Part 11

The Swiss tour affords inexhaustible subjects of interest and entertainment. Sometimes Arbell tells what profound astonishment her tooth-brush excited among the country girls; at other times, they speak of the wonders of Mont Blanc, and Monte Rosa; and describe their arrival at the hospice of the Great St. Bernard—the hospitable reception of the good monks—their cheerful chat round the fire after supper—their attendance at morning prayers, before dawn, in the chapel—and afterwards witnessing the substantial breakfast given to the peasants who had received a night’s shelter, before they descended the pass.

Sometimes Mr. Pevensey comes in while they are thus talking, and exclaims—

“What! still among the mountains? Mrs. Cheerlove must be quite bored!”

“Oh no!” they boldly reply, “she is such a good sympathizer!”

Then he, his sister, and Arbell, go down to their two hours’ dinner, which I privately think it a privilege to escape. Mrs. Pevensey and I have ice, fruit, cakes, and coffee. And then I see her no more, for Mr. Pevensey spends the rest of the evening with her; and I say good-night, and retreat to my own room, though not always to bed, if I have an interesting book.

Though Mrs. Pevensey is not well enough to receive visitors (except such a quiet one as myself), it has been very interesting to witness the benefactions to the poor, the Christmas-tree loaded with presents for the children and servants, the school-children’s treat, the servants’ feast, &c., which ushered in Christmas in this hospitable house. In connection with these, something very mysterious was to take place on Christmas Eve, in the largest drawing-room, which was known only to Mr. Pevensey, Arbell, and a few assistants. Great expectations were raised, and most absurd guesses made, as to what could be going on,—much peeping, prying, and tittering outside the carefully-locked door, and many conjectures hazarded on the occupations of those who passed in and out. A good deal of hammering added excitement to the scene; and Mrs. Pevensey said, with some anxiety, she hoped they were not hurting the new white and gold paper; a tinkling bell was also heard.

At length, the longed-for hour arrived; the school-children had had their prizes and buns, the servants’ friends had had tea and plum-cake, the Christmas-tree had displayed its glories, when, at the eventful hour of eight, the public were admitted, and Mrs. Pevensey was carried into the drawing-room. All were surprised, and rather disappointed, to find it so dark; and when Arbell had marshalled every one to their places, it became darkness itself, for every light was extinguished. A laugh, a whispered remark, alone broke the silence, though all the household were present, and the general feeling was of awe.

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.