Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 270, August 25, 1827», sayfa 4

Cuddy was now wide awake, and felt, when he got up, his joints sadly cramped, which it was only natural they should be, considering the hard texture of the stone, and the depth his knees had sunk into it. The great difficulty was, to explain how, in one night, summer had become winter— whole woods had been cut down, and well-grown trees had sprouted up. The miracle, nothing else could he conclude it to be, urged him to hasten his return to Innisfallen, where he might learn some explanation of these marvellous events.

Seeing a boat moored within reach of the shore, he delayed not, in the midst of such wonders, to seek his own bark, but, seizing the oars, pulled stoutly towards the island; and here new wonders awaited him.

Father Cuddy waddled, as fast as cramped limbs could carry his rotund corporation, to the gate of the monastery, where he loudly demanded admittance.

"Holloa! whence come you, master monk, and what's your business?" demanded a stranger who occupied the porter's place.

"Business—my business!" repeated the confounded Cuddy, "why do you not know me? Has the wine arrived safely?"

"Hence, fellow," said the porter's representative in a surly tone, "nor think to impose on me with your monkish tales."

"Fellow!" exclaimed the father, "mercy upon us that I should be so spoken to at the gate of my own house! Scoundrel!" cried Cuddy, raising his voice, "do you not see my garb—my holy garb?—"

"Aye, fellow," replied he of the keys, "the garb of laziness and filthy debauchery, which has been expelled from out these walls. Know you not, idle knave, of the suppression of this nest of superstition, and that the abbey lands and possessions were granted in August last to Master Robert Collan, by our Lady Elizabeth, sovereign queen of England, and paragon of all beauty, whom God preserve!"

"Queen of England," said Cuddy; "there never was a sovereign queen of England; this is but a piece with the rest. I saw how it was going with the stars last night—the world's turned upside down. But surely this is Innisfallen island, and I am the Father Cuddy who yesterday morning went over to the abbey of Irelagh respecting the tun of wine. Do you know me now?"

"Know you! how should I know you?" said the keeper of the abbey; "yet true it is, that I have heard my grandmother, whose mother remembered the man, often speak of the fat Father Cuddy of Innisfallen, who made a profane and godless ballad in praise of fried eggs, of which he and his vile crew knew more than they did of the word of God, and who, being drunk, it was said, tumbled into the lake one night and was drowned; but that must have been a hundred, aye, more than a hundred years since."

"'Twas I who composed that song, in praise of Margery's fried eggs, which is no profane and godless ballad. No other Father Cuddy than myself ever belonged to Innisfallen," earnestly exclaimed the holy man. "A hundred years! What was your great grandmother's name?"

"She was a Mahony of Dunlow, Margaret ni Mahony; and my grandmother—."

"What, merry Margery of Dunlow your great grandmother!" shouted Cuddy; "St. Brandon help me! the wicked wench, with that tempting bottle—why 'twas only last night—a hundred years—your great grandmother said you? Mercy on us, there has been a strange torpor over me. I must have slept all this time!"

That Father Cuddy had done so, I think is sufficiently proved by the changes which occurred during his nap. A reformation, and a serious one it was for him, had taken place. Eggs fried by the pretty Margery were no longer to be had in Innisfallen, and, with heart as heavy as his footsteps, the worthy man directed his course towards Dingle, where he embarked in a vessel on the point of sailing for Malaga. The rich wine of that place had of old impressed him with a high respect for its monastic establishments, in one of which he quietly wore out the remnant of his days.

The stone impressed with the mark of Father Cuddy's knees may be seen to this day. Should any incredulous persons doubt my story, I request them to go to Killarney, where Clough na Cuddy—so is the stone called—remains in Lord Kenmare's park, an indisputable evidence of the fact; and Spillane, the bugle man, will be able to point it out to them, as he did to me— Literary Souvenir.

MY COMMON-PLACE BOOK.
No. XX

CEREMONY OF A GIRL TAKING THE VEIL

The convent of the Esperanza enclosed within its gloomy walls one of the fairest forms that nature ever moulded. Her name was Claudia; she had just completed her sixteenth year, and now shone forth in all the bloom of health and beauty. Her full black eyes, and her long dark hair, which, partly concealed by her religious dress of a pensioner, escaped in flowing ringlets over her snowy shoulders, embellishing a countenance whence beamed such harmony of features and enchanting delicacy of expression, as indicated the purity and peace that reigned within. The Esperanza soon became my favourite spot, and I felt convinced nature never formed this angel to be immured within the walls of a convent; nor would she have been destined to pass the remainder of her life in its obscure recesses, but for the unnatural avarice of her parents—a custom still too prevalent, to secure the wealth of a family to one branch.

