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                     THE WHALE AND THE GRASSHOPPER
                            And Other Fables

                                   By
                             SEUMAS O'BRIEN

                         With a frontispiece by
                             Robert McCaig



                                 Boston
                       Little, Brown, and Company
                                  1916






                                   To
                           Edward J. O'Brien






LIST OF FABLES


                                           Page

        The Whale and the Grasshopper        1
        The House in the Valley             14
        Peace and War                       26
        The Valley of the Dead              36
        The King of Montobewlo              51
        The Dilemma of Matty the Goat       67
        Ham and Eggs                       101
        The White Horse of Banba           117
        Rebellions                         136
        Kings and Commoners                143
        The Folly of Being Foolish         155
        The Lady of the Moon               163
        A Bargain of Bargains              177
        Shauno and the Shah                191
        The Mayor of Loughlaurna           212
        The Land of Peace and Plenty       230
        The Linnet with the Crown of Gold  242
        The Man with the Wooden Leg        258
        The Hermit of the Grove            278
        The King of Goulnaspurra           294






THE WHALE AND THE GRASSHOPPER


When Padna Dan started talking to his friend Micus Pat as they
walked at a leisurely pace towards the town of Castlegregory on a
June morning, what he said was: "The world is a wonderful place when
you come to think about it, and Ireland is a wonderful place and
so is America, and though there are lots of places like each other,
there's no place like Ballysantamalo. When there's not sunshine there,
there's moonshine, and the handsomest women in the world live there,
and nowhere else except in Ireland or the churchyards could you find
such decent people."

"Decency," said Micus, "when you're poor is extravagance, and bad
example when you're rich."

"And why?" said Padna.

"Well," said Micus, "because the poor imitate the rich and the rich
give to the poor and when the poor give to each other they have
nothing of their own."

"That's communism you're talking," said Padna, "and that always comes
before education and enlightenment. Sure, if the poor weren't decent
they'd be rich, and if the rich were decent they'd be poor, and if
every one had a conscience there'd be less millionaires."

"'Tis a poor bird that can't pick for himself."

"But suppose a bird had a broken wing and couldn't fly to where the
pickings were?" said Micus.

"Well, then bring the pickings to him. That would be charity."

"But charity is decency and wisdom is holding your tongue when you
don't know what you're talking about."

"If the people of Ballysantamalo are so decent, how is it that there
are so many bachelors there? Do you think it right to have all the
young women worrying their heads off reading trashy novels and doing
all sorts of silly things like fixing their hair in a way that was
never intended by nature and doing so for years and years and having
nothing in the end but the trouble of it all?"

"Well, 'tis hard blaming the young men because every young lady
you meet looks better to you than the last until you meet the next,
and so you go from one to another until you're so old that no one
would marry you at all unless you had lots of money, a bad liver,
and a shaky heart."

"An old man without any sense, lots of money, a bad liver, and a shaky
heart can always get a young lady to marry him," said Micus, "though
rheumatics, gout, and a wooden leg are just as good in such a case."

"Every bit," said Padna, "but there's nothing like a weak constitution,
a cold climate, and a tendency to pneumonia."

"Old men are queer," said Micus.

"They are," said Padna, "and if they were all only half as wise as
they think they are, then there'd be only young fools in the world. I
don't wonder a bit at the suffragettes. And a time will come when we
won't know men from women unless someone tells us so."

"Wisha, 'tis my belief that there will be a great reaction some day,
because women will never be able to stand the strain of doing what
they please without encountering opposition. When a man falls into
love he falls into trouble likewise, and when a woman isn't in trouble
you may be sure that there's something wrong with her."

"Well," said Padna, "I think we will leave the women where the Devil
left St. Peter,--"

"Where was that?" asked Micus.

"Alone," answered Padna.

"That would be all very fine if they stayed there," said Micus.

"Now," said Padna, "as I was talking of my travels in foreign parts,
I want to tell you about the morning I walked along the beach at
Ballysantamalo, and a warm morning it was too. So I ses to meself,
'Padna Dan,' ses I, 'what kind of a fool of a man are you? Why don't
you take a swim for yourself?' So I did take a swim, and I swam to the
rocks where the seals go to get their photographs taken, and while I
was having a rest for myself I noticed a grasshopper sitting a short
distance away and 'pon my word, but he was the most sorrowful-looking
grasshopper I ever saw before or since. Then all of a sudden a monster
whale comes up from the sea and lies down beside him and ses: 'Well,'
ses he, 'is that you? Who'd ever think of finding you here! Why
there's nothing strange under the sun but the ways of woman.'

"''Tis me that's here, then,' ses the grasshopper. 'My grandmother
died last night and she wasn't insured either.'

"'The practice of negligence is the curse of mankind and the root
of sorrow,' ses the whale. 'I suppose the poor old soul had her fill
of days, and sure we all must die, and 'tis cheaper to be dead than
alive at any time. A man never knows that he's dead when he is dead,
and he never knows he's alive until he's married.'

"'You're a great one to expatiate on things you know nothing about
like the barbers and the cobblers,' said the grasshopper. 'I only
want to know if you're coming to the funeral to-morrow.'

"'I'm sorry I can't,' ses the whale. 'My grandfather is getting married
for the tenth time and I was in China on the last few occasions. I must
pay my respects by being present at to-morrow's festivities,' ses he.

"'I'm sorry you can't come,' ses the grasshopper, 'because you are
heartily welcome and you'd add prestige to the ceremony besides.'

"'I know that,' ses the whale, 'but America don't care much about
ceremony.'

"'Who told you that?' ses the grasshopper.

"'Haven't I my eyesight, and don't I read the newspapers?' ses
the whale.

"'You mustn't read the society columns, then,' ses the grasshopper.

"'Wisha, for the love of St. Crispin,' ses the whale, 'have they
society columns in the American newspapers?'

"'Indeed they have,' ses the grasshopper, 'and they oftentimes devote
a few columns to other matters when the dressmakers don't be busy.'

"'America is a strange country surely, a wonderful country, not to
say a word about the length and breadth of it. I swam around it twice
last week without stopping, to try and reduce my weight, and would
you believe me that I was tired after the journey, but the change of
air only added to my proportions?'

"'That's too bad,' ses the grasshopper.

"'Are you an American?' ses the whale.

"'Of course I am,' ses the grasshopper. 'You don't think 'tis the
way I'd be born at sea and no nationality at all, like yourself. I'm
proud of my country.'

"'And why, might I ask?'

"'Well, don't we produce distinguished Irishmen, and make Americans
of the Europeans and Europeans of the Americans? Think of all the
connoisseurs who wouldn't buy a work of art in their own country, when
they could go to Europe and pay ten times the value for the pot-boilers
that does be turned out in the studios of Paris and London.'

"'There's nothing like home industry,' ses the whale, 'in a foreign
country, I mean.'

"'After all, who knows anything about a work of art but the artist,
and very little he knows about it either. A work of art is like a
flower; it grows, it happens. That's all. And unless you charge the
devil's own price for it, people will think you are cheating them.'

"'Wisha, I suppose the best any one can do is to take all you can get
and if you want to be a philanthropist give away what you don't want,'
ses the grasshopper.

"'All worth missing I catches,' ses the whale, 'and all worth
catching I misses, like the fisherman who lost the salmon and caught
a crab. How's things in Europe? I didn't see the papers this morning.'

"'Europe is in a bad way,' ses the grasshopper. 'She was preaching
civilization for centuries, so that she might be prepared when war
came to annihilate herself.'

"'It looks that way to me,' ses the whale. 'Is there anything else
worth while going on in the world?'

"'There's the Irish question,' ses the grasshopper.

"'Where's that Ireland is?' ses the whale. 'Isn't that an island to
the west of England?'

"'No,' ses the grasshopper, 'but England is an island to the east
of Ireland.'

"'Wisha,' ses the whale, 'it gives me indigestion to hear people
talking about Ireland. Sure, I nearly swallowed it up by mistake while
I was on a holiday in the Atlantic last year, and I'm sorry now that
I didn't.'

"'And I'm sorry that you didn't try,' ses the grasshopper. 'Then
you'd know something about indigestion. The less you have to say
about Ireland, the less you'll have to be sorry for. Remember that
my father came from Cork.'

"'Can't I say what I like?' ses the whale.

"'You can think what you like,' ses the grasshopper, 'but say what
other people like if you want to be a good politician.'

"'There's nothing so much abused as politics,' ses the whale.

"'Except politicians,' ses the grasshopper. 'Only for the Irish there'd
be no one bothering about poetry and the drama to-day. Only for fools
there'd be no wise people, and only for sprats, hake, and mackerel
there'd be no whales, and a good job that would be too.'

"'What's that you're saying?' ses the whale very sharply.

"'Don't have me to lose my temper with you,' ses the grasshopper.

"'Wisha, bad luck to your impudence and bad manners, you insignificant
little spalpeen. How dare you insult your superiors?' ses the whale.

"'Who's my superior?' says the grasshopper. 'You, is it?'

"'Yes, me then,' says the whale.

"'Well,' ses the grasshopper, 'there's no doubt but vanity, ignorance,
and ambition are three wonderful things, and you have them all.'

"'Another word from you,' ses the whale, 'and I'll put you where
Napoleon put the oysters.'

"'Neither you, nor Napoleon, nor the Kaiser himself and his hundred
million men could do hurt or harm to me. You could have every soldier
in the German army, the French army, and the Salvation Army looking
for me, and I'd put the comether on them all.'

"'I can't stand this any longer,' ses the whale, and then and there
he hits the rock a whack of his tail, and when I went to look for
the grasshopper, there he was sitting on the whale's nose as happy
and contented as if nothing had happened. And when he jumped back
to the rock again, he says: 'A little exercise when 'tis tempered
with discretion never does any harm, but violent exertion is a very
foolish thing if you value your health. But it is only people who
have no sense, but think they have it all, who make such errors.'

"'If I could only get a hold of you,' ses the whale, 'I'd knock some
of the pride out of you.'

"'That would be an ungentlemanly way of displaying your displeasure,'
ses the grasshopper.

"'I'd scorn,' ses he, 'to use violent means with you, or do you
physical injury of any kind. All you want is self control and a little
education. You should know that quantity without quality isn't as
good as quality without quantity.'

"'Sure, 'tis I'm the fool to be wasting my time listening to the
likes of you,' ses the whale. 'If any of my own family saw me now,
I'd never hear the end of it.'

"'Indeed,' ses the grasshopper, 'no one belonging to me would ever
recognise me ever again if they thought I was trying to make a whale
behave himself. There would be some excuse for one of my attainments
feeling proud. But as for you--!'

"'And what in the name of nonsense can you do except give old guff
out of you?'

"'I haven't time to tell you all,' ses the grasshopper. 'But to
commence with, I can travel all over the world and have the use of
trains, steamers, sailing ships, and automobiles and will never be
asked to pay a cent, and I can live on the dry land all my life if
I choose, while you can't live under water, or over water, on land
or on sea, and while all the king's horses and all the king's men
couldn't catch me if they were trying till the crack of doom, you
could be caught by a few poor ignorant harmless sailors, who wouldn't
know a crow from a cormorant and who'd sell your old carcass to make
oil for foolish wives to burn and write letters to other people's
husbands and fill the world with trouble.'

"'And what about all the whalebone we supplies for ladies' corsets
and paper knives, and what about all the stories we make for the
novelists and the moving pictures and--'"

"We're at the Sprig of Holly now," said Micus. "Is it a pint of porter
or a bottle of stout you'll have?"

"I'll have a pint, I think," said Padna.






THE HOUSE IN THE VALLEY


Down in the valley squirrels were busy climbing the hazel trees;
rabbits made bold and ventured from their hiding places to gambol in
the autumnal sunshine; weasels sported among the ferns; birds sang and
insects buzzed, while nature looked on and smiled. Larch, birch, oak,
and sycamore were altogether mingled, and perfect harmony there was in
bower and hedgerow. Everybody came to the valley and everybody enjoyed
coming, because there was no place like it. There was no color that
you could not find there; but if you searched all day and all night
too, only one house could you find in all its leafy splendor. Nor was
it a large house. Just two stories high, with medium-sized windows
below and small dormer windows on top. The roof was made of thatch,
and the thatch, from being bleached in the sun, had turned to a
golden hue. The walls, no one could tell what they were made of,
so well were they covered with ivy and other green creepers. In the
garden in front there were roses, pinks, and geraniums; and in the
garden behind, nasturtiums, money-musk, and golden feather grew on a
rockery made of large stones that were brought from Conlan's Strand,
where the children of Lir (before they became swans) used to play
and watch the great ships sailing over the seas. It was a beautiful
place to live, was this house, and whosoever looked upon it never
forgot the house in the valley.

"This is a wonderful place, surely!" said a stranger, as he looked
down from a crag and surveyed the winding valley beneath.

"A more wonderful place you could not find in a lifetime," responded
Micus Pat, as he lit his pipe.

"I believe you," said the stranger. "Sure, 'tis ten years of my life
I'd give to own that house," as he pointed to where blue smoke was
curling skywards. "Who built it at all, I'd like to know?"

"Sit down there," said Micus Pat, as he pointed to a fallen tree,
"and I'll tell you."

And this is what he told:



"Well, it all happened when His Royal Highness the Czar of Russia
came on a visit to the Mayor of Cahermore."

"That must have been a long time ago," interrupted the stranger.

"Of course it was," said Micus. "But, as I was saying, when His Royal
Highness came to the town, there was great excitement entirely. Every
man, woman, and child put on their Sunday clothes, and never before
nor since was there such eating and drinking, nor such dancing and
singing. Flags were flying from the windows and the housetops, and
the birds in the cages and the birds in the trees sang until they
got so hoarse that they couldn't sing any more. The Czar himself was
delighted, and some say that he grew two inches taller from all he
had seen: but he wasn't much of a man at that. He was just an inch or
so bigger than yourself, and maybe a bit better looking, but who'd
be boasting about such things, anyway? Well, though the Czar was
neither big nor small, good looking nor bad looking, all the Grand
Dukes and Grand Duchesses were the sight of the world. They too were
delighted with themselves and everybody else, and all went well until
the Czar was making his speech, and Bryan O'Loughlin taking it down
in shorthand."

"What did he want taking down the speech for?" said the stranger.

"I'm surprised at your ignorance," said Micus. "Sure you ought to
know that the Czar gets all his speeches printed and gives them to
his children to read during the cold wintry nights in Russia. There's
so much frost and snow there that His Royal Highness never leaves his
children run about the roads to warm themselves, like other children,
for fear of their getting chilblains and toothaches."

"He must be a good father, then," said the stranger.

"Of course he is," said Micus, and he proceeded. "Well, the speech was
wonderfully worded and loudly applauded, and nearly ended, when a loud
report rang out like as if some one was trying to blow up the world--"

"The Lord save us!" said the stranger.

"Amen!" said Micus. "And when the silence was resumed, some one
shouted at the top of his voice. 'Anarchists! Anarchists! Anarchists!'"

"What is an anarchist?" asked the stranger.

