"This time my ruin was more complete than before, for I was getting old and could not begin life afresh. Yet--perhaps for that very reason--I felt it less, and bore it philosophically. I had brought no one down in my reverses. There was no one to upbraid me, and more than ever I felt thankful that I had never married again. I obtained a situation in the Post Office of a light description, which would just enable me to live. Three years ago, a small windfall came to me: a sum of money that, safely invested, assures me comfortable bread and cheese for the remainder of my days. No more flourishing banks with unlimited liabilities. And now here I am, in daily charge of the mail-bags between Monistrol and Montserrat. A humble office you will say, but not ignoble. After the free life of Ceylon, with all its magnificent scenery, I felt it impossible to live shut up in a town, and especially requested this post might be given me. In the midst of this wild grandeur, which really somehow reminds me of parts of Ceylon, I am happy and contented. Bricks and mortar are my abomination; they weigh upon one's soul and crush out one's vital power. I love to breathe the morning air with the lark. At best I can live but a few years more, and I will not spend them in regretting the past. On the whole, I consider that I am rather to be envied than pitied. That I am no longer obliged to work for my bread gives an additional zest to my occupation.--We are approaching Montserrat. Is it not a sublime scene?"
It was indeed nothing less. We rose above the vast magnificent valley, until at last it looked dream-like and intangible. We seemed to overhang bottomless precipices. On a plateau of the great mountain reposed the monastery and its dependencies. Luxuriant gardens flourished, paradise of the monks--a strange contrast of barren rocks and rich verdure. Here dwelt a wonderful little world of its own, never deserted even in winter, and in summer crowded with people who spend hours, days, weeks breathing the mountain air, living a life of absolute freedom from all restraint.
No monastery can be more romantically placed; perhaps none ever equalled it; yet of late years some of its romance and beauty has disappeared. The lovely old buildings that were a dream of Gothic and Norman refinement, of architectural perfection, have given place to new and hideous outlines. Nothing remains to show the glory of what has been but one side of a cloister through whose pointed arches you gaze upon a perfect Norman doorway--a dream-vision. A railway has brought Montserrat into touch with the world, and to accommodate the crowd of visitors, a new Hospederia has been built containing a thousand rooms, resembling an immense and very hideous prison. The passages are long, dark, narrow and cold. Rooms open on each side--single rooms and sets of rooms. The latter are furnished with a kitchen; so that a family or party of friends may come here with bag and baggage, pots, pans and all kitchen equipage, servants included, and encamp for as long or as short a time as may please them.