ese is no
longer what it was, nor is their faith. For Civilisation, passing by
their huts in some shape or other, whispers in their ears something
about cleverness and adulteration. And mistaking the one for the
other, they abstract the butter from the milk and leave the verdigris
in the utensils. This lust of gain is one of the diseases which come
from Europe and America,--it is a plague which even the goatherd
cannot escape. Why, do you know, wherever the cheese-monger goes these
days ptomaine poison is certain to follow."

"And why does not the Government interfere?" we ask.

"Because the Government," replies our monk in a dry, droll air and
gesture, "does not eat cheese."

And the monks, we learned, do not have to buy it. For this, as well as
their butter, olive oil, and wine, is made on their own estates, under
their own supervision.

"Yes," he resumes, placing his breviary in his pocket and taking out
the snuff-box; "not long ago one who lived in these parts--a young man
from Baalbek he was, and he had his booth in the pine forest
yonder--bought some cheese from one of these muleteer cheese-mongers,
and after he had eaten of it fell sick. It chanced that I was passing
by on my way to the abbey, when he was groaning and retching beneath
that pine tree. It was the first time I saw that young man, and were I
not passing by I know not what would have become of him. I helped him
to the abbey, where he was ministered to by our physician, and he
remained with us three days. He ate of our cheese and drank of our
wine, and seemed to like both very much. And ever since, while he was
here, he would come to the abbey with a basket or a tray of his own
make--he occupied himself in making wicker-baskets and trays--and ask
in exchange some of our cheese and olive oil. He was very intelligent,
this fellow; his eyes sometimes were like the mouth of this pit, full
of fire and smoke. But he was queer. The clock in him was not wound
right--he was always ahead or behind time, always complaining that we
monks did not reckon time as he did. Nevertheless, I liked him much,
and often would I bring him some of our cookery. But he never accepted
anything without giving something in exchange."

Unmistakable signs.

"And his black turban," continues the monk, "over his long flowing
hair made him look like our hermit." (Strange coincidence!) "On your
way here have you not stopped to visit the hermit? Not far from the
abbey, on your rig