He ate, and drank, and prayed, and slept,—what then? He ate, and drank, and prayed, and slept again!
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.”