"An anarchist," answered Micus, "is one who don't know what's the
matter with himself or the world, and cares as little about his own
life as he does about any one else's."

"There are a lot of fools in the world, I'm thinking," said the
stranger.

"There are, thank God," replied Micus. "Well, as true as I'm telling
you, every one in the place took to their heels when the great noise
came, except Bryan O'Loughlin and the Czar himself. And if you looked
out through the windows of the Town Hall, you'd see for miles and miles
and miles along the roads nothing but Grand Dukes and fair ladies,
soldiers and sailors, and they flying helter-skelter as though the
Devil, or Cromwell himself, was after them."

"And what did the Czar himself say?" queried the stranger.

"'The pusillanimous varmints,' ses he, as he trod the floor with
disdain; and then, lo and behold! another blast rang out, and the
Czar with all his swords and medals fell into Bryan's arms, and cried
out! 'I'm a dead man,' ses he. 'Bury me with my mother's people!'

"But he was no more dead than myself, for he only stepped on a blank
cartridge which was dropped by some of the Grand Dukes in the scrummage
for the doors--and that's what nearly took the senses from His Royal
Highness the Czar of Russia.

"Well, when he came to himself some time after, he ses to Bryan:
'You're a brave man,' ses he, 'and you must be rewarded for your
valor,' and Bryan felt as proud as the Duke of Wellington and he after
putting the comether on poor Napoleon; and to show how little he cared
for danger, he trod on every cartridge he saw on the floor, and if you
were there you'd think 'twas at the battle of Vinegar Hill you were.

"'Be careful,' ses the Czar, 'one of them cartridges might be loaded. I
can see you are a brave man' (and he was too, for he was married
three times, and he a widower, and he but three and thirty). 'There's
nothing like discretion,' ses the Czar, 'if you want to keep alive
and out of trouble.'

"'I'm afraid of nothing,' ses Bryan. 'And I'll always befriend a
stranger in a foreign country.'

"And when the Czar heard that, he ses: 'Bryan O'Loughlin of Cahermore,
come here to me,' and Bryan came. 'Sit down there,' ses he, 'while
I fill my pipe,' and when his pipe was filled, he up and ses, as
he drew a lot of photographs from his pocket: 'These are my seven
daughters,' ses he, and Bryan was delighted and surprised, so he ses:
'And is their mother living too?' 'She is, indeed,' says the Czar,
and without saying another word he pulls her photograph out of another
pocket, and when Bryan sees it, he ses: ''Pon my word, she's a fine,
decent, grauver looking woman, and I wouldn't mind having her for a
mother myself, only she looks too like a protestant.'

"'She was the Duchess of Skatchachivouchi,' ses the Czar.

"'Is that so? Well, then, she comes of a real decent family,'
ses Bryan.

"'Now,' ses the Czar, 'I want to reward you for your wonderful courage,
so you can have your choice of my seven daughters,' ses he, 'and I'll
make you Duke of Siberia besides.'

"But Bryan neither hummed nor hawed, and only asked him for the fill
of his pipe, and when both were puffing away together, ses Bryan to
the Czar: 'I can see you are a decent man, and I must thank you for
your kindness, and indeed I must say also that your daughters are
fine respectable-looking young women, and I'm sure that they would
make good wives if they were well looked after. But I promised my
last wife, and she on her dying bed, that I would never marry any
one again but the King of Spain's daughter.'

"And when he had all that said, the Czar looked very sad, and turned
as pale as a ghost, and all he said was: 'Well, I couldn't do any
more for you,' and then ses he: 'Is there any place down here where
we can have a drink?'

"'There is,' said Bryan, 'down in the glen at the Fox and Hounds.'

"So off they marched together, and after they treated each other to
three halfs of whiskey each, the Czar looked very tired and forlorn,
and said, as they made a short cut through St. Kevin's boreen, and
observed the clouds of night coming on from east and west, and south
and north, and not a friend nor an enemy in sight: 'Well,' ses he,
'how the devil am I to reach the shore in safety? I'm a mighty monarch,
and I must have a bodyguard.'

"To all this, and more besides, Bryan listened, but never a word
did he say until he smoked nearly all the Czar's tobacco, and burnt
all his matches; and then all of a sudden he ses, 'Leave it to me,'
ses he. 'I can get you a bodyguard.'

"'I wouldn't doubt you,' ses the Czar, as he slipped him a guinea. 'You
can have this,' ses he, 'as you wouldn't have any of my daughters
and be made the Duke of Siberia. But we'll none the less be friends,'
ses he. 'Life is a tragedy or a comedy according to the way you look
at it.'

"'The world's a stage,' says Bryan, 'but most of the actors don't
know how to act: they are only supers at best!'

"'That's so,' ses the Czar. 'But what about my bodyguard?'

"'I'm thinking of it,' ses Bryan. 'Do you know my brother Larry?'

"'No,' says the Czar, 'the pleasure isn't mine.

"'Well, he's a second corporal in the Ballygarvan Lancers, and he's
a great friend of the sergeant's, and between us I think we can find
a bodyguard.'

"And as true as I'm telling you, after supper that night the Czar of
Russia marched through the streets of Cahermore with a bodyguard of
the Ballygarvan Lancers behind and before him, and Bryan out in front
leading the way, with a gun on his shoulder and a sword by his side,
and everybody taking off their hats to him as he passed."

"And what happened to the Czar?" inquired the stranger.

"He went on board his warship and sacked all his generals, admirals,
and Grand Dukes, and when he went back to Russia, he sent over his
architect and masons to build a house for Bryan, and that's the house
in the valley beyond."

"And was that the end of Bryan O'Loughlin and the Czar of Russia?"

"No," answered Micus. "Every Christmas his Royal Highness used to
send Bryan Christmas cards from himself and the wife and children,
and a box of blessed candles besides, and a bag of birdseed for the
linnets, and sweetpea seed for the garden also; and there was no
happier man in the whole world than Bryan till the day he died. And
that's the end of my story."

"I think 'tis time to be going home now," said the stranger. "The
swallows are flying low, and night will be overtaking me before I
will be over the mountain."

"Don't get wet, whatever you do," said Micus. "It's bad for the
rheumatics."






PEACE AND WAR


What about the story you promised to tell me last night?" said Micus
to his friend Padna.

"Draw your chair closer to the fire, and you'll hear it," said Padna,
and this is what he told:



"Johnny Moonlight was so called because of his love of nocturnal
rambling, and Peep o' Day won his name because he rose every morning
to see the sun rising. Johnny and Peep were neighbors, and it was no
unusual thing for Johnny to meet Peep as he wended his way home while
Peep wended his way from it. Johnny was the more loquacious of the two,
and when Peep, who rose earlier than was his wont, saw him watching
the reflection of the moon in the placid waters of Glenmoran Bay,
he up and ses:

"What are you doing at all, at all, Johnny?"

"I am watching the moonbeams glistening on the waters," replied Johnny,
"and what greater pleasure could any man have and all for nothing too?"

"'Tis a glorious and a beautiful sight, surely, but the greatest of all
pleasures is to see the sun rising and to listen to the birds singing
in the bushes and to hear the cocks crowing and clapping their wings,
not to say a word about watching the flowers opening up and drinking
the morning dew. 'Tis in the morning that the world rejoices, and
in the morning we see the work of God everywhere, and 'tis only in
the darkness of the night that the badness comes upon men. Everybody
loves the morning, and all the poets have written about it."

"Don't be bothering me about the poets. I'd rather walk by the light of
the moon through the glens and the woods, through the winding boreens
when the hawthorn and woodbine are in bloom, or by the shore of the
bay when the world does be sleeping, and have nothing to disturb
my thoughts, except maybe a rabbit skedaddling through the ferns,
or a banshee wailing when some one gets killed in the wars, than to
see the sun breaking through the clouds at the grey of dawn.

"There's a lonesomeness and a queerness about the beginning of
everything, and 'twas always the shaky feeling that came over me
when I stayed out so late as to be caught by the rising sun on the
roadside. But every man is entitled to his own opinion until he gets
married, so we won't quarrel, because people who quarrel are always
sorry for the things they say and the things they forget to say."

"You can't change a man's opinion," said Peep, "unless you change
himself, and then he'd be some one else and stick to his own opinion
the same as any of us."

"That's true," said Johnny, "and there's nothing worse than truth
except lies. People only tell the truth when they are afraid of telling
lies and then they must lie about it before any one believes them.

"Truth will make lies all fall to pieces, but more lies will patch them
together again. So 'tis as good to be such a liar that nobody believes
you as to be so fond of the truth that no one would trust you."

"Wisha, for goodness' sake, do you think that I have nothing else to do
but getting my brains twisted trying to follow your contrary reasoning,
which only leads a sensible man into confusion and bewilderment? What's
the use of anything if you don't know how to enjoy yourself?"

"Devil the bit, and why people should go to the inconvenience of
annoying themselves in order to please nobody is more than I can
understand."

"If people could understand why they're sensible they'd become foolish,
and if they could understand why they're foolish they'd become
sensible. But as the wise and the foolish will never know what's the
matter with each other, there will be always trouble in the world."

"There will be always trouble while women are allowed to have their
own way and their husbands' money."

"There's no sentiment in women."

"None whatever, but they are all able to act and play any part that
the exigencies of the occasion may require, and that's better than
having an abundance of sentiment or any other quality that hinders
one's progress in a world of hypocrisy and conventionality."

"'Tis the great flow of words you have, to be sure, not to say a word
about your common-sense. Was it from reading books that you got all
your knowledge?"

"It wasn't, indeed, but from observing the ways of all the strange
creatures on the face of the earth from man to the ants."

"The world is a queer place. Nothing but war of some kind or other
while you're alive and peace only when you're dead, and then there
may be no peace either, for all we know."

"'Tis thinking I am that you're right, and if you'll listen, I'll
tell you what happened as I was sauntering about by myself last night."

"I'll listen, to be sure," said Peep.

"Well," said Johnny, "as I was walking along by the Faery Fort,
I heard some one singing, so I quickened my pace and came upon two
strange looking gentlemen who were marching to the tune of 'Home,
Sweet Home.' And when I ses: 'Good night,' they answered back and ses:
'Good night kindly, sir,' ses they. 'Who may we have the pleasure of
talking to?' 'To Johnny Moonlight,' ses I. 'And who may I be talking
to?' 'Don't you know us,' says they altogether. 'Erra, of course I do,'
ses I. 'Who would ye be but Oliver Cromwell and the Devil himself? And
what may ye be doing here?'

"'We're on our way home after a trip to Europe,' ses the Devil,
'and we'd be glad to have the pleasure of your company.'

"'Your kindness is embarrassing,' ses I. 'Indeed I couldn't think of
accepting such hospitality.'

"'Well, you can go to Belgium for all I care,' ses the Devil. 'But
clear out of me sight, anyway, or I'll hand you over to me friend
Oliver.' So with that they sat down on a ditch and commenced talking,
and I stole up behind, and this is what I heard:

"'I'm homesick,' ses Cromwell.

"'So am I,' ses the Devil, 'and disappointed too. Europe is in a bad
way, God help us!'

"'Indeed it is, and I don't think we ought to tell Napoleon anything
about what we saw."

"''Twould only spoil his conceit to think that the world could be in
such a condition and he not there to share in the glory.'

"''Tisn't talking about Napoleon I'd be, if I were you. Sure it's
yourself has fallen on evil days. You thought that you could have a
nice quiet holiday for yourself in Europe, but your nerves couldn't
stand all the horrors of the war, so you must needs hurry home to
recuperate and look after your own people,' ses Cromwell.

"'I can stand as much as you at any time,' ses the Devil.

"'Well, you must not have read the history of Ireland,' ses Cromwell.

"'And if I didn't, do you think I'd have you for a companion? I'm as
good a man as you ever were,' ses the Devil.

"'You may be as good,' ses Cromwell, 'but I'll acknowledge no
superiority from you or any one else.'

"'It don't look well for us to be quarreling, Oliver,' ses the Devil.

"'That's true. We should always be a source of comfort and consolation
to each other. And we will, too. Indeed, it isn't fair to us to have
Ireland as she is these times.'

"'What's wrong now?' ses the Devil.

"'Wisha, nothing in particular,' ses Cromwell.

"'Ireland has always been a great bother to myself and England,'
ses the Devil.

"'She has never helped us, more's the pity,' ses Cromwell.

"'And 'tis yourself made a great impression on the minds of the Irish
people,' ses the Devil.

"'Indeed and I did,' ses Cromwell, 'and on the English people too,
and sure there's no one better known at home than ourselves.'

"'Well,' ses the Devil, ''tis said that a man only gets as much as
he deserves, except when he's married. And no man is a prophet in
his own country.'

"'True!' ses Cromwell. 'The eaten loaf is soon forgotten, and the
English people would forget me if they could.'

"'Don't worry,' says the Devil. 'The Irish will never allow them to
do that.'

"'I suppose my memory will be always kept green by the Irish,'
ses Cromwell.

"'Of course,' ses the Devil. 'Of course it will. And what greater
proof can you have of the inconsistency of mankind?'

"'There's nothing more consistent than man's inconsistency,' ses
Cromwell.

"'Except woman's, of course,' ses the Devil. 'Sure I can't understand
the creatures at all.'

"'I'm glad to hear you say so,' ses Cromwell, 'because if we could
understand them, there would be no more surprises left for us.'"



"You have a wonderful memory, Johnny," said Peep, "an' I'll be glad to
hear the remainder of your story when the moon sails over the hills
again. I'll be off now, for the sun is rising, and I must be alone
to enjoy myself."

"God speed you," ses Johnny. "Two is a crowd when a man's feeling
sleepy."






THE VALLEY OF THE DEAD


Large dark clouds, lined and fringed with a snowy whiteness, were
floating about in a starry sky, when Padna Dan vacated his chair
by the glowing hearth, where <DW19>s blazed and a kettle sang, and
where his large black dog and small white cat lay asleep and snored
in chorus that made a strange harmony with the crackling of the dried
oak branches in the grate. When he reached the half door, the moon
was hiding behind a rift of cloud; and as he watched it emerge from
its hiding place and sail into a starlit region, he up and said:

"Sure 'tis myself that's like the moon, with my goings in and my
comings out, and with my exits and my entrances, and the glory that
sometimes does be on my brow and the shadows that at other times
hide my face. Sometimes not a single thing hinders my progress,
from cock-crow to sundown, and other times everything capable of
disturbing a man's peace and quiet confronts me at every turn. But,
nevertheless, I manage to steer clear of all obstacles and evade all
that might upset me in any way, and show a smiling face to the world,
like the moon itself."

