RABELAIS A3TD KOLINUS. 



233 



upon an old lady being brought 

 forward as a witness to prove a 

 tender made : 



Oarrow, forbear! that tough old jade 

 Can never prove a tender maid." 



" Aug. 29, 1818. A good story 

 in Mrs. Crouch's Memoirs of Stephen 

 liemble, who, sleeping at an inn in 

 a country town, was waked about 

 daybreak by a strange figure, a 

 dwarf, standing by his bed in ex- 

 traordinary attire. Kemble raised 

 himself up in the bed, and ques- 

 tioned the figure, which said, ' I 

 am a dwarf, as you perceive ; I am 

 come to exhibit at the fair to-mor- 

 row, and I have mistaken the bed- 

 chamber : I suppose you are a giant 

 come for the same purpose.' " 



"Sept. 1, 1818. Interrupted by 

 Bowles, who never comes amiss ; 

 the mixture of talent and simplicity 

 in him delightful. His parsonage- 

 house at Bremhill is beautifully 

 situated ; but he has a good deal 

 frittered away its beauty with grot- 

 toes, hermitages, and Shenstonian 

 inscriptions : when company is 

 coming he cries, ' Here John, run 

 with the crucifix and missal to the 

 hermitage, and set the fountain 

 going.' His sheep-bells are tuned 

 in thirds and fifths ; but he is an 

 excellent fellow notwithstanding ; 

 and, if the waters of his inspiration 

 be not those of Helicon, they are 

 at least very sweet waters, and to 

 my taste pleasanter than some that 

 are more strongly impregnated." 



ROLINUS' SERMONS. 



The story which is so pleasantly 

 told by Rabelais, chap. vii. of Book 

 III., and the answer of Pantagruel 

 to Panurge, when he consults him 

 on his intended marriage, are co- 

 pied from a sermon of John Rolinus, 

 doctor of Paris, and monk of Cluny, 

 on widowhood .The passage appears 

 to me singular enough to deserve 

 translation. He tells us, that a 

 certain widow having gone to ask 



the advice of her cure, whether she 

 ought to marry again, told him she 

 was without support, and that her 

 servant, for whom she had taken 

 a fancy, was industrious, and well 

 acquainted with her husband's 

 trade. The cure's answer was, that 

 she ought to marry him. "And 

 yet," said the widow, " I am afraid 

 to do it; for when we marry, we 

 run some risk of finding a master in 

 our servants." " Well, then," said 

 the cure, " don't take him." " But 

 what shall I do 1" said the widow. 

 " I cannot support the labour of my 

 husband's business without assist- 

 ance." " Marry him, then," said 

 the cure. " Very well," . said the 

 widow; "but if he turns out a 

 worthless fellow, he may get hold of 

 my property and spend it." " Then 

 you need not take him," replied the 

 cure. In this way the cure always 

 coincided with the last opinion ex- 

 pressed by the widow; but seeing, 

 at last, that her mind was really 

 made up, and that she would many 

 the servant, he told her to take the 

 advice of the bells of the church, 

 and that they would counsel her 

 best what to do. The bells rang, 

 and the widow distinctly heard 

 them say, "Prends ton valet: Prends 

 ton valet."* She accordingly re- 

 turned and married him imme- 

 diately. Some time afterwards, ho 

 drubbed her heartily, and she found, 

 that, instead of being mistress, she 

 had really become the servant. 

 She returned to the cure, and cursed 

 the moment when she had been 

 credulous enough to act upon his 

 advice. " Good woman," said the 

 cure, " I am afraid you have not 

 rightly understood what the bells 

 said to you." He rang them again; 

 and then the poor widow hoard 

 clearly, " Ne le prends pas : Ne l<t 

 prends pas n (Don t take him: Don't 



* Take your servant: Take your ser- 

 vant. This incident will probably re- 

 mind our readers of \Vhittington. 



