We reached the Hospice about an hour after dark, somewhat stiff, and very wet from the rain and snow that commenced falling as we entered the region of clouds.  We had passed unpleasantly near some very considerable precipices, and though unable to distinguish the ground below, knew they were deep enough to occasion us decided ‘inconvenience’ had we gone over them.  The long, low, substantial-looking building finally loomed through the mist, and alighting, we were shown into a room with a cheerful fire blazing on the hearth, and were soon joined by a priest of cordial, gentlemanly manners and agreeable conversation.  So this was the famous monastery of St. Bernard, which we had read of all our lives, and the stories of whose sagacious dogs had delighted our childish minds.  A substantial supper was provided for us, to which was added some excellent wine, made in the valley below.  Conversation was pretty general in French, and somewhat exclusive in Latin; two of our party understanding the dead language, but ignorant of the living, framed with great difficulty ponderous but by no means Ciceronian sentences, which they launched at our host, who replied with great fluency, showing that for conversational purposes, at least, his command of the language was much better than theirs.  Being anxious to attend the early mass in the morning, and tired from our ride, we were soon shown to our rooms.  Walking along the passages and viewing the different apartments, we saw the house would accommodate a great number of persons.  The rooms were long and narrow, many of them containing a number of beds; but in this bracing mountain air there is no fear of bad ventilation.  No crack of my window was open, but the wind blew furiously outside, and there was a decidedly ‘healthy coolness’ about the apartment.  The room was uncarpeted and scantily furnished, but every thing was spotlessly clean, and in pleasant contrast with the dirty luxury of some of the Continental inns.  A few small pictures of saints and representations of scriptural subjects graced the white walls and constituted the only ornaments of the room.  Looking from my window I saw that the clouds had blown away, and the brilliant moon shone on the sharp crags of the hills and on the patches of snow that lay scattered about on the ground.  The scene was beautiful, but very cold; the wind howled around the house, and yet this was a balmy night compared with most they have here.  I thought of merciless snow-drifts overtaking the poor blinded traveler, benumbed, fainting, and uncertain of his path; of the terrors of such a situation, and then glancing around the plain but comfortable room, I could not but feel grateful to the pious founders of this venerable institution.  Long may it stand a monument of their benevolence and of the shelter that poor wayfarers have so often found within its hospitable walls!