And then he filled a new clay pipe, that came all the way from
France, and was presented to him by his youngest granddaughter, as
a birthday gift, and sauntered along the boreen towards the Valley
of the Dead. And as he wended his lonely way, without looking to
the right or the left, and trampled down the tall grass that the
sleeping cows, and the sleeping sheep, and the sleeping donkeys were
dreaming about,--the very same tall grass that on the morrow they
would greedily feast on,--and as his footfalls startled wandering
rabbits, badgers, hares, and foxes, and they roaming from place to
place at the dead of night, he only thought of the world beyond
the stars and of those who had gone to dwell there. And so eerie
an atmosphere did he create about himself that he might have been
a fairy or an elf without care or sorrow for the past or future,
but a love of the things that be. And not until he reached the top
of a high hill, from which he could see in the moonlight the towering
spires of distant churches, where a red light is always kept burning
before the high altars, did he stand and rest. And he did not sit
down until he found a comfortable seat on a projecting ledge of rock,
overlooking a long winding valley covered with larch and beech trees,
sloe and crabapple, and all kinds of thorny underwood.

The rising mist, as it spread through the trees along the serpentine
course of the valley, seemed like some fabulous monster devouring all
that came in its way. And as he sat with his feet dangling in the air,
the sound of familiar footsteps caused him to look from the mist to
where the sound came from near by. And lo and behold! whom did he see
but his old friend Micus. And what he said, before Micus had time to
say anything at all, or get over his surprise, was:

"Well, well, well! Who'd ever think of meeting any one at the dead
of night like this? And the stars themselves nearly hidden by the
dark clouds, that are drifting about in the spacious and likewise
wondrous sky."

"Sure 'tis disappointed as well as surprised that I am, to find any
one but myself out of doors, and the whole world on its knees, so to
speak, praying for the dead," said Micus.

"This is All Souls' Night, of course," said Padna.

"Or the Night of All Souls, if you will," said Micus. "And sure,
'tis we that are the queer creatures entirely, and we that does be
praying for the dead and not caring a traneen about the living, unless,
maybe, when we can take advantage of their decency and generosity."

"'Tis true, indeed, 'tis true! Though 'tis with shame that I must
admit it. However, don't leave any one hear you saying so but myself,"
said Padna.

"And who would hear me at all?" said Micus.

"Well, any one of the people who will be marching down the road when
the fairies will go to their homes in the mountains," said Padna.

"And when will that be?" said Micus.

"When the clocks will strike the midnight hour," said Padna. "Then
all the dead will arise from their graves, and march along the road
to the Valley of the Dead, beyond, and return from whence they came
before to-morrow's sun will emblazon the east with its dazzling light."

"I'm surprised at that," said Micus.

"You should be surprised at nothing," said Padna. "That's if you want
to maintain a solid equanimity. But hold your tongue for a while,
and cast your eye along the valley, and watch the mist gathering on
the furze and sloe trees. And in a minute or two, the moon will come
from behind a cloud, and the most glorious sight that ever met the
gaze of man will unfold itself before you. The mist will soon cover
all the trees, and you will see nothing at all but one long serpentine
trail of vapour, into which all the armies of the dead will plunge
with a wild fury that will make every hair on your head stand on end
and nearly freeze the very marrow in your bones with cold fear."

"And what's all the hurry about; why won't they take their time?"

"They can't," said Padna. "From life to death is but a step, and we
must follow some master or be driven by another until the threshold
of eternity is crossed."

"I hear the clock of some distant church striking the midnight hour."

"So do I. And I can see the army of the dead approaching!"

"The devil a one of me can see anything or any one, except a fox
scampering through the boreen beyond, with a water hen in his mouth,"
said Micus.

"Look, look," said Padna, as he pointed with the stem of his
pipe. "There they come: all the people who dwelt on this holy island
since God made the world, and man made mistakes. I can see them
all. There's Brian Boru's army, with Brian himself out in front, and
he holding the golden crucifix the same as he carried it to battle
when he drove the Danes from our shores."

"I don't see him at all," said Micus.

"Look, there he is mounted on the black charger that trampled and
crushed to death the valorous invaders who were foolish enough
to come in his way. Look, how he prances and shakes his mane and
sniffs the air. He was the King of all the black horses, and when
he was shot through the heart by an arrow, his spirit flew away to
the world beyond the fleecy clouds, but, as it could never rest, it
came back to earth again, and now dwells in all the black horses of
the world. And they, each and every one, are pledged to avenge the
death of Brian and his war steed. So if ever you see a black horse
on a lonely road or crowded street, with a fiery look in his eye,
keep out of his way unless you love Granuaile, or he will trample
you with his iron hoofs until you are dead."

"I can see neither horses nor men," persisted Micus.

"They are all passing into the valley now, and I can see the soldiers
keeping step to the music."

"What are they playing?"

"What would they be playing, but Brian Boru's march, of course."

"I haven't heard a sound."

"Don't you hear the war pipes and the stamp of the soldiers' feet?"

"I hear no sound at all."

"It is most wonderful music. It filled the hearts of the Irish
soldiers with courage, the like of which astonished mankind, and
drove terror into the hearts of the invaders as they ran to the sea
and got drowned. It fills me with courage now, and will instil valour
into every Irish heart until the crack of doom. Don't you hear it yet?"

"No, I hear nothing."

"It grows fainter and fainter," said Padna. "The army is now in the
valley but 'twill return when winter gives way to spring, and spring
gives way to summer, and when summer gives way to autumn, and when
All Souls' Night will come again."

"When the Christmas daisies wither, and when the daffodils and the
bog lilies and the blue-bell and the hyacinth bloom again, and when
the gooseberry and black-currant bushes are laden down with fruit,
and when the green leaves turn to brown and the autumnal breeze
scatters them on the roadside, we may be dead ourselves," said Micus.

"Hush," said Padna, "here come all the bards and minstrels that
loved poor Granuaile, and sang her praises, on the mountain side,
on the scaffold, behind prison bars, at home and in distant lands. At
morning and at evening, at noon and at night, in early youth and at
the brink of the grave. And sad they all look too," said Padna.

"The world is a sad place for those who can see sorrow," said
Micus. "Granuaile herself is sad, because for centuries she has lived
in sorrow. She weeps for her own sons and the sons of all nations. She
wakes with a smile in the morning, but when the dark cloak of night
is flung on the world, her eyes are always filled with tears. And
when nobody does be looking, she weeps, and weeps, and weeps!"

"It is for the sins of men she weeps."

"And for the contrariness of women."

"And for the folly of children, whether they be grown up with beards
upon their chins, or in their teens and staying up the nights writing
love letters for their philandering sweethearts to laugh at and show
to their worthless friends so that they may do likewise."

"Granuaile is the Queen of Beauty."

"And of valour, and of purity, and of goodness. All her lovers are
coming along the road."

"Is Parnell there?"

"Of course, he's there. And he with a look of melancholy on him that
would melt a stone to tears."

"'Twas Granuaile broke his heart."

"Granuaile would break any one's heart."

"Poor Parnell hated England."

"But he loved Ireland! And never forgot her wherever he travelled."

"The Irish are the great travellers, and it would seem indeed that
the world itself is too small for them. Who else do you see?"

"I see St. Patrick himself, and all the holy bishops, and they looking
as respectable, and as contented and as prosperous as ever."

"'Twas they that saved us from Paganism."

"That's so. But 'twas religion that kept Granuaile poor."

"'Tis as well, maybe. Who'd be rich and with power enough to <DW36>
Christianity, like others, just for the sake of saying that one race
or one country was better than another?"

"Man will never get real sense."

"Not until he loses his pride."

"And his arrogance and his selfishness."

"What are you looking at now?"

"I'm not looking at anything in particular, but watching to see my
great, great, great grandaunt Helen of Aughrim."

"Who was she?"

"She was the most beautiful of all womankind."

"Maybe she passed by unknownst to you."

"She has not passed yet. I could recognise her by her queenly
gait. They say she was the most beautiful woman that ever lived and
had as may lovers as Granuaile herself."

"And whom did she marry?"

"No one at all."

"And what is her story then?"

"Listen, and I'll tell you."

"I'll listen," said Micus.

"As I have already told you, for beauty and elegance there was never
the likes of Helen of Aughrim, and though every one who laid eyes on
her fell in love, she never fell in love with any one at all."

"And who did she like best of the lot?"

"Maurice the Rover. And when he was a young man of three sevens,
he up and ses to her: 'Helen' ses he, 'will you marry me?' But she
said she would wed no man, and told him to search the whole wide
world for some one more beautiful. So he sailed away that very hour,
and for seven years he travelled, and travelled, and travelled, up
hill and down dale, but could find no one more beautiful. And then he
returned and told her his story. But all she said when she heard it,
was: 'Try again,' ses she. And away over the seas he sailed again, and
searched until seven more years had passed away, and he returned again,
and he said, 'Helen'; but she interrupted and ses: 'I know what you
are going to say,' ses she. 'But all I can say to you, is try again.'

"And so he came and went every seven years, only to get the same
answer, and the years passed, and his hair turned white, and his eyes
grew dim, and the stateliness of Helen's figure disappeared, and deep
lines were on her brow, and once again, he up and ses: 'Helen,' ses he,
'will you marry me?' And for the first time her eyes filled with tears,
and she ses: 'You are a faithful lover,' ses she, 'and I will marry
you on the morrow.' But when he came on the morrow, she was dead."

"Is that a true story?" said Micus.

"Of course, 'tis a true story. I can see them now walking along the
road arm in arm. And 'tis seven years ago since I saw them before,
and 'twill be seven years before I will see them again. But they
will walk along the road to the Valley of the Dead every seven years,
until the stars fall from the sky and time is no more," said Padna.

"Love is a wonderful thing."

"A wonderful thing, surely."

"And a faithful lover is the dearest treasure of all."

"Without love, there is no life, for its roots are centered in the
heart of God."

"Without love the world would wither up, and every plant and shrub and
flower would die. And when I die, I hope I will be with my friends."

"And while I live, I hope that I will be with mine."

"Friendship is a great thing."

"Love is greater."

"What are you waiting here for?"

"Nothing at all. The last of the great army has passed into the Valley,
and I will go home and pray for the dead," said Padna.

"And I will go home and pray for the living," said Micus.

"Good night," said Padna.

"Good morning, you mean," said Micus.






THE KING OF MONTOBEWLO


"I wonder," said Padna Dan to his friend Micus Pat, as they strolled
along a country road together, "if you ever heard the story of the
King of Montobewlo."

"Who the blazes is or was the King of Montobewlo?" said Micus.

"The King of Montobewlo was such a man as you only meet once in
a lifetime, and if you will only hold your tongue and keep quiet,
I will tell you all about him," said Padna.

"I'll hold my tongue, of course," said Micus.

"Well," said Padna, "the King of Shonahulu was getting old and cranky,
and the poor devil suffered badly from frost-bite and rheumatics
besides; so he up and ses to Hamando, who was his chief cook and
private secretary: 'Hamando,' ses he, 'I think I must have a change
in my dietary. What have you for dinner to-day?'

"'I have nothing in the way of dainties,' ses Hamando. 'The last
missionary was boiled with the cabbage yesterday.'

"'That's too bad,' ses the King. 'There seems to be a great scarcity
of missionaries in these parts lately. I wonder whatsomever can be
the reason at all.'

"'There must be some reason,' ses Hamando, 'because there is a reason
for everything, even for unreasonable things.'

"'That's a fact, bedad,' ses the King, as he killed a mosquito on
Hamando's nose with a cudgel, and stretched poor Hamando flat on
the ground.

"'Wisha,' ses Hamando, as he picked himself up after the unmerciful
clout he got, 'I suppose it must be the way the English people are
learning sense at last and keeping them at home to look after the
suffragettes, or else that England has as much land as she is able
to control.'

"'I don't think that can be the reason,' ses the King. 'What does it
matter to England whether she can control a place or not, so long as
she owns it. Take Ireland, for instance.'

"'Yes, bedad,' ses Hamando. 'England can blunder magnificently when
dealing with Irish affairs. And her wonderful stupidity has lost her
not only all the Irish in America, but the Irish in other countries
as well. However, the English are a far-seeing and a very polite
class of people, and that's why they send out pious and well-meaning
missionaries to lay the foundation stones, so to speak, of the Empire
beyond the seas.'

"'True,' ses the King. 'And 'tis an ill wind that blows nobody good,
as the Devil said when the forty tinkers of Ballinderry were lost at
sea. Nevertheless, there's no one likes the missionaries better than
ourselves, even though I do say so myself.'

"'Very true, indeed,' ses Hamando.

"'By the way,' ses the King, 'was the last one we had for dinner a
Scotchman or a Welshman?'

"'I don't know,' ses Hamando. 'He spoke like a Yorkshireman, but he
tasted like a Dutchman.'

"'I'm tired of foreigners like the Dutch,' ses the King, 'and I
wouldn't mind having an Irishman for dinner to-day if you could
secure one.'

"'I don't believe there's an Irishman to be had for love, money,
or an argument,' ses Hamando.

"'Nonsense, man,' ses the King. 'Do you think 'tis in Jupiter or Mars
you are? There's only one place where you can't find an Irishman,
and you'd find one there too, only the Devil likes to have his own
way in all matters. But no more old palaver, and search my dominions
at once, and if you can't find an Irishman, I'll make vegetarians of
each and every one of my loyal subjects.'

"'I'll do my best to oblige you,' ses Hamando, and away he went to
the Prince of Massahala, who was also Commander-in-Chief of the Army,
and Secretary for the Colonies, and there and then the Prince gathered
his army of ten hundred thousand men, and searched the mountains,
and the valleys, and the caves and the hills, and the towns and the
villages, but no trace of an Irishman could he find. And when he
returned and told the story of his exploits and adventures to the
King, there was never such ructions on land or sea. The King, who was
never a man of mild disposition, nearly exploded from the sheer dint
of anger, and he up and ses as his eyes bulged out of their sockets:
'Do you mean to tell me that there isn't a single Irishman to be had
in all my dominions?'

"'We've searched high up and low down, but couldn't find a trace of
one anywhere,' ses the Prince.

"'Was it the way you were all blindfolded?' ses the King, and he looked
as though he was about to hand them over to the State Executioner,
and order their skins to be sold for making gloves for the ladies of
Paris, Ballingeary, and the United States.

"'Are there any Jews within the borders of my territory?' ses he.

"'There are two Jews for every fool in the community,' ses the Prince.

"'Well, then,' ses the King, 'there must be an Irishman about
somewhere. And I'm thinking there is a leak in your memory, or else
your education was sorely neglected. You should know at this hour
of your life, if you know anything at all, that the Irish race was
destined by Providence to make things easy for mankind in general,
but the Jews in particular.'

"When the Prince heard this, he told his men to get ready for the
road, and he marched at the head of his army to where the Jews were
located, and sure enough, there he found the one and only Irishman in
the whole country, and he brought him before the King. And when the
King laid his optics on him, he up and ses: 'Holy smoke and tailors'
trimmings,' ses he, 'where did you bring that red head from?'

"'Oh,' ses the Irishman, 'I never even asked myself that question,
but I dare say I must have brought it from Denmark.'

"'From Denmark?' ses the King with surprise.

"'Yes,' ses the Irishman; ''twas my great-grandfather's
great-grandfather's great-grandfather's father who killed Brian Boru
at the Battle of Clontarf.'

"'Is that a fact?' ses the King.

"''Tis a solid fact,' ses Cormac McDermot, for that was his name.

