared impossible, without climbing over. To propose and to perform were synonymous, and in a few minutes we were safely landed within the walls. Following the track of a narrow path for about a quarter of a mile, our progress was arrested by hearing the strains of music, and shortly afterwards a female voice, of exquisite tone, commenced the evening hymn to the Virgin. Sailors are naturally superstitious, and at this moment, yielding to the romantic fervour of my disposition, all seemed enchantment. Never, perhaps, was there a voice more harmonious, or more calculated to work upon the softer emotions of the soul. There was no laboured execution--all was pure nature, offering up its sacrifice of heartfelt devotion. The sounds ceased. “Surely,” said I to my companion, “those are the sweetest notes that could ever charm the coldest nature.”--“Truly,” replied he; “for now we shall get something to eat, at all events!” This answer called me from my _heroics_, and we proceeded onwards. Not a light was to be seen--not the least vestige of a house in view; yet we followed the path till a low, but extensive range of buildings displayed itself. It was on one floor, and on turning the corner, a sudden blaze of light burst upon us.