[The following account of some time passed at the Grande Chartreuse de Grenoble, in Dauphiny, was found among the papers of the late Mr. L**.]

LES ECHELLES IN SAVOY.

October 4th, 1830.

IN the course of a life, full of event and circumstance, though young in years, I have often visited Italy, and when approaching the Alps, I have always beheld that barrier, when coming from the north, with a strong feeling of pleasure. How much happiness of association, does that splendid chain of mountains recal!associations of happiness, from climate, classical and picturesque associations, and from that bien-être of mind and body, that cheers every one on their approach to that splendid country! Alas, to me the subject is a painful one, and on this my present journey, a bitter distaste of all the future, with which I behold that line

of Alps, where heretofore to me paradise had seemed beyond, marks my approach to it. My happiness and hopes are buried and gone, and like the inhabitants of some country, who, when they take the vows of monastic life, throw behind them garlands of flowers, so are all the fruits and flowers of my existence gone. In the past, for me,-neither love nor friendship exists longer. I desire them not. I have, indeed, the distractions left, that money can procure; but what are they for my whole portion of hope, the remainder of my days?

Peace, I have sought it, where it should be found
In love

And in its stead, a heaviness of heart,

A weakness of the spirit-listless days,

And nights inexorable to sweet sleep

Here come upon me. Peace? What peace? the calm

Of desolation and the stillness of

The untrodden forest, only broken by

The sweeping tempest through its groaning boughs;
Such is the sullen or the fitful state

Of my mind overworn.

My health is gone with my mental powers,

and a découragement de la vie has laid hold of a mind enfeebled by misery. When passion has worn the mind, when it has been occupied with the strongest feelings of which our nature is susceptible, all external objects become null and void. The selfish mind makes to itself its own world-we look upon external objects with a cold and indifferent eye, our sight is cast inward, the selfishness is complete. There was a time (I have suffered and borne it well), when distress battled with hope, and fancy gave me dreams of happiness; now all is barren, like the sandy desert or the endless plain*. St. Paul styles hope, that dear prerogative of youth, an early immortality; and so delightful are its impressions, that Dante and Milton, when they would give the most vivid idea of the horrors that surround the fallen spirits, thought they could do so in no manner so strongly, as by excluding them totally from all the influence of hope.

* Philosophy of Nature.

In this disposition of mind, I am approaching my own beloved Italy, where the physicians have ordered me for my health. I dread Italy; its sun, its splendour, its pictures, its music, are all too much for a mind totally enfeebled. At this little inn I am rather relieved by hearing that to-morrow no post-horses will be to be had; and finding it is not far from the monastery of the Grande Chartreuse, I am determined to go and pass some days where the scenery and the institution will be more in unison with my feelings, than gay, joyous Italy.

Grande Chartreuse, October 5th.

I have long wished to see this Chartreuse, this most severe institution of St. Bruno, where mystery and silence reign, buried amongst mountains and dark forests where the sun rarely penetrates, and where the bright gleams of southern day have a veil cast over them that encourages thought and devotional feeling. I