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attack upon Llwyd and Rowland, I wholly deprecate as an unworthy aspersion on the characters of those writers. To be told that the man who wrote not only a Welsh Dictionary of high repute, but one of Gaëlic and another of Irish, had not sufficient honesty to record his conviction of the non-affinity of those languages, is somewhat startling; it is, to use the mildest expression, a severe reflection. Surely such animadversions savour very strongly of that “national prejudice" or literary bias, which FIOR GHAEL SO becomingly repudiates.

As I formerly stated, languages must have borne a closer resemblance to each other in remote ages, than when in the lapse of time they become

Goll mear mileata
Ceap na crodhachta
Laimh fhial arachta
Mian na mordhasa
Mur leim lanteinne
Fraoch nach bhfuarthear
Laoch go lan ndealbhnaigh
Reim an richuraibh
Leomhan luatharmach
A leonadh biodhbhaidh
Ton ag tream tuarguin
Goll' nan gnath iorguil

Nar thraoch a threin tachar
Agh gan fuarachuaigh
Mhal aig meadachuaigh
Laoch ghacha lamhac
Leomhan lonn ghniomhach
Beodha binn dhuanach
Creasach comhdhalach,
Euchteach iolbhuadhach.

It is quite unnecessary to mark the coincidences in the above. It may be simply observed that bh and mh in Gaelic have the sound of v; h placed after d and f aspirates those consonants, and dd, in Cumraeg, has the power of th. Ll has a sound peculiar to the Welsh, the nearest approach to which is the Spanish 11. I would have given an English translation, furnished by an eminent Welsh scholar, but my communication is already getting too long; it may be furnished at another time, and the terms will be found to agree precisely with the Gaëlic.

I must now conclude, thanking Mr. Urban for allowing his columns to be the vehicle of a discussion both inteGENT. MAG. VOL. X.

refined and lose their primitive simplicity; and in my work on the Gaël, of which F. G. does me the honour to speak with so much favour, I dilated considerably on the subject; under the necessity, at the same time, of citing many authorities in defence of my position. The following old Irish fragment of poetry, has been rendered into Welsh by the late Dr. Davies, author of "Celtic Researches," &c.; and if it does not beyond dispute prove these languages to be as closely allied, as different locality and long separation could well permit, I must confess my judgment to be so warped that I cannot come to a lucid or reasonable conclusion.

Coll mûr milêddau
Cyf y creuddogau,
Llaw hael aracha
Myn y mordasau
Mur-llam llawntandde
Grugiawg vuarthawr
Lluch llawn dyvinaidd
Rhwyv y rhiwraidd
Llew-vin llwth arvawg
A ellynoedd buddvaidd
Ton a thrîn terwyn
Coll y gnawd orchwyl
Nid trech yn trin tachar
Ag anhwyredig
Maelawg mywedig
Lluch a gwychlawiawg
Llew-vin llawngniviawg
Biwiawg, bendannawg,
Cresawg, cyvdalawg,

Eigiawg hollvuddiag.

resting and instructive. I hope that enough has been brought forward to reduce the confidence of FIOR GHAEL in the rectitude of his opinions; to convince him I can scarcely hope, but I am fortunate in having met an opponent whose oriental knowledge is so profound, and whose style of argument is so respectful to me personally. This courtesy, it seems, he has extended in my case, to one who has the honour of his acquaintance.

I am, Sir, yours, &c.
JAMES LOGAN.

*The Claims of Ossian considered." The competence of this writer in Keltic dialects is unexceptionable.

F

A VISIT TO A MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE.