"'Well, be the seven pipers of Ballymacthomas,' ses the King, 'that
bates Bannagher. The man who killed Brian Boru was no slaumeen, by
all accounts. And I like nothing better, when my day's work is done,
than to read the exploits of Brian, and his compatriots the Knights
of the Red Branch, for herself and the children.'

"'Are you fond of reading?' ses Cormac.

"'There's nothing gives me more pleasure,' ses the King, 'except
teaching my chef to cook a Scotchman, and 'tis as hard to catch as
'tis to cook one.'

"'I have heard of a Scotchman who was caught one time,' ses Cormac.

"'When he was dead, I suppose,' ses the King.

"'Yes,' ses Cormac.

"'The time is flying, and a man gets hungry, and angry likewise,
and there you are gabbing away, and myself waiting for dinner for the
last three hours, and you showing no consideration for me at all. What
way would you like to be cooked?' ses the King. 'You must be killed
first, of course, though sometimes we does the cooking and the killing
together, without as much as wasting a word about it. Howsomever,
I am always lenient to the Irish, for I have an English strain in my
temperament, and that's why I am giving you your choice in the matter
of cooking.'

"'Well, bedad, to tell the truth, I'm not a bit particular about the
cooking, but I am a trifle concerned about the killing. And before
you will send me to my grave, I would like your Majesty to grant me
one request,' ses Cormac.

"'And what's that?' ses the King, as he looked at his watch, for he
was getting hungry and impatient.

"''Tis that I will be allowed to sing my swan song, so to speak,
before I will die.'

"'Sing away to your heart's content,' ses the King. And the words
were no sooner spoken than Cormac commenced to sing 'The Valley Lay
Smiling Before Me,' and when he finished the last verse, there wasn't
a dry handkerchief in the multitude that gathered around.

"'Bedad,' ses the King, 'that was well sung, and we'll have "The Bard
of Armagh," now, if you please. 'Twas my poor mother's favourite song.'

"And when Cormac finished, the King shook hands with him and thanked
him for his singing and in the same breath said 'good-by' as he was in
a hurry to have him cooked for supper. Well, there wasn't much of the
fool about Cormac, so he up and ses to the King: 'If I am causing your
Majesty any inconvenience, I am sorry, but as one good turn deserves
another, I think it is only fair to tell you that whoever eats even
the smallest piece of myself, either raw or cooked, will immediately
be turned into a tombstone like you'd see at Monasterboice. And after
four-and-twenty hours, shamrocks will sprout on them, and then a great
wind will spring up and scatter the leaves of the shamrock all over
your territory, and whenever a leaf will fall on any of your subjects,
they will be instantly turned into Irishmen, and then may the Lord
have mercy on the foreigners.'

"'Is it the truth you are telling, you foxy rascal?' ses the King,
and he looks very uneasy too.

"'If you don't believe me, why don't you kill me and find out?' ses
Cormac. 'I'm nearly tired of living anyway.'

"The King got the fright of his life when he heard what Cormac said,
and never another word did he utter about the killing or the cooking
either, but ses he, when he recovered: 'Give us another song,' ses
he, and then and there Cormac started 'Then You'll Remember Me,'
and the King was so much impressed that he told Hamando to fetch some
tea, biscuits, and missionary sandwiches, for he thought Cormac was
looking fatigued. And when Cormac ate the biscuits, drank the tea,
but refused the sandwiches, because it was Friday, he thanked the King
for his thoughtfulness, and said that he was glad to see His Majesty
upholding the true Christian principles by treating his enemies
with such consideration. 'Anyway,' ses he, ''tis always good policy
to be on friendly terms with your enemies, or those who are likely
to become your enemies. But always beware of diplomats,' ses he,
'because diplomacy is only a wolf in sheep's clothing.'

"'That's so,' ses the King, as he sharpened a pencil and drew a map of
his dominions. 'Now,' ses he, 'I'm going to make you a little present,'
and there and then he cut off three-fourths of his country and gave
it to Cormac. 'You can plant a hedge of skeeory bushes to divide
our lands, and I will now make you King of Montobewlo, in presence
of Hamando and myself. And I'll appoint you General Inspector of
Cruelty to Animals, Children, and Insects besides. But,' ses he,
'it is absolutely necessary that you should become a real black man
first, so you might as well strip off now, and have yourself washed in
Injun ink, and you can send your old clothes to the King of Portugal,
because he is out of a job at present, and it may be a long time
before he gets one.'

"'I'll be only too pleased to send him my old clothes,' ses Cormac,
'because 'tis only right that kings should help each other, and have
benefit societies like the bricklayers, and the market gardeners.'

"Well, when Cormac was washed in a tub of Injun ink, he was the
purtiest-looking black man that ever was seen. And when his innumerable
subjects saw his bulging muscles and red head, they were so impressed
that some of them died of shock, but Cormac, like the decent man he
was, had them all buried with military honours. His coronation was the
grandest affair that ever was, and when the ceremony was all over,
the King up and ses to him: 'Cormac, King of Montobewlo,' ses he,
'how many wives do you want? Three hundred or three thousand?'

"'Ten thousand thanks for your kind offer,' ses Cormac, 'but for the
good of my nerves, and my people in general, I think I'll remain
a bachelor. Of course,' ses he, 'wives are only women anyway, and
where there are women there is jealousy, and where there's jealousy
there is trouble. Women,' ses he, 'are all right to look at, but they
are best when left alone. It will give me all I can do to look after
the affairs of state, without bothering or trying to find out which
of my wives might be telling the truth. But nevertheless,' ses he,
as he took a scissors and clipped several slips of his red locks,
'you can distribute these among the ladies as a token of my regards
and friendship. And now,' ses he, 'to show I harbour no ill feelings,
if you want any more, I will be only too delighted to give what I
can spare for planting on any of my subjects with bald heads.'

"And so the days and the years slipped away, until he got as fat as
a cow in clover from eating whales, elephants, and cockroaches. Then
great wisdom came upon him, and he up and ses to the King one day,
after they searched the whole country for a Jew, and couldn't find one,
for they all emigrated to the United States to look after the Irish:
'Economy,' ses he, 'is one of the fundamental principles of good
government, and that being so, let us put it into practice. We are
getting old,' ses he, 'and the missionaries come here no longer. And
we have eaten all the produce of the land in the way of live stock,
but nevertheless our subjects must be provided for. Now,' ses he,
'I propose that all over fifty years of age should be killed, boiled
or roasted, as the case may be, according to law, for the maintenance,
sustenance, and nourishment of the others. Anybody over fifty years,
unless he be a policeman or a king, isn't much good constitutionally or
otherwise; and as all our subjects are the property of the government,
there is no reason why we shouldn't do what we like with them.'

"'Of course, we can do what we please with them, and I think you
deserve a raise in your wages for conceiving such a wonderful idea,'
ses the King. 'Not only would we do our people a great justice by
providing them with the very best kind of victuals, but we would save
them funeral expenses besides.'

"'That's so,' ses Cormac, 'and any true philosopher must know that
'tis better that we should eat each other than that the worms should
eat us. Anyway,' ses he, ''twill be all the same in a hundred years,
as the Duke of Argyle said to the Leprechaun.'

"Well, the new law was duly enforced, and the age limit reduced to
suit circumstances, and in less than ten years there wasn't any one
left but Cormac and the King."

"Bedad, that's a strange story," said Micus. "I knew that an Irishman
could become anything from a poet to a policeman, but I never heard
of one becoming a cannibal before."

"Cormac didn't become a cannibal at all," said Padna.

"And how did he escape?" said Micus.

"He escaped by becoming a vegetarian the very day the law came into
force," said Padna. "He just wanted to go home to Ireland, and he
was afraid he'd have an uneasy conscience, if any of his subjects
were left exposed to the dangers of a foreign country, and that was
how he secured peace of mind before shaking the dust of Montobewlo
off his heels."

"And what happened to the King?" asked Micus.

"As he was seeing Cormac off by the good ship Ennisferric that was
bound for Cork's fair city, he slipped off the gangway, and when they
went to look for him, they could only find a crocodile in the throes
of indigestion," said Padna.






THE DILEMMA OF MATTY THE GOAT


"God bless all here," said Padna, as he pushed open the half-door,
and saw Micus sitting by the fireside, reading the newspaper.

"And you too," said Micus, as he turned around and beheld his old
friend.

"'Tis a cold night," said Padna.

"A blighting night surely," said Micus. "The wind is coming from the
southwest, and we will have rain before morning."

"Indeed we will, as sure as there are fools in Paris," said Padna.

"Why don't you come in?" asked Micus. "Surely you know your way to
the hearth?"

"If I don't, I ought," said Padna, as he walked in, closed the door,
and occupied a vacant chair beside Micus.

"What brought you out to-night, at all?" said Micus.

"Wisha, nothing in particular, except that I have a story to tell you,"
replied Padna.

"I'm glad to hear that," said Micus, as he placed some <DW19>s and
turf on the fire. "Draw closer and get the benefit of the heat,
and you will feel better while you are telling the story."

"Thank you," said Padna, as he moved his chair, and then he lit his
pipe with one of the paper pipe-lights that lay on the mantel shelf.

"Is it a story of love or adventure that I am about to hear?" asked
Micus.

"'Tis a story of both," said Padna.

"Begin then," said Micus.

"All right," said Padna. And this is what he told:



"Once upon a time, and not very long ago either, there lived a
man, a friend of mine, and known to all as one Matty the Goat from
Ballydineen. He wasn't much to look at, God help us! but he was a
remarkable man, nevertheless. He always tried to live in peace and
quietness, but he had two wives, and--"

"How could he have two wives in an old-fashioned country like this,
might I ask?" said Micus.

"Well," said Padna, "his first wife had a bad memory, and she forgot
she was married, and one fine day she went away to Australia to see the
kangaroos, and remained away so long that Matty thought she was dead,
or captured by some traveling showman, to be exhibited in a circus,
because she was so ugly and bad-tempered, no one else would think of
running away with her. So like all men of susceptible and sentimental
propensities, his affection for his first love only lasted until he
met the second. Of course, when the years passed, and there were no
tidings of his wife, he said to himself that he might as well marry
again, and accordingly he did so. Well, lo and behold! he was only
about twelve months married, and his second wife was beginning to cut
down his rations from three boiled duck eggs every morning to one small
hen egg that a wren would be ashamed to lay, when a great calamity
befell him. His first wife came back, and she less attractive looking
than ever. But to be sure she made all the excuses and apologies,
as only a woman can, for her lapse of memory and thoughtlessness,
and there and then she abused poor Matty for not writing to her and
sending cards at Christmas and Easter, and he not knowing where to
find her at all, no more than a crow could find his grandmother. But
to make a long story as short as a bulldog's temper, poor Matty nearly
lost his senses between his two wives, and one only more unreasonable
than the other, and the two together less reasonable than any ordinary
person, who would have no sense at all. 'So,' ses Matty to himself,
'what, in the name of all that's ridiculous, am I to do now? If I'll
stay here in the town, I'll be arrested and imprisoned for having two
wives, but that itself would be better than trying to please either
one or the other, not to mention both. And if I'll run away I'll be
arrested for deserting them. And if either the law of the land, or
my conscience had no power over me, and I tried to live with both,
I'd be as mad as a March hare in less than a month. Anyway, 'tis a
clear case of being obliterated by circumstances over which one has
no control. That's the last consolation a man always offers himself
when he cannot get out of a difficulty. There is but one thing for
me to do now, and that is to commit suicide by ending my life.'

"And when he made that decision he came to me and ses: 'Padna,' ses he,
'I have made up my mind to take the shortest cut to the other world.'

"'Wisha, I don't believe a word of it,' ses I. 'People who have
pluck enough to commit suicide usually have too much pride to boast
of it beforehand.'

"'Well, you can't boast or talk of it afterwards,' ses he.

"'That's true, too,' ses I. 'But when is the event going to come off?'

"'I can't say for certain,' ses he. 'But 'twill be as soon as ever
I can make up my mind whether New York or Boston would be the best
place for me to end my days, and maybe 'tis yourself that could give
advice, and tell me what to do.'

"'Bedad,' ses I, 'giving advice is oftentimes as foolish as taking
it. However, that's too weighty a problem for a poor man like
myself. You must consult some one with more sense. But if I were you,
I'd see the King of Spain himself about the matter. He is the one
man who I think can help you.'

"'That's a great idea,' ses he. And with that he bid me 'Good day,'
and on the morrow he set sail in a full-rigged ship for the sunny
land of Spain. And when he reached the Royal Palace, and rang the
bell, the King himself opened the door, and he dressed in a smoking
cap, and puffing away from a clay pipe that his mother brought from
Bantry when she was there for the good of her manners. And before he
asked Matty who he was, how he was, or what he wanted, he up and ses:
'Have you a match?' ses he.

"'To be sure I have a match,' ses Matty. And there and then, he struck
a match on the heel of his shoe and lit the King's pipe. And when the
King thanked him for his kindness, and complimented him on his skill,
then ses he: 'Who the blazes are you anyway to disturb a decent man
after a hard day's work? I ate no less than five dinners this blessed
day and as many more breakfasts, not to mention all the tobacco that
I smoked besides, since I got out of bed this morning.'

"'Oh,' ses Matty, 'I am one Matty the Goat. My father kept a tailor's
shop at the corner of a street in Ballydineen; I have two brothers
policemen in the great United States of America; I have a first
cousin married to a schoolmaster in the north of Antrim; five of my
ancestors died from the whooping cough, and one of my grandaunts fell
down-stairs and broke her neck; my--'

"'Enough!' ses the King. 'Wait there till I get my autograph book.' And
with that he ran up-stairs, and when he came back he handed Matty a
mighty book all bound in green plush and ses: 'Matty of Ballydineen,'
ses he, 'put your name down there beside the names of the Emperor of
Japan and the King of the Killavullen Islands.'

"And when his name was written, the King rang for the Queen and all the
children, and in a twinkling they appeared, and they dressed as well as
any of the young ladies you'd see selling knick-knacks behind a counter
in one of the shops of the big cities. And as they gathered around
the King, he up and ses with a solemn voice: 'Ladies and gentlemen,'
ses he, 'allow me to have the pleasure of presenting to you a member
of the Ballydineen aristocracy, one Matty the Goat.' And when the
ceremony of introduction was all over, he sent them up-stairs to get
their autograph books, so that Matty could contribute his signature to
the long list of celebrities and distinguished personages. The Queen
herself was delighted with him entirely, and the King invited him to
his private room. And when they were comfortably seated before a good
warm fire, he up and ses: 'What in the name of all the cockroaches
in Carrigmacross brought you here, anyway?'

"'A very serious matter, indeed,' ses Matty. 'I came to look for
advice. I am a man with no less than two wives, and--'

"'Don't tell me any more till I give you a drop of the best whiskey,'
ses the King. And with that he filled a glass for Matty and another for
himself, and ses: 'There is only one worse thing that could happen
a man, and that is to have three wives, or half a dozen foolish
sisters-in-law.'

"'Well,' ses Matty, 'I am about to commit suicide, and the devil
blast the one of me can make up my mind whether Boston or New York
would be the best place to hang my carcass to a lamp-post, jump off a
high building, or throw myself under a motor car going at full speed.'

