ward into obscurity.

NSIDE the cloister cask was a darkness, palpable as the festooned cobwebs that brushed my face, when, standing in its belly, I looked up

Far, far above me glimmered a pale light, like a star veiled in mist, "And that," said the dried-up voice of the little sexton, "that is the bung-hole. It is three feet in diameter; large enough to admit a fine stout man," and he sighed like a withered leaf in the wind.

A fine, fruity smell told of the oceans of old wine that had flowed through this cavern, from bung-hole to spigot, and ah, from spigot into countless pious throats, thirsty with much prayer! for in all the time that this monastery had wielded its power over much of the Black Forest, the cloister cask, though always running, never ran dry.

"Ah, yes, once it did run dry," whispered the sexton, "and once again was it emptied into vile, profane throats. Each time it betokened great misfortune to our order, but now that it is always empty, where is our brotherhood, where our splendid buildings, our glorious church? Ruins, desolate ruins!

"I remember when it was desecrated, that was in sixteen hundred and odd, and

I was a comparatively young man, but already holding a position of trust in the monastery. I was cellar-master when Melac, with his swarm of French ruffians over-ran the whole country, burned the villages, sacked the sacred courts, and drained the great cask-may their throats be scorched for it, the filthy sponges!

"I looked on, bound hand and foot, and thrown into a corner like a sack of rye; yes, I looked on while the swashbuckler, Captain de Monrepos, bastard of royalty, placed a ladder against the side and mounted to the top of the cask, where he found the bung padlocked to the staves.

"His villains tossed him up my bunch of keys, and as he unlocked it, he noticed that this bung was a beautiful and curiously carved piece of oak; but stop, you shall see it-my own work-my masterpiece."

And he dragged me to the end of the cask, where stood a large cylinder, soaked by the wine till it had assumed a dusky purple red.

"Even in its color this is a perfect likeness of Brother Ambrose," gasped the little man. "Brother Ambrose, cellar-master before me and now a blessed saint in Paradise."

And truly, the sculptured head that grinned at me in the dusk could have been naught but that of a cellar-master; the wavering candle light threw flitting reflections over his polished cheeks that seemed to quiver and shake with good living, and the expression of supreme, phy

The Cloister Cellar.

sical satisfaction was caught with freshness delightful to behold.

a

"Brother Ambrose it is, and he lived and breathed," said the sexton with such feeling that the cask echoed sonorously and shook the ghostly draperies, "and this is his memorial, in remembrance of a strange fate that befell him even where we stand.

"But Monrepos, the pig, what knew he of art! When he saw this head on the bung he drew his long sword and struck it a blow on the pate till even the full cask protested dully. "This was Gambrinus!' cried he in his clarion voice 'whom these swine worship. Rise now, Sir Bacchus, worthy of the allegiance of gentlemen of France!' and amid the guffaws of his troopers he pulled out the bung, dipped in his casque and drank a long health to the new leader.

"All this I saw, as bound hand and foot I lay in the corner like a sack of rye." I looked at the old man suspiciously; ancient as he was, he could not have been

living during the famous raid of Melac, far back in the seventeenth century.

But without noticing my surprise, he went on dreamily, with half-closed eyes: "Ah, Brother Ambrose, that thou shouldst ever have come to this, thou most truly German of all the brotherhood, to we worshiped by a horde of French bandits! "When Brother Ambrose was cellar-master, I was a mere boy, his assistant. It was my duty to carry the flagons of wine when he had drawn them, for which I was rewarded with the drippings from the faucets that were caught in little pans.

"At that time, the monastery had attained a height of prosperity which it never reached agarn. Some attributed it all to Father Ekkehard, the Abbot, but I knew well that it was Brother Ambrose, whose generous measures drew the best men from all the country into the fold. Ah, those were happy times, when each day whole hogsheads of wine were served to the thirsty brothers. For the novices, we had a thin, sour wine, to keep in check their hot blood; for the lay brothers, great plenty but of a common vintage, for he who sweats in the fields or toils at loads of building stone knows only how much is in his gourd and not how good; but for the pious brothers who prayed and preached and meditated, and for those who spent their days in illuminating the wise words of our most excellent Father Ekkehard, was set aside this cask of mellow, red wine such as cuddled under the tongue before it slid down. And that was right, for were not these the ones who in leisure and thoughtfulness could best distinguish good wine from bad?

"And of all these, Brother Ambrose was the most devout, for after making

the rounds of his casks and testing the contents that they had not deteriorated, he would seek the sunny niche in the garden wall, where, undisturbed he might meditate all afternoon, his eyes closed, lest the beauties of this world should distract his thoughts from those of the next, and only an occasional sigh showing how deep were his inward struggles.

"Meanwhile I worked at my wood carving in my little cellar shop, but never did I become so absorbed in my saints and bishops as to forget my other duties of emptying the pans that caught the drippings.