SINCE the restoration of the Catholic religion in France, the government has sanctioned the re-establishment of many of those monastic orders, the members of which devote themselves to objects of public utility. The services of the Sisters of Charity in the public hospitals were of too much value to Napoleon, for his wounded soldiers, not to be encouraged and fostered by him. The courage and utter abandonment of all selfish considerations, which distinguish these excellent women, not only in times of sanguinary wars and epidemic disorders, but in the ordinary routine of their duties in hospitals and poorhouses (displayed, too, as they sometimes are, by persons of noble birth and refined education) obtain for them universal respect and the highest approbation of the administrators of charitable institutions, who in their reports speak of their services as inestimable, such as money could not procure, and which can only be inspired by the purest sentiments of religion. When Louis the Eighteenth visited the hospitals in London, after expressing his admiration of the general arrangements, he qualified his praise with the observation, "Mais vous n'avez pas nos sœurs grises." Services as painful and as exemplary are rendered to the insane by the nuns of the order of Le bon Sauveur, while the Ursulines and the Frères des Ecoles Chrétiennes devote themselves to the education of the poor. All these orders, distinguished by their ecclesiastical dresses, are to be seen in every large town in France; but the passing English traveller may not be equally aware that some of the severest monastic institutions, characterised by mysticism, mortification, and self-denial, have crept in during the Restoration, and, surviving the unfriendly Revolution of the Three Days, are still to be found in the midst of the general frivolity and scepticism of our neighbours, averse as the national character at present is, not only from bigotry, but even from serious religious ob

servance.

The most severe of these is the order of La Trappe, which to the most rigid abstinence and seclusion adds the absolute denial of speech to its mem

bers among each other. A monastery of this order has been established about thirteen years, near the small town of Briquebec, in the Cotentin, about five leagues from Cherbourg, where a farm of moderate extent had been bequeathed to it. Being in that country, and finding that strangers were admitted, curiosity to observe the austerities of this far-famed order with my own eyes led me thither. I found the convent on a rising ground, in a rough and woody waste; a substantial slated edifice is replacing the old thatched buildings of the farm, in the midst of which rises a recentlyerected church, with a Gothic tower, imparting a conventual character to the whole mass. I entered under a stone arch surmounted by a cross, and knocked at a door on which the pilgrim's scallop, and the cypher of the cross and Roman M are embossed. The door was opened by a bare-headed lay brother, clad in a brown robe, fastened by a leathern girdle, who directed me to the strangers' waitingroom, where I was shortly joined by one of the brothers of the choir, a young man of about 25, of a florid complexion, which abstinence had reduced to the transparent white and red of a sickly female, and his eyes were feeble from night watching; his hair was clipped close, except a small circle round the centre of the skull; he was clothed in the scapulary, a white dress with a long band of black down the back; he afterwards appeared in the cowl, an ample loose robe of white, with a conical hood hanging on his shoulders. He readily consented to my request to see the establishment, and to dine with the brothers in the refectory. To a question as to his country, he replied that he was not permitted to give any information personal to himself or any of the monks, and that in the cloisters, chapel, dormitory, and refectory, speech was forbidden, as he would indicate to me by placing his finger on his lips. He further informed me, that even if I found in any of the monks a former acquaintance, I must not speak to him or give any sign of recognition, and that formerly this rule was peremptory even on a father or a brother. He first conducted me through the cloisters to

the chapel, where, after presenting me with holy water, he placed himself on his knees before the altar. The chapel is spacious; in the windows at each end of the transepts are, in the one, a picture of St. Benedict, in the other, of St. Bernard, in the dress of the order, and on one side the altar, St. Michael the Archangel. Several of the brothers were on their knees in the stalls of the choir; one of them, with his head reclined on his shoulders, and his eyes half closed, appeared to be in a religious ecstasy, resembling the portraits of saints by the old masters. From thence my guide conducted me to the library, where the number of books is but small; there are no seats, but benches round the walls. We next ascended to the dormitory; this is a long room, down each side of which the cells are separated from each other by wooden partitions over the entrance of each, which is closed by a white linen curtain instead of a door, is written the name of its inmate-Abbas or Nonnus Petrus, Johannes, Placidus, Isidore, Stanislaus, &c.; their couch is a straw mattress a few inches thick upon planks; on this they lie in their clothes. From thence we proceeded to the refectory, where my conductor by signs appeared to direct that I was to be received as a guest; he then left me in the garden, desiring me to occupy myself there, and in seeing the mill, till the hour of dinner. I found one of the lay brothers superintending the mill, and another employed with a workman in sawing a beam. At noon the chapel bell tolled, and I proceeded to the refectory, where I found each monk taking water in his hands from the lavabo suspended at the wall near the entrance; some prayers were chanted in Latin, and then my place was pointed out to me at the high table, at which sat two persons, one of them a priest. These were postulans," persons residing in a distinct part of the building with the view of trying whether they could habituate themselves to the mode of life. The frères du chœur arranged themselves at two tables against the walls, the frères converts (lay brothers) at a central table parallel with the others, and

