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Show MOUNT MELLARAY'S TRAPPISTS. I How They Impressed a Non-Catholic American Journalist. Charles Battell Loomis, in his letter from Ireland recently to the New York Sun describes as follows a visit he made to Mount Mellaray: v Dublin, Oct. 24. Many persons whom I met in Ireland told me that I ought to go to Mount Melaray for my sins. Mou.it Mellaray (to those who don't know) is a Trappist monastery . set among hills that would be at once the temptation and despair of a colorist in landscape. To it go the brain and heart weary from all countries, and the good monks there's no doubt that they are good) welcome them whether they have money or not. I must confess that, being a Protestant, Protest-ant, I felt a litle compunction about going, to the place, but I had been assured that my sect would make no difference,' that the fathers were glad to receive all who came, and that I would be as well treated there as though I were a saint. On my wr.y up the jarvey told me of the amount of good that the monks do, not only ir. a spiritual, but in a material way, by providing work for the able-bodied men of the vicinity. I was received at the monastery by a monk, who. on learning that I wished to become a guest, took me over to the guest house, and there a white-robed father took my surname and I began to feel that I had renounced re-nounced the world, and that perhaps I was trying something that I would regret, and wouldn't mamma come and get me? But the bearded man before me was kindly, and when I told him (not wishing to sail under false colors) that I was a Protestant, he told me that it was a fast day, and had I dined?,, Fortunately I had eaten heartily at noon. "If ye have not dined we can give you something substantial," said he, but I decided that it "would be better to be treated as the other guests were to be treated, and so I told him, and he said that at 6 o'clock there would be tea, and that at 8 1 would retire to my room, and at 10 all lights must be out. It was raining dismally, but he said that I could go for a walk in the garden gar-den or stay in my room, or go to the smoke shed to smoke a pipe or a cigar. ci-gar. I chose the smoke shed, as I understood there were other human beings there, and, although I had only been in the monastery five minutes, I felt Imperatively the need of companionship. com-panionship. After a. brother had taken my traps to my room I went out tj the smoke shed, and found there ten or twelve guests, five or six of . them priests, and all Catholics. They were very quiet as I came up, and I feared to speak above a whisper myself, but a jolly looking priest, seeing a newspaper sticking out of my raincoat pocket, said: "Is that today's paper?' and on my saying that it was, he asked me if he might borrow .it. and then he stood up in front of them all and said: "The news of the day Irish Ireland. 'A Leaguer's Point of View,' 'The French Trunk Horror.' 'The Bachelor Tax,' discussed by Mr. Doo-ley.' Doo-ley.' " "Rade that, father," said a young chap with a twinkling eye. The paper pa-per was the Dublin Independent, and in a moment more I was listening to the familiar humor of the funniest man in America, and that in a monastery', monas-tery', of all places. I was soon in conversation with the group, and discovered two compatriots compatri-ots from Indiana, one a native of Ireland Ire-land returning to visit it once more before he departed, the other his son. Vesper bells broke up the talk, and I went out with the rest to chapel. After vespers came tea, which I had supposed would be literally nothing else, but there was the most delicious graham bread I have had since I came to Ireland, and unlimited milk. There was not butter, as it was a fast day. Talk went on smnn? us nil nntn a bearded monk in white came in and began to read passages from Thomas a Kempls. His enunciation, was peculiarly pe-culiarly pure, and I doubt not that he was a gentleman born. It was a pleasure to hear such English. While he read we were all silent. After supper we went out to the garden, and in a sheltered place (although (al-though we did not need a shelter, as the fickle rain had stopped), those who wished played a spirited game that consisted of tossing stones into a little pocket of earth. One of the priests was an adept, and he carried all before him. In such simple pleasures, or in walking, the evening was spent uitll it came time to go to chapel again. One of my companions (and they were there from all parts of Ireland, and you might hear the Scotch accent ac-cent of the north, the pure Dublin and Wicklow Elizaethan English, the slightly thickened Waterford variety, and the hurried talk of the Corkonian, as well as other styles I could not place probably west coast dialects, mournful mourn-ful and slow) asked me what I thought of Ireland, andl told him my impressions impres-sions bad been tremendously favorable. He said that a man who had returned re-turned not long since told him that Ireland Ire-land was hopelessly behind the times, and I told him, for hla comfort, that to take one instance In which Ireland was up to date the tram service in Dublin was far ahead of that of New-York New-York both in the elegance of its rolling roll-ing stock, Its cheapness and the courtesy cour-tesy and civility of its employes. He was much amused at the idea of horse cars in New York. Electric cars play an Important part in all the large Irish cities, and a ride on the top of one to Howth, a lovely suburb of Dublin, Dub-lin, is worth every bit of the eight cents it costs. They have yet to introduce the transfer trans-fer system, but In other particulars, like Mr. O'Reilly, "they're doin' quite well." All this I told him. At 8 I sought my room, where there was reading matter suitable to the place, but the candle was not conducive to extended reading unless I held it close to the book, and then it dazzled me; so at 9 o'clock I was in bed, and until 2 in the morning the hose was quiet, save for a snore here and there. But at 2 the bells began to ring, and kept it up at intervals all through the night. I was told this, but "tired nature's na-ture's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," came to my aid and I dreamed it' was a feast day and that all the monks were sitting at the breakfast table singing at each other joyfully. Next day was a feast day (to my relief). re-lief). I was up at 6. but it was some time after that that I heard steps in the hall. I had looked out of the window win-dow from time to time, hoping to see some one in the garden. The table of the dules of the day hung in my room, and I noticed that breakfast was at 9. Luckily I had some chocolate, or I might have felt I was likely to faint by the wayside. I did not go to early devotion and when I heard the footsteps in the hall I opened my door and found it was Father David, the keeper of the gate, going around to see if any were still in bed. When he saw me he said to the brother who accompanied him: "Oh. it doesn't make any difference with him." Then to me: "Would you like to walk in the garden?" I said that I would and walked 'round and 'round its lonely paths for more than, an hour, now and then eating a square of chocolate to keep off death. But before 8 the good father came and asked me if I'd like to see the interior in-terior of the monastery, and he showed me the bakeshop with its most up to date ovens, and oh. how hungry the smell of baking made me and the steam saw and the creamery and the library with its old newspaper telling to Irishmen Irish-men that Cromwell had departed to his rest the day before. Not very sorrowful sorrow-ful news that, I imagine, to the Irishman Irish-man of that day. After Father David showed me and the other Americans an incubator and explained the process, with an innocent circumstantiality that we respected. Why tell him that the woods were full of incubators in America? The thing that appealed most to him, however, was the big circular saw that would saw up a good big log of wood in a "minyit." ( With his permission I took a photograph photo-graph of a beautiful Irish cross in the j graveyard, but when I suggested my I taking him he averted his palms at me. j Such vanities were not for him. At breakfast there were eggs and milk and tea and delicious butter in abundance and the reading of some holy book by Father David, which did not stop all conversation. Being a feast day there was one priest who felt his tongue could be loosened, and he kept up an undercurrent of conversation to Father David's annoyance, but it was a human touch that was not ot of place. The monks are themselves vegetarians, vegetar-ians, but a school is run in connection with the monastery, and the students are allowed to eat meats. At 9 o'clock my jarvey called for me I and took me to the boat for Youghal, and I made my offering and shook hands with Father David and felt that I had been benefited by my stay in the retreat. I even felt that had I more time at my disposal I would stay on for several days, talking with the guests, pitching stones into the hole and looking look-ing at the rolling landscape and the awe inspiring hills behind the chapel spire. |