At daybreak we made our way to the chapel, a large and beautiful room with many pictures and rich ornaments, gifts of persons who have shared the hospitality of the place.  At the altar the brother who had welcomed us on our arrival was officiating in his priestly robes, assisted by several others.  A few persons, servants of the establishment and peasants stopping for the night, with ourselves, composed the congregation.  Two of the women present, we were told, were penitents; we asked no further of their history, but at this remote place the incident gave us cause for reflection and surmise.  Heaven grant that in this sublime solitude their souls may have found the peace arising from the consciousness of forgiveness.  I have never been more impressed with the Catholic service than I was this morning, when the voices of the priests blending with the organ, rose on the stillness of that early hour in one of the familiar chants of the Church.  It seemed, indeed, like heavenly music.  Here with the first dawn of morning on these lofty mountaintops, where returning day is welcomed earlier than in the great world below, men had assembled to pour forth their worship to God, here so manifest in his mighty works.  The ever-burning lamp swung in the dim chapel, and it seemed a beautiful idea that morning after morning on these great mountains, the song of gratitude and praise should ascend to Him who fashioned them; that so it has been for years, while successive winters have beat in fury on this house, and the snows have again and again shut out all signs of life from nature.  As my heart filled with emotion, I could not but think of the aptness to the present scene of those beautiful lines of our poet: 

    ’At break of day as heavenward
    The pious monks of St. Bernard
    Chanted the oft-repeated prayer.’

Time and place were the same, and the service seemed as beautiful and solemn as might have been that chanted over the stiff, frozen body of the high-souled but too aspiring boy.  The service ended, and we were left alone in the chapel.  In one corner of it is the box in which those who can, leave a contribution for the support of the establishment.  No regular charge is made, but probably most persons leave more than they would at a hotel—­and our party certainly did.  I believe that the money is well applied; at any rate, for years the hospice afforded shelter before travel became a fashionable summer amusement, and in those days it expended far more than it received.

Our breakfast was very simple, and the Superior of the establishment confined himself to a small cup of coffee and morsel of bread.  They have but one substantial meal a day.  I was interested in observing our host.  His appearance and manner were prepossessing and agreeable, but this morning something seemed to weigh anxiously on his mind.  He was abstracted in manner, and once as I looked up suddenly, his lips were moving, and he half checked himself in an involuntary gesture.  Had the confession of the penitents, perhaps, troubled him?  I believe he was a sincere, self-sacrificing man, and I have often thought of his manner that morning.