Such was the tenor of his simple life; but when he prayed a certain drowsiness would come upon him, which it must be confessed never occurred when a well filled ‘black-jack’ stood before him. Hence his prayers were short, and his draughts were long. The world loved him, and he saw no reason why he should not in return love its venison and its usquebaugh. But, as times went, he must have been a pious man, or else what befell him never would have happened.
Spiritual affairs—for it was respecting the importation of a tun of wine into the inland monastery—demanded the presence of one of the brotherhood of Innisfallen at the abbey of Irelagh, now called Muckruss. The superintendence of this important matter was confided to Father Cuddy, who felt too deeply interested in the future welfare of any community of which he was a member to neglect or delay such a mission. With the morning’s light he was seen guiding his shallop across the crimson waters of the lake towards the peninsula of Muckruss, and having moored his little bark in safety beneath the shelter of a wave-worn rock, he advanced with becoming dignity towards the abbey.
The stillness of the bright and balmy hour was broken by the heavy footsteps of the zealous father:—at the sound the startled deer, shaking the dew from their sides, sprang up from their lair, and as they bounded off—“Hah,” exclaimed Cuddy, “what a noble haunch goes there!—how delicious it would look smoking upon a goodly platter.”
As he proceeded, the mountain bee hummed his tune of gladness around the holy man, save when buried in the foxglove bell, or revelling upon a fragrant bunch of thyme,—and even then, the little voice murmured out happiness in low and broken tones of voluptuous delight. Father Cuddy derived no small comfort at the sound, for it presaged a good metheglin season; and metheglin he considered no bad liquor, particularly when there was no stint of usquebaugh in the brewing.
Arrived within the abbey gate, he was received with due respect by the brethren of Irelagh, and arrangements for the embarkation of the wine were completed to his entire satisfaction.—“Welcome, Father Cuddy!” said the prior, “grace be on you.”
“Grace before meat then,” said Cuddy, “for a long walk always makes me hungry, and I am certain I have not walked less than half a mile this morning, to say nothing of crossing the water.”
A pasty of choice flavour felt the truth of this assertion as regarded Father Cuddy’s appetite. After such consoling repast, it would have been a reflection on monastic hospitality to have departed without partaking of the grace-cup:—moreover Father Cuddy had a particular respect for the antiquity of that custom. He liked the taste of the grace-cup well;—he tried another,—it was no less excellent; and when he had swallowed the third he found his heart expand, and put forth its fibres, as willing to embrace all mankind!—Surely then there is christian love and charity in wine!
I said he sung a good song. Now though psalms are good songs, and in accordance with his vocation, I did not mean to imply that he was a mere psalm-singer. It was well known to the brethren, that wherever Father Cuddy was, mirth and melody were with him. Mirth in his eye, and melody on his tongue; and these, from experience, are equally well known to be thirsty commodities; but he took good care never to let them run dry. To please the brotherhood, whose excellent wine pleased him, he sung, and as “in vino veritas,” his song will well become this veritable history, I give it.
O ’tis eggs are a treat
When so white and so sweet
From under the manger they’re taken:
And by fair Margery,
Och! ’tis she’s full of glee,
They are fried with fat rashers of bacon.Just like daisies all spread
O’er a broad sunny mead
In the sun-beams so beauteously shining,
Are fried eggs well displayed
On a dish, when we’ve laid
The cloth, and are thinking of dining.
Such was his song. Father Cuddy smacked his lips at the recollection of Margery’s delicious fried eggs, which always imparted a peculiar relish to his liquor. The very idea caused Cuddy to raise the cup to his mouth, and, with one hearty pull thereat, he finished its contents.