"'Bedad,' ses the King, 'that's something that requires
consideration. But let us talk the matter over. Two heads, like two
dollars, are better than one, and 'twas by talking and thinking, and
holding commune with each other that the Greeks achieved so much in the
olden times. We will take the case of Boston first. Boston I believe
is a great place and 'tis called the Hub of the Universe. Isn't it?'

"'It is, God help us!' ses Matty.

"'I wonder why at all?' ses the King.

"'I don't think that any one really knows,' ses Matty, 'unless that
it is as good a title as any other, and maybe somewhat better.'

"'If that's the case,' ses the King, 'now's the chance for some one
to make a discovery.

"'A man, I presume,' ses he, 'could live very comfortably in Boston
if he had a lot of money.'

"'Indeed, he could,' ses Matty, 'and live there without any money, if
he was lucky enough to be a dethroned monarch of some kind or other,
or the inventor of a new religion.'

"'The invention of new religions,' ses the King, 'doesn't seem to
beget a spirit of communism, nor does it seem to bring us any nearer
Christianity in its ideal state. All the same, I suppose a large city
like Boston must have a mayor to look after himself and his people.'

"'Of course, Boston has a mayor and an ex-mayor too,' ses Matty.

"'Bedad,' ses the King, 'as sure as there are bones in a sprat, that
must be the reason why 'tis called the Hub. And I dare say,' ses he,
'they must have poets in Boston also.'

"'They have,' ses Matty, 'in the churchyards.'

"'That's the best place for them,' ses the King. 'They will be more
respected and appreciated there than anywhere else. Besides, 'tis
wiser, cheaper, and more cultured to patronize poets and philosophers
when they are dead and famous, than to run the risk of being ridiculed
for having the wit to recognise them while they are alive. A poet,
God help us, seldom does any good for himself, but nevertheless he
can always be an advantage to posterity, his relations, and the
booksellers, after he is dead long enough to be misunderstood,'
ses the King.

"''Tis the devil of a thing to be poor,' ses Matty.

"'Not at all, man,' ses the King. 'Poverty, as the Cardinal said to
the Hibernians, is a gift of God.'

"'A gift of God?'

"'Yes.'

"'Well, then, 'tisn't much of a gift,' ses Matty.

"'No,' ses the King, 'you wouldn't think of comparing it to the gift
of stupidity, which is the greatest of all gifts, especially when
'tis accompanied by an optimism that nothing could disturb but the
gift of poverty itself.'

"'But be all that as it may,' ses Matty, 'no one should give anything
away for nothing without making sure that they are going to get
something for it.'

"'Well, if that wouldn't make an optimist of a man, nothing would,'
ses the King.

"'What is an optimist?' ses Matty.

"'An optimist,' ses the King, 'is a pessimist who has acquired the
art of self-deception.'

"'And what is a pessimist then?' ses Matty.

"'Oh,' ses the King, 'a pessimist is one who has got tired of being
an optimist. And now,' ses he, 'maybe you could tell me what is the
difference between an Irishman and an Irish-American?'

"'An Irishman,' ses Matty, 'by reason of the fact that he was born in
Ireland and the product of an older civilization thinks he is a better
Irishman than the Irish-American; and the Irish-American by reason
of the fact that he was born an American and the product of a younger
civilization, thinks he is a better German than an Irish-Irishman.'

"'If that is the case,' ses the King, 'I wouldn't advise you to
commit suicide in Boston, because there are too many Irish-Americans
there. And by all accounts the devil a bit they know or care about the
Irish, no more than the English themselves. Now let us consider New
York. What is the difference between New York and Boston, I wonder?'

"'There are more tall hats and silk neckties in New York,' ses
Matty. 'And a native genius could go to his grave undiscovered there
as easily as he could in Boston, while the patrons of art and men of
letters would be feasting and entertaining foreign celebrities who
don't give a traneen about them.'

"''Tis a queer world,' ses the King. 'And sure 'tis a genius you
are yourself, and if I were you, I wouldn't commit suicide in either
place. Personally, I think Madrid would be as good as any. Howsomever,'
ses he, 'I will ask my Lord High Chancellor and his Court of Learned
Men about the matter, and if they can't decide between now and
to-morrow morning, I will have them all hanged, drawn, and quartered,
and advertise for a more efficient staff of attendants.'

"'Bedad, you're a gentleman,' ses Matty, 'and I'm glad to know that
you don't show any leniency to your subordinates, because the instant
you do so, they begin to think they are as good, as bad, or even
worse than yourself, as the case may be.'

"'Treat all those above and beneath you with as little consideration
as possible, and you will always be sure of respect,' ses the King.

"'There is nothing like being a fool when you have to deal with foolish
people, and to behave sensibly under such circumstances would only
break a man's heart.'

"'I notice that you are talking hoarse,' ses the King. 'Is it the
way that you have a cold?'

"''Tis a bad cold I have then,' ses Matty. 'And I'm afraid of my life
that I may die before I will commit suicide.'

"'That would never do,' ses the King. And then and there he rang for
the Queen, and told her to bathe Matty's feet in a tub of hot water,
with plenty of mustard in it. And when the Queen had finished drying
his toes, the King ordered a good glass of rum for him and ses: 'Matty
of Ballydineen,' ses he, 'take this little toothful of sailor's coffee,
and bury yourself under the blankets as quick as you can.'

"'Thank you, ever so much,' ses Matty, 'but where am I to sleep?'

"'You will sleep with me, of course,' ses the King. ''Twould never
do if anything were to happen to you at such a critical time in
your life.'

"So Matty slept with the King of Spain that night, but about two in
the morning the King woke Matty with his snoring. Well, that was more
than Matty could stand, and he lost his temper and gave the King a poke
in the ribs with the heel of his fist, as he ses: 'What the blazes do
you mean by depriving a decent man of his sleep like this for?' ses he.

"'Wisha, was it the way I was snoring again?' ses the King.

"'Why, I thought the last day had come, with the noise you were making
with that trumpet of a nose of yours,' ses Matty.

"'That's too bad,' ses the King. 'I'll keep awake for the remainder
of the night lest I might disturb you again.' And then they started
talking about old times and the price of potatoes, ladies' hats, and
fancy petticoats. But suddenly the King changed the subject, and ses:
'Tell me,' ses he, 'are the schoolmasters as ignorant, as conceited,
and as pompous as ever?'

"''Tis only worse they are getting,' ses Matty, 'notwithstanding the
cheapness of literature and free education.'

"'I am sorry to hear that,' ses the King. And so they discussed
everything under the sun from bird-catching to cock-fighting until
morning came. And when they were called for breakfast, they rushed
to the dining-room, and found the Queen and all the children seated
around the table waiting for their bacon and eggs to be fried. The
King, of course, was duly impressed, and as he sat down, and placed
the newspaper in front of the sugar bowl to get a better view of it,
he up and ses to the Queen: 'Good morning, ma'am,' ses he. 'What's
the good word?'

"'The Lord High Chancellor and all his staff could not decide
whether New York or Boston would be the best place for our worthy and
distinguished guest to commit suicide, so they all hanged themselves
during the night to save you the trouble of having it done to-day.'

"'Well,' ses the King to Matty, 'isn't it a great thing to have men
in your employment who can show so much respect for yourself and such
consideration for your feelings?'

"''Tis always a great pleasure, to get others to do what you wouldn't
do yourself,' ses Matty.

"Then the King turned to the Queen and ses: 'They were good faithful
servants, but like all of their kind they thought too little about
themselves, and too much about those they tried to serve. The man who
doesn't consider himself first in all things deserves to be considered
last by everybody. Howsomever, they deserved to be buried anyway,
so give orders to have them all cut down and sent home to their own
people. They have the best right to them, now that they are no more
use to any one else. But keep their old clothes and send them to the
Salvation Army. 'Tis better, indeed, that the poor should have their
overcoats and nightshirts than the moths to eat them.'

"'Of course,' ses Matty, ''tis an ill wind that blows nobody good,
but nevertheless, I am as badly off as ever, without one to advise
me or to tell me what to do.'

"'Well,' ses the King, 'strictly speaking, when a man doesn't know
what to do himself, the devil a much another can do for him. There
is nothing cheaper than advice, and oftentimes nothing dearer, that
is, if you are foolish enough to take it from everybody. Looking
for advice is only a form of diversion with most people, because
we all do what we please in the end. And now, between ourselves,'
ses he, 'once a man makes up his mind to marry the wrong woman, all
the advice in the world won't save him. And once a man is married,
he is no longer his own property. I have done my best for you,' ses
the King, 'but the world is full of people who can do as little as
myself. Howsomever, I will give you a letter of introduction to my
friend the President of the United States, as you are on your way to
America, and he may be able to help you.'

"'Thank you very much,' ses Matty. 'I have already been in America,
and I have had as many letters of introduction as would paper the
house for you, but they were no more use to me than they were to
Columbus. No more use, I might say, than a fur-lined coat and a pair
of warm gloves would be to the Devil himself. But I am none the less
grateful for your kindness.'

"'I am glad you are able to appreciate kindness,' ses the
King. 'Because very few people know when they are well treated,
or when they are well off.'

"'That's a fact,' ses Matty. 'But 'tis the spirit of discontent that
keeps the world moving. The man who is satisfied with himself usually
proves unsatisfactory to every one else.'

"'But,' ses the King, 'when a man has the gift of being able to please
himself, what does it matter, if he displeases every one else? 'Tis
nice, of course, to have a lot of friends, but a man's friends very
often can cause him more annoyance than his enemies, and he must endure
it to prove his inconsistency. Whereas in the case of an enemy, you can
always lose your self-respect by abusing him when you are displeased
with his success, and no one will think anything the less of you.'

"''Tis only by making allowances and excuses for each other's
short-comings and idiosyncracies that we are able to live at all. And
if we could see the good in the worst of us as easily as we can see
the bad in the best of us, we might think less of ourselves and more
of those we despise. 'Tis only by being better than those who are
worse than us that we can respect ourselves, I'm thinking,' ses Matty.

"'Well,' ses the King, 'what the devil a man with as much sense as
yourself wants committing suicide for is more than I can understand!'

"'Maybe 'tis as well,' ses Matty. 'The less we know about each other,
the happier we can be. Nearly every one of us has some disease of the
mind or body that shortens our natural existence. Some suffer from
too much conceit, others from a shaky heart, or a loose brain caused
by a nagging wife, or too much hard work and not enough to eat, and
various other causes, but there is always a reason for everything,
even the unreasonableness of those who have no reason at all.'

"'Old talk, like this,' ses the King, 'leads nowhere, because no
matter how much we may know about art, literature, and music, the very
best of us can only be reasonable and sensible when we have nothing
to upset us. A hungry man is always angry, and an angry man is never
sensible. On the other hand, a man will make a lot of foolish promises
and resolutions after a good dinner, and when he begins to get hungry
again he will think that he was a fool for having entertained such
decent sentiments.'

"'In a word,' ses Matty, 'selfishness is the normal condition of
every one. Some are selfish by being decent, and others by being mean,
but strictly speaking, there is very little difference between them,
because we all please ourselves, no matter what we do.'

"'I know we do,' ses the King, 'and that's why we incur the displeasure
of others. But as we are beginning to get involved and going back to
where we started like those who discuss, but can't understand theology,
or like the bird who flies away in the morning, only to return to its
nest at the fall of night, I think we had better finish, now that we
have ended, so to speak, and bid each other good-by.'

"'Surely,' ses Matty, ''tisn't the way that you would let me out of
doors a cold day like this, without a bit of a topcoat to shelter me
from the cold and wind, and I with a touch of the influenza already?'

"'Well,' ses the King, 'I have had enough of your company, and when we
get tired of those who have either entertained, helped, or distracted
us, we usually find a way of getting rid of them. The greatest mistake
in life is to be too kind to any one. When a woman is getting tired
of her husband, everything he does to please her only causes her
annoyance. But nevertheless, if she has any sense at all, she can't
but respect him for wasting his affection on one not worthy of it.'

"'But what about the topcoat?' ses Matty.

"'You'll get it,' ses the King. 'What's the loss of a topcoat,
even though it might be a gift itself, compared to getting rid of a
troublesome companion? Besides, a man who has made up his mind to
commit suicide must be very careful of himself, lest a toothache,
a bad attack of neuralgia, or the 'fluenza might cause him to change
his mind. Many a man changed his mind for less.'

"So with those few words the King presented Matty with a new overcoat,
and walked with him as far as the garden gate at the end of the Castle
grounds, and then he ses, the same as they always say in America,
'Good-by, and call again some time.' But he did not say when."

"That seems to be a polite way of telling a person to go to the devil,"
said Micus.

"'Tis," said Padna, "but we might as well be polite when we can. And
sincerity, unless 'tis accompanied by wisdom and discretion, does
more harm than good."

"The world has suffered as much from sincere fools as it has from
wise scoundrels," said Micus. "But what did Matty do when he took
his leave of the King of Spain?"

"After that," said Padna, "he set sail for Persia, and called upon
His Majesty the Gaekwar."

"It was the dead of night when he arrived at the Royal Palace, and
without the least scruple he roused His Imperial Majesty from his
slumbers. And when he put his head out of the window and asked who
was there, Matty up and ses: 'Come down-stairs and open the door and
I'll tell you.'

"So the Gaekwar came down-stairs in his nightshirt, and when he opened
the door to let Matty in, he ses, as he frothed from the mouth with
the sheer dint of passion: 'Who, in the name of all the conger eels
that are sold as salmon, are you, to bring a decent man from his bed
at this hour of the night?'

"'I am one Matty the Goat, my father is dead, my grandfather was
a protestant who never got any meat to eat on Fridays, and my
great-grandfather could jump the height of himself before he was
three sevens.'

"'To hell with your father, your grandfather, and all belonging to
you,' ses the Gaekwar. 'I can't for the life of me understand why
people will bother their friends and acquaintances by retailing the
exploits of their own family every time they get a chance.'

"'Well,' ses Matty, 'we think more of our own, of course, than they
do about us, and if we didn't praise them, people might think they
were no better than ourselves.'

"'Most people aren't worth praising or remembering anyway,' ses the
Gaekwar. 'But that is no reason why you should bring me from my warm
bed and have me shaking here like an aspen leaf, and the very stars
themselves shivering with the cold.'

"'Sure, 'tis myself that's colder than any star, and I, that had to
be out in a raging storm, with wind blowing a hundred miles an hour,
and the rain falling and flooding the streets, and every raindrop
would fill your hat.'

"'That doesn't interest me in the least,' ses the Gaekwar. 'What I
want to know is what brought you here?'

"'I want to know whether 'twould be better to commit suicide in New
York or Boston,' ses Matty.

"'Wisha, ten thousand curses, plus the curse of Cromwell on you,
for a godson of the Devil, for no one else would try to get another
to solve such a problem,' ses he.

"''Tis the way I must have the Devil for a guardian angel, I'm
thinking,' ses Matty, 'because I am never out of trouble, God help me.'

