[CHAPTER IX]
A Visit to Mount Mellaray
MANY persons whom I met in Ireland told me that I ought to go to Mount Mellaray "for my sins." Mount Mellaray (to those who don't know) is a Trappist monastery, set among hills that would be at once the temptation and despair of a colorist in landscape.
To it go the brain and heart weary from all countries, and the good monks (there's no doubt that they are good) welcome them whether they have money or not.
They tell of a man who went to Mount Mellaray and accepted the hospitality of the inmates and on his going away he did no more than bid them good by. Not a penny did he leave behind him, although he had sat at table with the other guests several days.
Next year he came again for his soul's rest, and the monks received him as an old friend. Those who were not under vows of silence spoke to him, the others nodded to him, and once more he rested on the side of the purple hills and partook of their hospitality.
When it came time for him to go away he left behind him—a pleasant impression, but not a cent did he give to the cause of charity.
Another year passed by, and he came again. Hundreds had come in the meantime, and none so poor but had left something in return for the restfulness and peace that are to be had there.
Quite as an old friend he was now received and was made to feel welcome. No one knew who he was—perhaps he was nobody—but on his going away for the third time he showed that he had been but acting the part of an ingrate, for he gave the father who acts as keeper of the gate a hundred pounds.
This story I told to the jarvey who took me up the hilly road to the monastery, and he listened with interest, and when I had finished he said, "It's quite true."