;
so, last summer he saved a little money, and set off with his violin for
Syria, and all last winter he lived in the monastery of Mount Carmel,
among the grave old monks.

There was one little old monk, a very old man, who soon grew very fond
of him; he too had been a musician, but he was now almost childish, and
had forgotten how to play; and the brother monks had taken from him his
old violin, because they said he made such a noise with it. He cried to
part with it, like a child, poor old man!

The young musician had a little chamber in the monastery, which
overlooked the sea; nobody can think what a beautiful view it had. The
sun shone in so warm and pleasant, and a little group of cypresses grew
just below the window.

[Illustration]

The young man often and often stood at the window, and looked out upon
the sea, and down into the cypress-trees, among the thick branches of
which he heard the doves cooing. He loved to hear them coo, and so did
the little old monk. One day early in January he saw that the
turtle-doves had built a nest just in sight; he watched the birds taking
it by turns to sit on the eggs, and his heart was full of love to them;
they turned up their gentle eyes to him, but they never flew away, for
they saw in his mild and sorrowful countenance, that he would not hurt
them.

Beautiful and melancholy music sounded for half of the day down from his
window to where the birds sat; it had a strange charm for the doves,
they thought it was some new kind of nightingale come down from heaven.
The little old monk sat in his Carmelite frock, with his hands laid
together on his knees and his head down on his breast, and listened with
his whole soul; to him too it came as a voice from heaven, and seemed to
call him away to a better land; great tears often fell from his eyes,
but they were not sorrowful tears, they were tears of love, tears which
were called forth by a feeling of some great happiness which was coming
for him, but which he could not rightly understand. He was, as you know,
a very old man, the oldest in all the monastery.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER SECOND.

ABOUT THE KIND OLD MONK AND THE MUSICIAN, AND ABOUT THE TURTLE-DOVES WHO
MADE THEIR NEST NEAR HIS WINDOW.

Heavenly music from the young man's room was heard every day;--finer and
finer it sounded. As early spring came on, he grew very poorly; the
little old monk used to bring him his meals into his chamber, because it
tired