"'There are many like you, I am glad to say,' ses the Gaekwar, 'and
we are always pleased to find others worse off than ourselves. 'Tis
the only compensation we have for being either unfortunate or
foolish. Howsomever, come in out of the cold, and we will talk the
matter over. But,' ses he, 'you must excuse the untidy condition
of the house. The painters and plumbers are working here, and if
you know anything at all, you must know what a mess they can make,
especially the plumbers.'

"'Indeed, I do,' ses Matty. 'But you needn't make any apologies. I am
a man after your own heart and just as humble and maybe as foolish,
if not more so.'

"'Nevertheless,' ses the Gaekwar, 'I don't believe 'twould ever occur
to me to call on yourself either at the dead of night or the middle
of the broad day.'

"'I don't believe it would,' ses Matty.

"'Howsomever,' ses he, 'make yourself comfortable while I'll run
up-stairs, and put on my clothes.'

"So Matty drew his chair to the fire, and when the Gaekwar returned,
dressed in his new suit and clean collar, Matty ses: 'How is herself
and the children?'

"'The children are all right, thank God,' ses the Gaekwar, 'but I am
nearly worried to death about herself.'

"'And what's the matter with her?' ses Matty.

"'Oh,' ses the Gaekwar, 'I don't know. She seems to be perfectly
happy and contented, and no longer loses her temper, or finds fault
with any body or anything.'

"'Bedad,' ses Matty, 'that's a bad and a dangerous sign. Why don't
you see a doctor?'

"'I've seen a dozen doctors, but they all say there is no name for
her complaint. 'Tis some new disease, and there is no mention of it
in the Bible, the modern novel, or the Cornucopia,' ses the Gaekwar.

"'Pharmacopoeia, you mean, I presume,' ses Matty.

"'Yes, yes. That's what I mean. You must excuse my ignorance,' ses he,
'because it isn't necessary for me to be as enlightened as the ordinary
poor man who must work for his living. All that's expected of one
like myself is to be able to read the sun-dial, lay a few foundation
stones once 'n a while, review the troops, and eat a lot of good
dinners. And now might I ask how is your wife and family, and what
made you take it into your head to commit suicide?' ses the Gaekwar.

"'Well,' ses Matty, 'my trouble is just the reverse of yours. You
are upset because your wife is contented and happy, and I am upset
because my wives are discontented and unhappy.'

"'Your wives!' ses the Gaekwar, with surprise.

"'Yes,' ses Matty, 'I have two wives.'

"'Not another word,' ses the Gaekwar, 'until you will have three
glasses of the best whiskey. 'Tis a wonder that you are above ground
at all.'

"'God knows,' ses Matty, 'life is a terrible thing sometimes.'

"'Life,' ses the Gaekwar, 'is what other people make it for us. But
even at that we should try and be content, more for our own sake
than anything else. Fretting and worrying never made any one look
young, and nobody would fret or worry at all if they only thought
enough and worked hard enough. Some, you know, believe that we lived
before, and that this life is the reward for our virtues in the other
world. Indeed, some go so far as to say that this may be Heaven,
while others think it must be--'

"'If that's so,' ses Matty, 'I'm glad I didn't meet some of the
bla'gards I knew before they were born, so to speak.'

"'I imagine,' ses the Gaekwar, 'that a man with as much sense as you
appear to have wouldn't buy a house without first seeing it.'

"'Of course not,' ses Matty.

"'Then what do you want to commit suicide for? That's just like
buying a pig in a bag. You don't know what you are going to get
until after you have made the purchase. Suicide, for all we know,
may be only going from the frying pan into the fire. In a sense,
'tis like exchanging some valuable jewel for a lot of promises. And
'tis my solid belief that none of us know how wicked and foolish we
are until we will get a peep at the Book of Records in the world
to come. The very thought of that should be enough to keep a man
alive forever. If there were as many worlds as there are stars,
or grains of sands, then I might be able to understand why a man
would want to commit suicide, if he was of a roaming disposition,
and wanted to write a book of his travels and adventures. But suppose
there is only one world, and that world may be this world, or there
may be just another world, and that the next, what then? Anyway, I
am surprised at you, an Irishman, not to be able to stand the abuse
of two wives after all your race has suffered both from friends and
enemies alike for generations. And Ireland's would-be friends, in
many ways, have been her worst enemies. However, be that as it may,
I would like to know what you would do if you were like the Sultan
of Sparonica, and he with more wives than you could count in a month
of Sundays. 'Tis always well to keep what you have until you are sure
of getting something better,' ses the Gaekwar.

"'But,' ses Matty, 'suicide is often the fate of a brave man.'

"'No, Matty,' ses the Gaekwar, ''tis ever the fate of a foolish
man. Life at its longest is so short that we should all be able to
endure it, even when our plans do not work out to our satisfaction.'

"'But when a man loses interest in everything, and--'

"'No man should lose interest in the beautiful things of life. And who
indeed will gainsay that life at its longest is too short, especially
for a man with a grievance like yourself?'

"'Life is too short to understand women,' ses Matty.

"''Tis easy enough to understand them,' ses the Gaekwar, 'but 'tisn't
easy to understand why we go to such trouble to please them.'

"'I'm going to commit suicide rather than try to please them any more,'
ses Matty, 'and if I could discover whether New York or Boston would
be the better place to end my life, I'd be a happy man.'

"'You might as well die in either place as to jump from the Eiffel
Tower, Blarney Castle, Shandon Steeple, or try to swim over Niagara
Falls,' ses the Gaekwar.

"''Tis easy to see,' ses Matty, 'that you can't be of any help or
consolation to a man like myself. You have too much common-sense to
pay any attention to a barking dog, so to speak.'

"'I have, indeed,' ses the Gaekwar. 'You need never muzzle a dog
that barks.'

"So with that he shook hands with Matty and ses: 'Good-by, God
speed you, long life to you, and may your next trouble be seven
daughters. The more trouble we have the less we think about it,
and a thorn in a man's toe is nothing to a bullet in his head.'

"After that Matty went to the Czar of all the Russians, and from the
Czar to the King of Greece, and after he had spent years traveling
the world looking, in vain, for advice as to whether New York or
Boston would be the best place to commit suicide, he returned home
and to his great surprise learnt that his two wives had married again."

"And what happened then?" said Micus.

"Well, of course, he found he was worse off than ever. He could not
decide where to commit suicide, and his wives, the cause of all his
trouble and entertainment, would never trouble him again. They were too
busy troubling some one else. And lo and behold! the shock stretched
him on the flat of his back, and when the doctor told him that he
had only a month to live, he turned his face to the wall and died."

"He expected to die of old age, like all would-be suicides, I dare
say," said Micus.

"Of course he did," said Padna. "He was just one of the many people
whose trouble is their greatest pleasure, and who are never happy
only when they are annoying others with their own affairs."






HAM AND EGGS


"Wisha, in the name of all the nonentities that a man meets at a fancy
dress ball, or a lawn tennis party," said Padna to Micus, as he saw
him holding a lantern over a pool of water, on a dark night, at the
crossroads of Carrignamore, "what are you doing, at all, at all?"

"I'm looking for the moon that was here in the pool, less than an
hour ago, and a more beautiful moon was never seen in any part of
the whole world," said Micus.

"Well," said Padna, "if 'twas twice as beautiful, and twice as large,
and the size of a Chinese sunshade inself, you'd have no more chance
of finding it on a dark night like this, than you'd have of finding a
circus at the North Pole, or discovering why women will worry about
their husbands when they stay out late at night, and then abuse the
devil out of them when they come in, even though they had to stay
out through no fault of their own."

"What you say may be true," said Micus, "but 'tis better a man should
have an interest in astronomy or something else, and go looking for
the moon in a pool of water at the crossroads, than have no interest
in anything at all, except killing time talking about the wars of the
world, or the ways of his neighbours. And sure if a man couldn't find
the moon inself, he might find something else while he'd be looking
for it."

"Bedad, and that's true enough too! Many a man found happiness when
he went looking for trouble, and many a man found trouble when he
went looking for happiness, and a man often found a friend where he
expected to find an enemy, and found an enemy where he expected to
find a friend," said Padna.

"In a word, we go through life looking for what we can't find,
and finding what we didn't go to look for. Think of poor Columbus,
and what he found, and he not looking for America, at all. Sure,
that sort of thing would encourage any one to set out on a voyage
of adventure, even though he mightn't know where he'd be going to,
or what he might be doing," said Micus.

"Talking about findings and losings, and strange happenings in general,
I wonder if you ever heard tell of the bishop who took off his hat
to a poor man," said Padna.

"I did not, then, and I don't believe a word of it either," said Micus.

"Oh, bedad, whether you believe it or no, 'tis a fact, then,
nevertheless," said Padna.

"Well, it must have been a mistake of some kind, or maybe an
accident. 'Tis possible, of course, that His Lordship took off his
hat to leave the air to his head when the poor man was passing, but
I can't imagine that he removed it for any other purpose, unless,
maybe, a wasp, or a fly settled on his bald crown. In that case he
would take off his hat to scratch his head," said Micus.

"If you don't believe what I'm telling you, there's no use going on
with the story," said Padna.

"There is not then. But surely," said Micus, "you must have something
else to relate, and I not to lay eyes on you since Monday was a week."

"I have another story, if you'd like to hear it," said Padna.

"Of course, I'd like to hear it. What is it all about?"

"'Tis all about a pig and a clucking hen," said Padna.

"Let us take the shortest cut home, and I'll listen to the story as
we walk along. And 'tis glad I am that I went looking for the moon,
this blessed night, else I mightn't have found yourself, and I dying
to have a talk with some one," said Micus.



"Well," said Padna, as he sauntered leisurely along with his
friend Micus, who kept swinging a lantern, "on my way home from
market yesterday evening, as the sun was sinking behind the hills,
I strolled along the road that leads to Five Mile Bridge, and I
felt so tired after the journey from Cork to Ballinabearna that I was
compelled to say to myself: 'Padna,' ses I, 'why the devil don't you be
sensible once in a while, and take a rest for yourself when you feel
tired? What's the use in wearing yourself out, and causing yourself
unnecessary pain and torture, when in a few short years you will be as
dead as decency, or disinterested kindness, which is no less than one
and the same thing. And once you are dead, you are dead for ever and
ever, and no one will bother their heads about you, or care whether
you lived or not, or just existed, by trying to please every one but
yourself. The man who tries to please everybody,' ses I to myself,
'won't live half as long as one of the aristocracy, who don't care
where the money comes from so long as he has it to spend.' And when
all that was said, I then up and ses: 'Padna,' ses I, 'that's good
sound advice, and don't forget what I have told you.' And then and
there I made one jump and landed on top of a ditch, and as I looked
over my shoulder into the field behind, what did I see but a pig and
a clucking hen, and they exchanging salutations. And then they began
to talk and this is what I heard:

"'Good evening,' ses the pig.

"'Good evening kindly and good luck. How are you feeling to-day?' ses
the hen.

"'Just about the same as ever,' ses the pig. 'Sure, 'tis a sad world
for us all!'

"''Tis, God help us!' ses the hen. 'But don't start me crying again,
this sorrowful day, for 'tis myself who has shed a bucketful of tears,
since my poor grandmother was choked this morning.'

"'I wouldn't be crying about that, if I were you,' ses the pig. 'Sure,
'tis as good to be choked as to have your head cut off with a rusty
knife.'

"''Tisn't about that in particular that I have fumed and worried,
and wept so copiously,' ses the hen.

"'And about what then?' ses the pig.

"'About everything in general. The ingratitude of man, the presumption
and assumption of women, and the consumption of ham and eggs,' ses
the hen.

"'Ah, wisha, God knows,' ses the pig, 'you couldn't waste your tears
over a more worthy and likewise unworthy object. And like the pessimist
that I am, myself, 'tis but little respect that I have for man or
woman either. Only for the fact that I have still some pride left,
and wouldn't like to disgrace my own family, I'd end my miserable
existence by committing suicide, and drown myself in the horse pond.'

"'If you were to do the likes of that, you would sin against tradition,
and only be sold as sausages. Whereas, if you were to die a natural
death by strangulation, amputation of the head, or bisection of the
windpipe, you would be sent to the best butcher's shop in the town,
and the different parts of your anatomy would be sold at the very
highest rates, the same as all your family, relations and ancestors,'
ses the hen.

"'Don't mention my family or my ancestors to me. They were all
snobs, each and every one of them,--father, mother, sisters, and
brothers. 'Twas little respect they ever had for myself, and always
said that I was only fit to be used for sausages, anyway. As though,
indeed, I didn't come of as good a stock as the best of them.'

"'I often heard that you came of very respectable people,' ses the hen.

"'Respectable isn't the name for them belonging to me. There were
gentry, and no less, in our family.'

"'Is that so?' ses the hen.

"'Yes, indeed, it is,' ses the pig. ''Twas a piece of my
great-great-great-great-grandfather's great-grandfather that gave
Napoleon indigestion before Waterloo. And that's how he lost the day
by giving wrong orders to his generals,' ses the pig.

"'And 'twas from eating a bad egg,' ses the hen, 'that King George got
the hiccoughs, and fell from his horse while reviewing his troops in
France. And that's how he won the Victoria Cross and got a rise of two
and tuppence a week in his wages. Howsomever, be that as it may, 'tis a
pension yourself should have from the German and English Governments,
instead of earning your living by eating yourself to death, so to
speak. An aristocrat of your social standing should be living on some
one else's money, and your time should be divided between sleeping
and eating, like all the other members of the fraternity.'

"'Oh,' ses the pig, 'my associates and equals wouldn't think of
recognising me, unless I was fully dressed for dinner at some
fashionable hotel or restaurant.'

"'Fully dressed!' ses the hen. 'With bread crumbs on your hind
quarters, you mean?'

"'Yes,' ses the pig.

"'Well,' ses the hen, 'I come of good stock myself. The members of my
family always supplied eggs to the King of Spain, the Mayor of Boston,
and the Royalty of England and America.'

"'Wisha,' ses the pig, 'what are a few eggs, even when they are fresh
inself, compared to a fine ham, two pork chops, a soft crubeen, or a
flitch of bacon, boiled down with plenty of cabbage, and set before
a battalion of hungry policemen on a cold winter's day?'

"'Oh,' ses the hen, 'no one would think of eating bacon and cabbage
all the time, while eggs are always in season. But 'tisn't quarreling
about such a trifle that we should be, when we have no great grievance
against ourselves, but against mankind in general.'

"'The inconsistency of mankind is disgusting, to say the very least
of it,' ses the pig. 'Every one from the king to the beggar has a
bad word to say for the pig. We stand for all that's contemptible,
loathsome and vile, and yet the most delicate and refined people
will always call for ham and eggs, in the morning, in preference to
anything else. And if one of those genteel young men who might have
had my poor grandmother's liver for supper, was to meet myself on the
road, and he with a young lady by his side, and she as fond of ham
and eggs as himself, neither of them would bid me the time of day,
or ask how I might be, or say as much as go to Belgium, or anything
at all, but make disparaging remarks about my idiosyncracies.'