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at another facing the high table. The former were clad in white cowls, the latter in brown, apparently the natural colour of dark wool, and their heads were covered by their hoods. The number at table was about thirty. One of the brothers of the choir, sitting at a desk, during the repast, read passages from scripture in Latin, and some extracts from the rules of the order in French, inculcating the necessity of utter abstraction from the world, and the conduct to be adopted by the members towards each other. On the walls were inscribed sentences, pointing out the vanities of the world, the excellence of abstinence, and the shortness of life :—such as, “Labour not for the food which perisheth, but for that which endureth for ever""An austere life will be more consolatory at the hour of death, than one passed in pleasure and delight," &c. Acts of penance were performed by three of the monks during the time of dinner: two of them remained on their knees, with their arms covered by the cowl, stretched out to the full extent; the third, in a still more prostrate position, with his hands on the ground and his head touching or nearly touching the floor. The person who conducted me to the convent, on one of his visits had seen a monk extended at full length, with his face on the floor, at the entry of the refectory, so that it was difficult to pass without treading on his prostrate body. The dinner consisted of soup made of bread, cabbage, carrots, and other vegetables, a second dish of flour and water, dark but sweet bread of wheaten and rye flour, and at the high table a small jar of butter, and some cyder. Before each monk was placed his portion in an earthenware vessel, with a napkin and a wooden spoon. This is the sole repast in the twenty-four hours, except two or three ounces of bread in the evening. At the ringing of a small bell an interruption of eating took place, and a pause of a minute or two; when dinner was over, prayers were again said, the friars proceeded to the chapel and commenced the chant, the frères du chœur in the stalls, the lay brothers kneeling in front.* I shortly joined my former conductor,

* They pass eight hours of the day and night in prayer and chanting in the chapel, six or seven are allowed for rest, since they retire in winter at seven, in summer

the frère hôtelier, who showed me a part of the building in which are very neat apartments for the postulans or novices, and for priests who may wish to pass some time in retirement, and an apartment better furnished for the bishop. I requested the further hospitality of the monastery for the night, and having been introduced to the superior, who appeared to me to be a man of talent, he waved the objection against me as a heretic, and conducted me himself to my chamber, on the door of which was affixed a paper with words to the following effect:— "Those whom Divine Providence may conduct to this monastery are most humbly requested to take in good part the information which is offered to them on the following points. Perpetual silence is enjoined in the cloister. If a stranger requires any thing in the monastery, he should address himself to the steward (frère hôtelier), because the brothers, who are required to keep strict silence, are not permitted to give any answer to those who speak to them. Nothing is required in return for the hospitality and simple fare, which is offered as a duty enjoined by the order." A little before two in the morning the bell tolled, and the same brother came with a lantern and conducted me to the chapel, placing me in a stall opposite to where stood the abbot with a crozier before him. There was no light, save one lamp fronting the chief altar. After a chant of some duration, the monks fell on their knees, and remained in utter silence about a quarter of an hour; candles were then lighted, and the rest of the offices were chanted from the breviary, and concluded at four, when the monks retired, and re-assembled at seven then the abbot, in the embroidered robes of the priesthood, read the morning mass, some female peasants attending in a part of the chapel divided by a grating. A few years back a ceremony used to be performed which is now discontinued as not being required by the rules; it has been described to me as one of exceeding solemnity: as soon as the monks assembled at the night service, they fell on their knees, and with their arms

extended like a cross, in a low deep voice chanted the 50th Psalm-" Miserere mei Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam." All who have been present at the performance of the Miserere in the Sixtine chapel, at Rome, during the holy week, agree in representing it as a most imposing ceremony. When the last candle is extinguished, and the choristers burst forth with voices attuned by long practice to the most perfect harmony, the impression on the mind is most affecting; yet the solemnity is much disturbed by the struggling of strangers for places, and by the presence of the Papal guard in their dramatic particoloured dresses, and I can well conceive that the chant of the Miserere in a monastery of Trappists must be far more imposing. All the concomitant circumstances are of the most gloomy character; the solemn hour, the glimmering light, barely making darkness visible; above all, the conviction that these are not hired chorists affecting the harmony of sweet sounds, but men utterly abstracted from the world, who even deny themselves the use of speech, except in these supplications to their Maker-mistaken, as most will think them, but undoubtedly sincere ; all these circumstances tend to make this service, as an act of deep humiliation and penitence, the most impressive that the heart can experience.

