MOUNT MELLERAY.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXI, Issue 48, 30 March 1894, Page 19

MOUNT MELLERAY.

The monastery is a large pile of buildings, erected on the slope of the mountain, and is surrounded by a wide tract of cultivated land, which, till tbe monks came, was only mountain heath. Their labours have made this mountain like a garden, where hitherto, only sheep and goats could find subsistence, no waving corn and herds of cattle were to be seen. It is only about sixty years since tbe monks came here, and what a change since then has this heatb-clad mountain undergone. Driven out of France, they came here at that time and spent, it is said, the first nights on this cold, lonely mountain, under the shelter of upturned carts and waggons. And now there is almost a town of houses, among them a colleg for students; groves and rows of treec, wide expanse of cultivated lani, and herds of cattle, all the resalt of the labour and toil of these poor moDks. This religious Order is the most severe and austere in the Church. Tbe monks never taste tea, egge, flesh meat or fißh. They live on vegetables, and take only one meal and a collation in the day, but during Lent only one meal. They rise at 2 o'clock in the morning and assemble in tbe church to say the divine office. They sleep only five hours at night, and observe perpetual silence, never speakto one another. They labour and pray incessantly. The community consists at present of 60 members, 30 priests and 30 lay monks. All join in labour with their hands. Well did a priest from Australia, Rev Father Phelarj, a distinguished writer and professor, who was going through an eight days' retreat here, reply to me, as I was remarking on tbe absence of lectares for retreatants, that there could be no more eloquent and instructive lecture than the sight of these spiritual and heroic men incessantly working and praying, sublimest example of edification in the Church of God. The white pile of monastic buildings up on the mountain side, and a conspicuous object to the country below, as it stretches away far and wide to tbe valley of the B ackwater, on to V ughal, on tbe one side, and on the other, on to Dunravan. speaks eloquently to the inhabitants of the dignity and value of labour and d«votedness to it and at the Bame time of the sublime aspirations of religion. The farmer, when he rises in the moroingaod looks up to this pharos of light, and thinks of the mocks there who have been up a great part of the night chanting hymne to God in the church, and are now at their work almost before he has risen from bis bed, must be encouraged and urged on resigntdly to labour and duty. On enleriog the monastery I was courteously received by tbe guest m >ster and shown to my room. He appeared to be about sixty-five years of age, and benignity and kindness were in his looks. He had been in Australia when a young priest on tbe mission for ten years, but, tired of the world, he came home and buried himself, as it were! here. During the lime I was there fivs priests and cine or ten lay gentlemen were there also. Our fare was substantial and generous ; breakfast at 8.30 o'clock of tea, eggs, bread and the sweetest and freshest of butter ; dicner at 1, of good pure beef or mutton, and tea at 5 o'clock. My room being over the quadrangle round which runs the corridor leading to the chapel, I was kept awake a good part of the night at first by the singing of the monks in the chapel. It was certainly an object lesson to one on his soft bed listening to tuesa poor monks thus spending a great pare of the night together in the church, chanting hymns to God. Every morning a' 7 o'clock there there was High Masa, at which all the guesta were expected to be present. It was an edifying sight to see the pale, emaciated monks in their white habits, and tbe hoods drawn over their heads, file past into the choir, a few men bent with age and iDfirmity. One old monk was almost bent double, ani as he toddled his way to the choir he reminded me of some of the 6aints of old, of Simeon in the temple, or of St Liguori. He has the character among the brethren of a stint. There were some young priests atnocg them, fresh and happy looking. There was a young doctor, a novice, a fine looking man. and as be filed past, bowing low towards the high altar, the cloak be wore spreading out aiound him, I thought I seldom saw a finer or more dignified looking man. This young man, it appears, waa a dispensary dector in a town cot fur from the college of Maynooth, and worldly prospects were before him , bu', tired of the world «tod its vanities, he retired beie to devote himself, wis-iing to be unknown ' and forgotten, to the service of God. The ceremonies of the High Mais differ in some points from those of Masses outside. Some of them are peculiar to the Order and bave come down unchanged from the days of 8t Bernard ; for tbe religious Orders are tenacious of

their customs. One old monk over 70 years of age was master of ceremonies, and, as he moved about the altar, tall and graceful in i his long flowing habit, his pale face and white hands, almost transparent looking, and wheD, as a monk advanced from tbe choir to receive the kiss of peace, the old man, accompanying the sub-deacon far down tbe church to give ths kiss, bowed gracefully low at meeting j and parting, I thought him a vexy interesting figure. In the sacristy, wbieh is large. spaciouP, and splendidly ; furnished, 19 to be seen a tine bust of St. Bernaro, tbe face fleib coloured. It is said to be a good likecess. The neck is exceptionally small, a characteristic, it seems, of the great saint. Placed so, with the head turned slightly to one side, as to overlook, as it were, the priests as they robed for Mtsc it seemed to bring back vividly toe inspiring life and example of Bt. Bernard . I said Mass in one of tbe little chapels of which there is a number, and was attended by a young priest of the order. At t*e end of mass I had occasion to atk him a question (none other was present), whether euch a thing should be said or not, which he could have easily answered by yes or no. But tbe closed lips would cot open although he bad been giving me responses durirg Mass. Ho only kept patting bis breast with the fingers of his right hand, and looking at me with his large lnstrom eyes. Tbe gesture evidently meant yes, that it was his wish, but no vocal sound would be emitted. It was rigid adherence to severe rule, perpetual silence, which was not to be broken but by the per. ! mission of a superior. He was a young priest, apparently under 30 years of age, his face refined, handsome, and intellectual looking, and ■ his bands and wrists soft and white as those of a lady, evidencing that he was exempted fron. manual labour, being in all likelihood a professor in tbe college. Together with a number of guesis, we were shown over the workshops of tbe monastery, a very interesting light. Tbe master guest first conducts us to the smith's workshop. As we enter, a monk, in his habit, is hammering a shoe on the anvil, a large gray horse standing by. We next enter the bakery, where a monk, a fine-looking man, of pale face and black beard, is standing with bared arms beside a large trough of kneaded dough. As we entered the plumber's shop an old monk is bending over a gas pipe with uplifted mallet. He never looked round or took the slightest notice of our presence. And lastly, we were brought to see the little graveyard. Then the monk who was conducting us remarked that all the brethren slept in their coffins at night, meaning that they when dead were burie-J in the habits they slept in and without a ceffio. Tbe grave is opened, and the corpse of the dt-ad brother in his habit is laid in it and the earth is shovelled in over it. I- is hard to see the cold earth fall on and cover the face we love. And still these mouks witness and subject to this treatment the remains of a brother, though they love each other dearly. But they submit to it in a spirit of penance and mortification. They treat the body during life with severity and neglect and they do so also in death. It is not through want of love,' reverence, and respect for each other that, this treatment is gone through with the dead, for the members of religious orders bye one another dearly. The love of the world is selfish, mc insistent, and fickle ; but the love of the religious f;r eac'i other is unselfish, pure, and true. '• gee bow these Christians love one another," was the saying of ibe pagans with regard to tha early Christians. And this spirit of love and charity ia still especially to be seen among the member! of religious order?, notwi.hstandtog what the world may think or say.— /M/atf E.ra miner.