"And so our lives went happily on until that fatal day when the Abbot decided to make a pilgrimage to Rome, and I was selected as one of his attendants. Oh, the homesickness of it all! The days in the Alpine snows, the nights in the hard, hospice beds, and then Italy, ugh! Give me my Rhine wine and Neckar and you may keep your vintage of Italy. Most of all, I yearned for Brother Ambrose, my whole-souled master and friend. How I did long for his full, round, blonde body, when surrounded by the crafty Latins in the court of His Holiness.

"One night I dreamed of him, yea often he came into my dreams, but this was horrible and real as if I had seen it with waking eyes:

"Brother Ambrose was moving slowly among his casks, nodding to this one, laying a friendly hand on that, but when he came to the great tun in which we stand, he rubbed his cheek against it so affectionately that I could hear the bristles rasp against the wood.

"Presently he searched among the straw lying

in the corner till he

found a long, perfect tube, and then, climbing the ladder to the top, he took out the bung and gazed at the brimming red liquor as a worldly man might gaze upon the woman he adored. For several moments he squatted thus absorbed, then, with a contented sigh, he inserted the straw and drew unto himself s treasured sweetness.

"I know not how long this lasted, but gradually the liquor grew lower in the cask and gradually he leaned over, following it, never once leaving hold of the straw. His eyes closed, I knew what ecstasy was his, and, poor worm that I am, I envied him. He reeled, he rolled, but still he followed the wine downward, ever downward, till finally the center of gravity was lost; he slipped, he smiled, and still smiling, slid through the bunghole and disappeared.

"With horror I awoke, and would have run and told my dream to the Abbot, but

he was a stern man who looked upon me with disfavor because I loved not my Latin, so I stayed and told it to little Francesca, but she could not advise me in such matters.

"How the months dragged on in that hot, weary land! If it had not been for Francesca I should have died, between long waiting in ante-chambers and long masses in the church of St. Peter.

"But after much delay we started homeward, and with what happiness did I look from the summit of the last snow mountain to where the dark, rolling hills of my own Black Forest lay beyond the Rhine.

"When the joyous monks welcomed us at the gate, I eagerly scanned each face but that of Brother Ambrose was not among them. Afraid to ask questions I disengaged myself from the curious brothers and ran to his haunt in the garden and to the cellar, but no one was there; only a scrubby boy emptying the pans, who told me that the devil had flown off with the cellar-master, body and soul.

"As I was cuffing his ears, one of the lay brothers came running and panted that the Abbot wanted to speak with me, so I followed him into the refectorium, where the brothers sat at meat. 'My son,' said the most excellent Father, smiling at me across the loaded board, "as our unfortunate Brother Ambrose has fallen into the clutches of the Evil One, body, soul and cellar keys, I appoint you cellar master in his place, with this new bunch to hang at your girdle as a token. And now, as your first official act, you may bring us flagons from the great cask!'

"So I brought them much wine, and they sipped it slowly, with the deliberation of the true connoisseur.

into the cup, 'Brother, 'tis fat Ambrose.'

"At that there was a hubbub at the table, for the Abbot could not bear such words, but when they had quieted, I told them my dream.

"Then said the Abbot, 'Peace, my children, we will drain this cask!' so altogether we went below into the vaults and with a siphon emptied the great tun.

"Finally tne siphon sucked dry, and the good Father spake, 'I myself will exorcise the evil spirit.'

"So I was let down with a rope, and there lay our blessed brother, flat on his back, his face as you see it on the bung, his body twice its natural girth.

"We cannot leave him here,' said the Abbot, 'he must lie in consecrated ground, and, besides, we need the cask!' But when they would have drawn him up through the bung hole it was too small. Then squeaked the scrubby boy, my assistant, he who afterwards became cardinal, Turn him over and open the spigots!'

"So five of us did that, and we thus caught enough wine to fill another butt for the lay brothers. After that it was easy to draw him through the bung-hole, which we did with the derrick.

"Then to me said the pious Father Ek. kehard, 'My son, this has been a day fraught with great consequences to the soul of our departed brother, and Beelzebub, who tried to keep him unburied is again foiled; in memory of which his likeness shall be graven upon the bung as a warning to all future cellar-masters.'

"Not until the death of the good Abbot did the key come to me, and then it was that Captain Monrepos, brat of King Louis, stole it with the others."

With a deep sigh the old man raised his candle that the light fell upon a forest of cobweb, fine and fantastic as the frost work on a window. "Since then," rustled his spectral voice, "the cloister cask has been dry."

We crawled out of the lower opening, and as we passed through the vaults, it seemed to me that I saw a hogshead standing on end between the dim rows.

"Come quickly," he gasped; "they say that the ghost of Brother Ambrose still walks!" and we hurried into the light.