In answer to such inquiries as my conductor was permitted to entertain, and from information obtained in the immediate neighbourhood, I gathered, that the number of members of this community is at present thirty-eight,

that they are supported by the produce of the farm and garden,-by the dues paid in kind for grinding corn at their mills,-by sums put into the common fund by those persons of property who join them, and by payments made for the masses read by those who are priests, and for their prayers, amounting probably to a considerable sum; as by many zealous Catholics they are considered in the light of saints. When sick, the severity of the discipline is relaxed, the advice of a physician is permitted, and broth and even meat allowed, if ordered by him

at eight, and rise for the service at two in the morning; the rest of their time may be divided between religious reading in the library and labour in the farm and garden, if indeed their attenuated frames can long enable them to support bodily exertion.

and desired by the patient, probably on the principle that he is the best judge whether he is yet fit to die. At other times, nothing which has possessed life may be taken as food. When the

hour of death approaches, some ashes are spread, covered with a little straw, and on this the body of the expiring monk is placed to await his last

agony.

Though there are examples of some persons who attain a very advanced age, yet in general the lives of the Trappists are shortened by the severity of the discipline, the effect of which is strongly marked on their countenances. In fact, they may be said, in the language of Buffon, hardly to live, but rather to die each day by an anticipated death; and to expire, not by ceasing to live, but by completing the act of death.

Many romantic incidents have marked the early annals of La Trappe, and an occurrence of similar character, which happened a few years back, was related to me by a lady to whom it was communicated by the present superior of the monastery. The reverend father no doubt considered it a splendid instance of the triumph of religion over all worldly feelings; many will contemplate it as the sacrifice of the most tender charities of life to the spirit of inexorable fanaticism. There was living at Caen a young couple, who had formed a marriage founded on mutual affection; both of them were of serious temperament, and in moments of mutual confidence the husband confessed to his wife that he had formerly wished to enter the order of La Trappe, and the wife on her side said that, though confiding in his love, and happy in her present state, she too had aspired to a religious life.

On one occasion when the husband repeated strongly his former views, the wife replied that, as there was so powerful an impression on both their minds, it was essential to their salvation that the advice of religious persons should be taken. After confession, and consultation with several priests, a separation was determined on: the wife retired to a convent of the order of the Visitation at Caen, and the husband was conveyed to the monastery of Trappists at Briquebec. From that day they were

utterly dead to each other, except that the superior on his visits to the convent at Caen, in passing the nun, whispered, "Brother- -is well;" and on his return to his monastery, in like manner, communicated to the monk, "Sister is well." The only answer of each was, "Deo gratias." After six years' residence, the constitution of the young man gave way under the severity of the discipline; and at the hour of death, no thought of his former partner found utterance: his only expression was, "How happy I am to die a monk!"

My visit to this monastery produced in me very painful sensations; though the first impression, so different was all I saw from the transactions of life, was that of a scenic representation rather than actual truth. It requires a little time to realize to the mind the awful and chilling fact that this same unvarying scene is acted day by day, with no change in prospect but death. Surely when Providence has opened to us in the world an almost unbounded field of exertion for the benefit of mankind, it is a strange perversion of the understanding to imagine it can be grateful to him to abandon those of his gifts which are granted to us for utility, even if we think it for our spiritual good to renounce all the pleasures he has vouchsafed to smooth our path in this life. Some will indignantly exclaim with Rousseau-"C'est renoncer à sa qualité d'homme, aux droits de l'humanité, à ses devoirs." This, however, would be too severe a sentence; an unjust one, indeed, on the modern Trappists, who have done good service to the state in reclaiming waste lands, and in introducing an improved system of agriculture among ignorant peasants, and who exercise an extensive and not indiscriminate charity in their neighbourhood. Rather let us admire in the abstract the sublime principle which leads man occasionally to despise and trample on his mortal nature, in aspirations to the Unknown and Unseen; and let us lament the want of knowledge in the application of this principle, which, not appreciating the intimate union of our corporeal and spiritual natures, not only shortens life, but frequently deadens and debases the faculties of the soul in proportion to the prostration of the

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