Patrick, with apostolic zeal, shuts the gates of mercy on all whose faith differs from his own, and, with an unsaintly vehemence extends the exclusion in a pointed manner, to the ancestors of Ossian, who, he declares, are suffering in the limbo of tortured spirits. *
* Notwithstanding the sceptical obstinacy that Ossian here
displays, there is a current tradition of his having been
present at a baptismal ceremony performed by the Saint, who
accidentally struck the sharp point of his crozier through
the bard’s foot, who, supposing it part of the ceremony,
remained transfixed to the earth without a murmer.
The bard tenderly replies, “It is hard to believe thy tale, O man of the white book! that Fion, or one so generous, should be in captivity with God or man.”
When, however, the saint persists in the assurance, that not even the generosity of the departed hero could save him from the house of torture, the failing spirit of “the King of Harps” suddenly sends forth a lingering flash of its wonted fire; and he indignantly declares, “that if the Clan of Boisgno were still in being, they would liberate their beloved general from this threatened hell.”
The Saint, however, growing warm in the argument, expatiates on the great difficulty of any soul entering the court of God: to which the infidel bard beautifully replies:—“Then he is not like Fionn M’Cuil, or chief of the Fians; for every man upon the earth might enter his court without asking his permission.”
Thus, as you perceive, fairly routed, I however artfully proposed terms of capitulation, as though my defeat was yet dubious.
“Were I a Scotchman,” said I, “I should be furnished with more effectual arms against you; but as an Englishman, I claim an armed neutrality, which I shall endeavour to preserve between the two nations. At the same time that I feel the highest satisfaction in witnessing the just pretentions of that country (which now ranks in my estimation next to my own) to a work which would do honour to any country so fortunate as to claim its author as her son.”
The Prince, who seemed highly gratified by this avowal, shook me heartily by the hand, apparently flattered by his triumph; and at that moment Glorvina entered.
“O, my dear!” said the Prince, “you are just come in time to witness an amnesty between Mr. Mortimer and me.”
“I should much rather witness the amnesty than the breach,” returned she, smiling.