"'And think of myself,' ses the hen. 'I that have laid more eggs than
you could count in a lifetime, and I have reared five large families,
besides. And the day I can't lay any more, I'll be killed by some
caubogue of a churn boy, and sold to some landlady who boards tramps,
navvies, and all kinds of traveling tinkers. I wouldn't mind inself
if I went to nourish and sustain some decent people, who could
appreciate the tender parts of my constitution. Or if I could be
like my poor father, who was killed with a new razor, stuffed with
bread and currants, roasted on a spit, and exhibited in a shop window
before Christmas.'

"'Ah! we live in a thoughtless and heartless world!' ses the pig.

"'I know it,' ses the hen. 'Only about one in every ten thousand has
either the power or the privilege of thinking for themselves.'

"'Everything seems to go by contrary. Take the decent people,--the
Jews, for instance. They have no respect for the members of my family,
but they are consistent. They wouldn't write their name, or my epitaph,
on my back with a hot poker, and make fun of my table manners, and
then go home and have pork for dinner and say 'twas worth walking to
America for,' ses the pig.

"'Nevertheless,' ses the hen, 'when I think of what yourself and myself
does for mankind, and the poor return we get, I feel proud to know
that we can be of service to those who don't and can't appreciate us.'

"'Yes, indeed, and so do I,' ses the pig. 'What would life be to most
people without their ham and eggs every morning, and the newspaper
thrown in. And a cigar never tastes sweeter than after a good feed
of spare ribs and yellow turnips.'

"'Or even sausages,' ses the hen.

"'I object to sausages and salt meat in general, because it makes
people cranky and disputatious,' ses the pig.

"'Of course,' ses the hen, 'there's no doubt but we do a lot of
good, though we have been neglected. And it makes my heart bleed,
when I think of the stupidity of man and his perverted sense of
honour. After all those years of preaching and reform, no poet has
ever written an ode to a hen or a pig, and all the poets liked their
ham and eggs. There was Shakespeare himself,--people thought he forgot
nothing, or what he forgot wasn't worth remembering, but where's the
mention of either hens or pigs in all his highly respected works?'

"'Tis no wonder there is war in the world to-day,' ses the pig.

"'Indeed it is not, when married men will spend all their money on
finery for their wives, so that they can look better than they really
are, and elope with other women's husbands. Sure, only for the motherly
instinct that's in myself, I would leave my family of ducklings and
die by my own hand, but I don't want one of them to be neglected and
feel the pangs of adversity, like yourself and myself,' ses the hen.

"''Tis instinct rather than reason that guides most people. If we
were always to act reasonably, people would think we had no sense, at
all. However, there's a compensation in all things, and we can enjoy
ourselves in our own old way. And while it is a great consolation to
know that we can do a lot of good, it is a greater consolation still
to know that we can do a lot of harm as well,' ses the pig.

"'Like myself, you share the same sentiments as all good and pious
people. The satisfaction of doing harm is the only enjoyment some
of us receive for doing good, when our kindness is not appreciated,'
ses the hen.

"'When I think of all those who suffer from dyspepsia after eating my
friends and relations, I ses to myself: "Well, things could be worse
even for such as my humble self. You mightn't have the satisfaction
of knowing that there was such a thing as indigestion." And when I
think of what people must pay for pork chops, in a restaurant after
the theatre at night, and how they must suffer from cramps, pains
in the stomach, and a bursting headache next morning, well then I
feel as happy as a wife when she is abusing her fool of a husband
for giving her too much of her own way,' ses the pig.

"'And when I consider the little nourishment there is in cold storage
eggs, and the price the poor lodgers must pay their landladies
for them, I feel like dancing a jig on a milestone. And whenever I
hear of some one eating a bad egg, disguised by frying it hard in
margarine, and seasoning it with salt and pepper, I takes a holiday
for myself. Ptomaine poisoning is as good as cramps, or pains in the
head, at any time,' ses the hen.

"'Of course, when we are really hungry, we don't care what we eat. I
have eaten pieces of my relatives and friends dozen of times, when
they were mixed with my food, but to tell the truth it never gave me
any trouble. And in many respects I am no better and no worse than
those who don't care how they make their living, so long as they have
what they want,' ses the pig.

"And then two farmers came on the scene, and one ses to the other,
as he pointed to the pig with a stick: 'How much do you want for the
beast?' ses he.

"'As much as he will fetch,' ses the owner.

"'One would think 'twas a work of art you were trying to dispose of,'
ses the man with the stick. 'I'll give you the market price and not
a ha'penny more.'

"'Very well,' ses the owner, 'I'm satisfied.'

"'And what do you want for that old hen?' ses the man with the stick.

"'Oh,' ses the owner, 'she is no more use to me, and for that reason
I must charge you ten or a hundred times her legitimate value. She
is an antique. You can have her for ten shillings, and be under a
compliment to me for my decency, besides.'

"'I'll owe you the money,' ses the man with the stick, 'so that you
won't forget your generosity.' And with that they walked away, and
I jumped off the ditch and turned home," said Micus.

"'Tis a queer world," said Padna.

"A queer world, surely!" said Micus.






THE WHITE HORSE OF BANBA


"Come in, come in, and make yourself at home; for the flowers of spring
couldn't be more heartily welcome," said Micus Pat to his friend
Padna Dan, as he held the latch of his cottage door. And when Padna
crossed the threshold, Micus turned from his place by the hearth and
said: "Close the door, take off your topcoat, and pull the blinds,
while I will heap logs and <DW19>s on the fire, for 'tis five feet
of snow there may be on the ground before morning, I'm thinking. And
who knows but the house itself may be covered up, and we may not be
able to move from where we are for days and days, or a week inself."

"True for you," said Padna. "We never know what good luck or bad luck
the morrow may have for any of us. Howsomever, 'tisn't grumbling we
should be about anything, but take things as they come. The storm rages
furiously without, and to-night, for all the wisest of us can tell,
may be the very last night of the world. The end must come some time,
and when the sun rises on the morrow, this earth of ours, with all
its beauty and all its mystery, and all its splendour, may be reduced
to particles of dust, that will find its way into the eyes of those
who dwell on other spheres. If the gale continues, the world will
be swirled from its course, and 'twill surely strike some weighty
satellite of the sun or moon with a mighty crash, and that will be
the end of all joy and sorrow. Then the king will be no more than
the beggar, and the beggar will be as much as the king."

"I will place the kettle on the hob," said Micus, "for 'tis true
courage we will want to put into our hearts with a good drop of
poteen this blessed night. And a drop of poteen is a wonderful thing
to drive away the melancholy thoughts that haunt and bother so many
of us. We can fill glass after glass of steaming punch, until the
jar in the cupboard is empty. For what is life to some but so many
glasses of poteen, the best whiskey or brandy, or wine all the ways
from France itself, and so many meals of food, a few good books to
read, and maybe a congenial friend or two."

"Life is a rugged and a lonely road, but flowers always grow on the
wayside," said Padna.

"And when you try to pluck a flower, 'tis a thorn you will find in
your hand, maybe," said Micus.

"That is so, indeed. But let us forget the pitfalls that await us at
every turn, and while the wind blows let us fill our pipes and fill
our glasses, and sing a merry song if we should feel like doing so,
for there is no use looking for the Devil to bid him good-morrow until
we will meet him. And the best thing to do when he appears in person,
or in disguise, is to pass him by the same as if he was no relation
of yours at all," said Padna.

And then Micus heaped dried <DW19>s and logs on the glowing hearth, and
as they crackled and blazed, red sparks flew up the chimney, and the
shutters of the windows, and the latch of the door, and the loose tiles
on the ridge, and the loose slates on the gable, shook and rattled,
and trees were uprooted, and slates were blown from the roofs of
houses and so was the golden thatch, and havoc was wrought in the city,
the town, and the hamlet, on the mountain side, in the valley, and by
the seashore. And as Micus and Padna settled themselves comfortably
in two armchairs, the white dog and the black cat drew closer to
their feet, while a thrush in his large white cage made of twigs,
and a linnet in his small green cage made of wires and beechwood,
closed their eyes and buried their heads beneath their wings.

Flash after flash of lightning lit up the darkened countryside, and
each peal of thunder was louder than its predecessor, and at times
one thought that the whole artillery of hell with the Devil in command
had opened fire, and that the fury of the elements would send all to
perdition. But Padna and Micus looked on unperturbed at the crackling
<DW19>s. And as the first glass of warm punch was raised on high,
Micus up and said: "Here's good luck to us all, the generous as well
as the covetous, for 'tis little any of us know why we are what we
are, or why we do the things we do, and don't want to do. And as we
can't always be decent, we might at least be charitable when we can."

"But alas! alas! we seldom think before we act, and usually act
without thinking, and that's why there are so many strange doings
and happenings," said Padna. "Be all that as it may, neglect not
your duty as my host to-night, and take charge of the decanter,
and keep my glass well filled with punch, and my pipe well filled
with tobacco, and I will tell you a story that may set your heart
beating against your ribs, and your knees knocking together, and
your hands may shake till the tumbler will fall from your fingers,
and your teeth may rattle until the pipe will fall from your mouth."

"Tell it to me, for I'm filled with curiosity to hear a strange
tale. And maybe 'tis a story about some beautiful woman, or the Aurora
Borealis, or some monster of the deep," said Micus.

"It isn't either one or the other, but the story of a horse,"
said Padna.

"A horse, is it?"

"Aye, the White Horse of Banba," said Padna.

"And how came you to hear it?" said Micus.

"It was an old man of dignified bearing, tall and stately he was,
with a long flowing beard, clear grey-blue eyes, nicely chiseled
features, keen wit, and a soft easy tongue, who told me the story."

"And where did you meet him?" said Micus.

"On the high road overlooking the Glen of the Leprechauns, on a
starlit night before the moon came up," said Padna.

"On with the story," said Micus.



"Well," said Padna, as he lit his pipe, "three weeks ago, come Tuesday,
I was strolling along the road for myself by the Bridge of the Seven
Witches, thinking of nothing but the future of the children, when I
heard strange footsteps behind me, and on looking over my shoulder,
I espied a man I had never seen before. And as our eyes met, he up
and ses: 'Good night, stranger,' ses he. 'Good night kindly,' ses I.

"''Tis a fine night,' ses he.

"'A glorious night, thank God,' ses I.

"'Indeed it is that,' ses he. 'And a night to be appreciated and
enjoyed by ghosts, fairies, goblins and hobgoblins, gnomes and elves,
owls and barroway-bats, and all the strange creatures of the earth,
that does be scared to venture out in the broad daylight, as well as
man himself.'

"'There's no doubt whatever about what you say,' ses I. 'And a fine
night for any one who likes to walk to the top of a mountain to
see the moon rising, the stars twinkling, or for those who like to
hear the soft wind blowing through the tall rushes in the bogs, and
making music, the like of which would inspire a poet to write verses
and have them printed in a book, for women to read and talk about,
and hold disputatious arguments on modern poetry,' ses I.

"And so we walked and talked until we came to the great Cliff of
Banba, that overlooks the ocean on the southwest coast. And as we
sat down to rest our weary limbs, he looked from the sky to a high
pinnacle of rock, and ses: 'A beautiful sight is the Cliff of Banba
when viewed from the ocean beyond, in a small boat, a sloop, or a
four-masted ship. But the most beautiful of all sights is to see the
White Horse of Banba himself.'

"'I never heard tell of him,' ses I.

"'Why, you must be a queer man, not to have heard tell of the White
Horse of Banba. Now,' ses he, as he crossed his legs, and put his
hand under his jaw, 'fill your pipe,' ses he, 'and smoke, and smoke,
and smoke until you will drive cold fear from your heart. For the
story I am going to tell you this blessed night may turn every hair
on your head as white as the drifting snow, and every tooth in your
head may chatter, and rattle and fall out on the ground.'

"'Oh,' ses I, ''twould take more than the mere telling of a story, no
matter how long or how short, or a hundred stories about the living or
the dead to scare or frighten or disturb me in any way, and I a married
man for more years than you could count on your own fingers and toes,
and herself as stubborn and as contrary as the first day she made up
her mind to marry me. So 'tis thinking I am that I will be neither
white, nor grey, nor sallow, nor toothless, nor bald maybe, after I
have heard the story of the White Horse of Banba; or the Black Horse
of Carrigmore, and he that took Shauneen the Cobbler away on his back
on a dark and windy night and drowned him in the Lough at Cork, because
he was cursed by the widow Maloney for spoiling the heel of her shoe.'

"'God forgive her for putting a curse on any poor man,' ses he.

"'Amen,' ses I.

"'Well,' ses he, 'if you think that you will be neither white,
nor grey, nor one way nor another but the way you are at this
present moment, I wouldn't be boasting, if I were you, until the
story is told. Because once it strikes your ears, you can never
keep it out of your mind, whether you be sailing over the seas in
a full-rigged clipper, or walking the lonely roads at home, or in
foreign parts. 'Twill be with you when you wake up in the morning,
and when you are going to bed at night, and even when you are asleep
and dreaming inself.'

"'If 'tis such a wonderful and astonishing story as all that, why
don't you write it down, and have it printed in a book?' ses I.

"'Some of the best stories were never written,' ses he. 'And some of
the wisest sayings are forgotten and the foolish ones remembered. But
once the story of the White Horse of Banba is told, 'twill keep
ringing in your ears till the dawn of your doom.'

"'Really?' ses I.

"'Yes,' ses he. ''Tis the White Horse of Banba who comes in the dark
of the night to carry us all from the Prison of Life to the Land of
the Mighty Dead. And 'twas he stole the woman of my heart from me.'

"'Well,' ses I, 'maybe 'tis better that he should have stolen her
than some worthless bla'guard who couldn't appreciate and treat her
decently. There are more married than keep good house,' ses I.

"'That's true, but 'tis no comfort for a man to see the woman he loves
the wife of another, unless she might have the devil of a temper,
and no taste for anything but gallivanting through the streets,'
ses he. 'And only for the White Horse of Banba, I might be the father
of a fine large family, who would be able to earn enough to keep me
idle in my old age. Then I wouldn't have to be worrying and fretting,
when I am walking behind a plough or a harrow, on a warm day, or
searching the boreens, the long winding lanes, or the dusty roads,
looking for a lost sheep or a wandering cow, and watering the green
grass that grows under my feet with the sweat that does be falling
from my brow. Not, indeed, that I couldn't have more wives than I'd
want. But 'tis too respectable a man I am to ever fall in love with
more than one woman. And that's something that very few can boast of,
whether they be single or married, inself.'

"'And who told you about the White Horse of Banba?' ses I.

"'I have seen him with my own two eyes,' ses he.

"'Where?' ses I.

"'In this very spot. And I have seen him in every nook and corner of
the land from the Giants' Causeway to the Old Head of Kinsale, and
as many times as you forgot to keep your promises too, and he with
the golden shoes and hoofs of ivory, and a long mane that reaches
down to the ground and a neck more beautiful than a swan, and eyes
that sparkle like glow-worms when night is as dark as pitch.'

"'And he will carry us all to the Land of the Mighty Dead?'

"'Yes, he will carry each and every one of us to the great country
beyond the grave.'