During my stay in this town, I had an opportunity of witnessing the ceremony of a girl taking the habit of a nun. After mass, the grate of the chapel of the Esperanza was thrown open, and there appeared all the holy sisters dressed in black. The girl alone who was about to take the habit was in white; and, in front of all the others, knelt down before a table, on which was placed the cross. The abbate, from the outside, now addressed her in a long extempore charge, in which he pointed out the duties of the situation she was about to enter, and forcibly set forth the advantages of it; while he painted, in the strongest and most seducing colours, the superior happiness of renouncing the profane world, and of passing her time in a quiet and religious way, alone devoted to the service of her Maker. She was not more than twenty years of age, and, during the whole ceremony, her countenance, which was pleasing, bore the evident marks of inward satisfaction and holy veneration. The nuns, who before had been standing round the chapel, each holding a burning taper, now tenderly embraced their intended sister, and placed the crown of virginity upon her temples, when an anathema, was with great solemnity, pronounced against all who should attempt to make her break her vows. The impressive ceremony which thus excludes youth and beauty in a cloister, closes with the solemn notes of the organ, accompanied by the harmonious voices of the nuns as they conduct their new sister to her lonely cell.

This awful solemnity wears a supernatural grandeur. The gloom of the chapel is faintly relieved by the tapers of the sisters; the vaulted roof is just discernible in a pale blue light, rendered terrific by the splendour of the altar blazing with a hundred illuminated torches; while the lofty peals of the deep-toned organ, swell round the echoing cloisters with "Il cantar che nell' anima si sente;" and the "rapt senses are confounded in idolatrous wonder."

Peninsular Sketches.

THE LATIN AND GREEK LANGUAGES

It is supposed by many that the only object in learning the Latin and Greek languages is, that the learner may be able to translate them, and to understand the authors who have written in those languages, with as much facility as he can understand those who write in his own. If this were really the only object, then every plan for expediting the acquisition would be received with grateful approbation. Yet if this were the sole object, how superfluous to the greater number of learners the labour of the acquisition, for there is not a single idea expressed by the ancients and yet to be found, which has not been translated in our own language. The end of learning these languages then must be something beyond, and if this farther object be not considered, the education must be defective.

Scargill's Essays.

TO THE MOON, IN VIEW OF THE SEA

 
There is a blush upon thy face to-night
Which sheds around a luxury of light!
Wherefore, oh, Moon, art thou so brightly fair!
Would'st thou some new Endymion ensnare?
Each sparkling wave, as it receives thy rays,
Seems quivering and thrilling at thy gaze;
And gently murmurs, whilst the God below
Feels through his frame the universal glow,
And heaves his breast majestical for thee!
Cease, cease, to look on us so lovingly,
but in thy silv'ry veil still half conceal
Thy modest loveliness, nor more reveal;
For oh! fair queen, no mortal now can soar,
Or, love, as thy fond shepherd did of yore!
 

THE KING'S FEET-BEARER

During the ancient days of Welsh royalty, among the twenty-four ranks of servants that attended at court, was one called "the king's feet-bearer." This was a young gentleman, whose duty it was to sit upon the floor with his back towards the fire, and hold the king's feet in his bosom all the time he sat at table, to keep them warm and comfortable. A piece of state and of luxury unknown in modern times.

MONTPELLIER

Within the last century it has been fashionable in England to give the name of Montpellier to many places, new streets, rows of houses, terraces, and gardens, where the situation has been supposed to have been at all favourable; indeed, there seems to be something attractive in the very sound of the word Montpellier; but the original city has much fallen off, and is not so much frequented now, but on account of its former fame, and the assemblage of the States of Languedoc during the winter, when the noble families still maintain their old exemplary hospitality. Joseph Scaliger is known to have asserted, that if he had his choice where to end his days, of all cities in the world he should prefer Montpellier; but since that time physicians have agreed that there has been a remarkable change of climate; and from my own observation I must declare, that I knew several consumptive patients who seemed to have recovered at Marseilles, and almost all relapsed again after they had remained for some time at Montpellier.

Cradock's Literary Memoirs.