"''Tis strange indeed,' ses I, 'that you should see the White Horse
of Banba so often.'

"'Some are more favoured than others,' ses he. 'But if you will wait
until the lights in the city grow dim, and when the lights in the sky
sparkle and glimmer, and when the birds fall asleep on their perches,
and the dogs begin to snore in their kennels, and all the tired people
are stretched in their beds, then if you are lucky you may see him
passing by here, and he flying through the night, the way you'd see
a pigeon racing home, or a meteor shooting through space.'

"'And is it all alone that he does be?' ses I.

"'No. There is always some one on his back, and the banshee follows
at his heels, wailing and moaning the way you'd be scared out of
your wits.'

"'But some people have no wits,' ses I.

"'That's so. But we all dread something. It may be the sea, fire,
loneliness, the past, the present, the future, hereafter, a wife with
an angel's face and the tongue of the Devil, a rat maybe, or a shadow
itself. There's a weak spot in the strongest, and a strong spot in the
weakest, even though it might be stubbornness. But there's nothing
to make a man more scared than the cry of the banshee that follows
the White Horse of Banba as he gallops along the dreary roads, where
the ghosts themselves would be afraid to venture. And he always has
some one on his back, holding on to his wavy mane, lest they might
fall and be dashed to pieces on the cobbled roadway. Sometimes it
does be an old man full of days with toothless gums and white hair
that you'd see, and other times some comely maiden, with the virtue
of purity and innocence stamped on her brow, and she more beautiful
than Helen of Troy or the Queen of Sheba. And oftentimes it does be
a little child with rosy cheeks and golden curls, or maybe an infant
who just opened its eyes to get one peep at the world, and then closed
them forever. It may be a young giant of a man that you'd see, or an
old woman, wrinkled and feeble. And as he skelters by, the very trees
themselves bow their heads, the corncrakes in the meadows and the
toads in the marshes keep still, and you would hear no sound at all,
except the clattering of hoofs on the stony roads and the wailing of
the banshee. 'Tis along this very road that the White Horse comes
at the close of night and the birth of morn, and he races with the
speed of the lightning flash, until he comes to the top of the cliff
beyond, where he stands for a little while, sniffs the air and shakes
his mane, turns his head and gives a knowing look at whoever does be
on his back. Then a weird whinnying cry is heard, and he plunges into
the sea, and he swims and swims through the surf and billows until he
reaches the edge of the moon that does be rising out of the waters at
the horizon. As quick as thought he shakes the water from his mane,
stamps and prances and jumps from the top of the moon to the nearest
star, and from star to star until he arrives at the Golden Gate of
the Land of No Returning.

"'Then he walks through a beautiful avenue, sheltered by tall green
trees and made fragrant with sweet blooms, until he is met by St. Peter
and St. Patrick on the steps of a marble palace. And the stranger on
his back dismounts and accompanies the Holy Apostles into the Sanctum
Sanctorum where a record of our good and bad deeds is kept. And
when the record book is found and the stranger's fate discovered,
St. Peter looks at St. Patrick, and St. Patrick looks at St. Peter,
but no words at all are spoken. Then the stranger is hurried away by
an attendant with a flaming sword in his hand.'

"'And where does the angel with the flaming sword carry the poor
stranger?' ses I.

"'Nobody knows,' ses he. 'And the pity of it all is that very
few care. It was the White Horse of Banba who took my father away
and my grandfather, and his father and grandfather, and his father
before him again, and some night when we may least expect it he will
take ourselves, and gallop along like the wind over the highways
and byways, through the meadows and marshes, underneath bridges,
and over the cobbled tracts on the mountain side. And a terrifying
sight it is to see him as he thunders past. He spares no one at all,
and takes those we love and those we hate. He stole the woman of my
heart from me, and made me the lonely man that I am to-night.'

"'But isn't it a foolish thing for you to remain a bachelor, and the
world full of beautiful women waiting to be loved by some one?' ses I.

"'A man only loves once,' ses he, 'and when the woman of your heart
is dead who would want to be living at all?'

"'And now that the woman of your heart is dead, why don't you try
and forget her when you may never see her again?'

"'Of course I will see her again. Life is but the shadow of eternity,
and before to-morrow's sun will flood the East with dazzling light,
I will see the woman of my heart.'

"'Where will you see her?' ses I.

"'In a land farther away than the farthest star.'

"'And who will carry you there?' ses I.

"'The White Horse of Banba,' ses he.

"'But he may not pass this way to-night,' ses I.

"'As sure as you will make some mistake to-morrow he will pass this
way to-night,' ses he.

"'How do you know?' ses I.

"'We know lots of things that we have never been told,' ses he. 'And
you will be wiser to-morrow than you are to-day. The hands of the clock
are now together at the midnight hour, and I can hear the clattering
of hoofs in the distance.'

"'Maybe the White Horse of Banba is coming,' ses I.

"'He is,' ses he, 'and there is no one on his back this time, for he
is looking for me.'

"And as true as I'm telling you, a fiery steed rushed over the hill,
and the stranger jumped on his back, and ses, 'Good-by,' ses he,
'till we meet again in the Valley of the Dead on the Judgment Day.'

"And then the White Horse of Banba scampered along the rugged pathway
with the wailing banshee at his heels, until the top of the cliff
was reached, and before I could realize what had happened, he plunged
into the dark waters,' said Padna.



"'I hope it will be many a long day before either of us will be taken
to the world next door," said Micus.

"I hope so too," said Padna.

"I wonder is the decanter empty," said Micus.

"Not yet," said Padna.






REBELLIONS


"Come in and sit down by the fire, and don't stand shivering there
at the door," said Padna Dan to his neighbor, Micus Pat. "One would
think you were afraid to be natural."

"I'm only afraid of myself and my own foolishness," answered Micus. "So
I'll go in and sit down. On a cold night, there's nothing like a
good fire, a pipe of tobacco, a cheerful companion, and a faithful
dog to lie at your feet. 'Tis better than being married a hundred
times. Marriage should be the last thought in any sensible man's head."

"Married men," said Padna, "are very tiresome people. They are
ever either boasting about their wives and children or else abusing
them. And married women are always worse than their husbands. A woman
becomes a tyrant when she knows her husband is afraid of her, and a
good wife when she is afraid of him, and when both are afraid of each
other the children are afraid of neither. And children that aren't
afraid of their parents get married young and always to the wrong
people. But as people who want to get married will get married, then
let them get married and enjoy themselves if they like trouble. I've
been trying to keep out of trouble all my lifetime, and no one has
ever failed so successfully," said Micus.

"There's only one way to keep out of trouble," said Padna.

"And what way is that?"

"Well, by either drowning, hanging, or poisoning yourself."

"I'd rather fall from an aeroplane, or die a respectable death and
have my name in the papers, than do anything so common as drowning
or hanging myself, if I was trying to escape from marrying a widow."

"Wisha, when all is said and done, the longest life is so short that
'tis only a fool, or maybe a very wise man, that would make it any
shorter. When we fall out of the cradle, we almost fall into the
grave, so to speak, and unless we are either very bad or very good,
we're forgotten before the grass commences to sprout above us."

"A graveyard is a great place surely, for grass to grow and flowers
to bloom, and for ghosts to take the fresh air for themselves, but
the last place to go for a rest."

"And the only place for a poor man. Because there's no rest in life,
except for the very stupid people and the philosophers."

"And what's the difference between a stupid man and a philosopher?"

"The stupid man is naturally easy in his mind because of his wonderful
gift from providence, and the philosopher pretends that you are a wise
man, when you know that you are only one of the many poor fools sent
astray in this world, without the least notion where your wandering
footsteps may lead you to, or your preaching lead others."

"And isn't it philosophy that keeps the world together?"

"No, 'tis not philosophy, but pride, and pride that pulls it asunder,
and pride that makes hell and heaven. Pride is the net that the Devil
goes fishing with."

"The world must be full of fools then, because I can't understand
myself or any one else, and I never met any one who could understand
me."

"If a man could understand himself, he'd die of wisdom, and if he
could understand his friend, he'd become his enemy."

"And what would happen if a man could understand his enemy?"

"Well, then, he'd be so wise that he'd never get married."

"We'll try and forget the women for a while, and talk a little about
the other wonders of the world. There's nothing more extraordinary
than the patience of married men. The world is full of wonders,
police, clergy, and public houses. But what I do be wondering most
about at the close of day is, how did all the stars get into the sky?"

"Well, well, to be sure! There's ignorance for you! Didn't you ever
hear tell of the night of the big wind?"

"Of course, I did."

"That was the night the earth was blown about in the heavens the way
you'd see a piece of paper in the month of March. She was carried
from one place to another, until, lo and behold! she struck the moon
a wallop and shattered her highest mountains into smithereens, and
all the pieces that fell into the sky were turned into the stars you
see floating about on frosty nights."

"And did she strike the sun at all in her travels?"

"How could the earth strike the sun, you omadhaun?"

"It should be as easy to strike the sun as the moon, but how she could
strike either is more than any one will ever be able to understand,
I'm thinking."

"'Pon my word, but you're the most ignorant man one could meet in a
year of Saturdays. Don't you know that the sun is a round hole in
the floor of Heaven through which all the fairies and politicians
fell the night of the rebellion?"

"And was there a rebellion in Heaven?"

"Wisha, what kind of a man are you not to know all these things? Sure,
there's rebellions everywhere."

"What kind of a rebellion do you refer to?"

"Well, there are only two kinds, though there's no difference between
them."

"And what are they?"

"Rebellions with a reason and rebellions without a reason."

"And why should there be rebellions at all?"

"Well, because when people get tired of being good they become bad,
and when they get tired of being bad they become good."

"I hope I'll never be in a rebellion," said Micus.

"Rebellions are the salt of life," said Padna. "Only for the rebellion
in Heaven, we wouldn't be here to-day enjoying ourselves at the expense
of our neighbors. Don't you know that we are to take the place of
the fallen angels and that we must win the respect of St. Peter and
St. Patrick by our courageous behavior? I'm never happy only when
I'm in the thick of battle, and the only music that charms me is the
thunderous cannonading of the enemy. That's the time that I have the
courage of a lion, the grace and power of an elephant, and the fire of
hell withal in my eye, ready to conquer or die for my convictions. The
man who can't feel and act like a hero should--What noise is that?"

"Only your wife scolding some one outside the door," answered Micus.

"'Tis her voice, surely. Then be off with yourself by the back door,
for 'tis ten by the clock, and mind the dog in the haggard while I'll
put out the light and go to bed," said Padna.






KINGS AND COMMONERS


"Well," said Padna, as he rested his elbows on the parapet of Blackrock
Castle, and watched the river Lee winding its way towards the ocean,
"when I look upon a scene so charming as this, with its matchless
beauty, I feel that I am not myself at all, but some mediaeval king
or other, surveying my dominions, and waiting for the sound of the
hunter's horn to wake me from my revery. If at the present moment,
an army of chivalrous archers, with white plumes in their green hats
and bows and arrows slung on their shoulders and Robin Hood himself
at their head, were to march from out the woods at Glountawn, I
wouldn't utter the least note of surprise or exclamation. No, Micus,
not a single word would I say, even though they might lay a herd of
slaughtered deer at my feet, and pin a falcon's wing on my breast;
so much do I feel a part of the good old days when there was no duty
on tobacco and whiskey."

"Sometimes," said Micus, "I too feel that I own the whole countryside,
and in a sense I do. Because I can get as much pleasure from looking at
it, and admiring all its dazzling splendour, as if I had the trouble
of keeping it in order and paying rates and taxes. And after all,
what does any of us want but the world to look at, enough to eat and
drink, and a little diversion when we feel like it?"

"A man with imagination and insight," said Padna, "need never want
for entertainment, because he can always appreciate and enjoy the
folly of others, without having to pay for it. But be that as it may,
'tis more satisfying still to have a love of nature and all that's
beautiful, and a healthy distaste for all that's coarse and ugly."

"The world is made up of all kinds of people, who want to enjoy
themselves in some way or other," said Micus, "and the spirit of
destruction is the Devil's contribution to human happiness. Why, man
alive, you could drown the whole German Army, and the Kaiser and all
his henchmen, in the depths of beautiful Lough Mahon that stretches
before us, and the French wouldn't feel the least sorry. And you
could drown the whole French Army and General Joffre, and the Germans
wouldn't feel sorry. And you could drown Sir Blunderbluff Carson, and
John Redmond wouldn't feel sorry, and you could drown the Russian,
French, English and German armies, and the socialists wouldn't be
sorry, and you could drown all the socialists and the Salvation Army,
and the Devil wouldn't be sorry."

"All the same," said Padna, "'twould be a pity to wound the dignity
of the Kaiser by drowning him in a comparatively small and shallow
place like Lough Mahon when he could be drowned just as comfortably
and easily in the middle of the Atlantic or Pacific Ocean,--or the
Dardanelles, for that matter. And as for all the trouble 'twould
give the Russians, you could tie him by the heels to a clothesline
in your back yard, the way they tied the tails of the Kilkenny cats,
and dip his head in a bucket of goat's milk mixed with gunpowder,
and let him drown that way."

"There's good and bad in the worst of us," said Micus, "and I am sure
the Allies would be sorry to have him drowned at all, when he could
be given, for his own private use and benefit, a superabundance of
everlasting peace tokens, such as they give the poor devils in the
trenches."

"Free samples of poisonous gas, you mean, I presume," said Padna.

"Yes," said Micus. "However, 'tisn't for the likes of us to be
discussing the ways of mighty monarchs when we are only poor men
ourselves."

"Hard work," said Padna, "never killed the gentry."

"No," said Micus, "nor decency either, and if they were to eat twice
as much, 'twouldn't make them any better."

"When you come to think about it," said Padna, "'tis the hell of
a thing why a man should have to work for himself, or have to work
at all."

"Indeed it is, and I always lose my temper when I think of the
poor men and women, too, who must get up when it is only time to
be going to bed, and work until they fall on the floor from sheer
exhaustion and no one to care or bother about them. Sure, there must
be something wrong, if that sort of thing is right, and the gentry
should be ashamed of themselves for making such conditions possible
and they doing nothing but spending money that they never earned,
and making laws for the poor."

"'Tis disgusting," said Micus, "to think that we should have to work
for any one, even though they might be the Prince of Wales, or the
Duke of the North Pole himself."

"I can't see for the life of me," said Padna, "why we couldn't make
our living as easy as the birds of the air, the fish of the sea, the
insects of the field, or the policemen. Sure, when you come to think
of it, a king is no more than any other man, only for all the fuss
that does be made about him. And I don't see why one man should be
thought better than another when he isn't. Only for the fine clothes
that some of us wear, no one would take the least notice of us, and if
you were to put a dead king and a dead duke, and yourself and myself
beside each other, Micus, on the top of the Galtee Mountains, and
exposed our carcasses to the rains and the snow, not to mention the
southwesterly gales, for three months, when the experts would come
along to identify us, 'tis the way they would think that you were
the duke and I was the king, and the duke was no one but yourself,
and who could the king be but myself."

"And maybe 'tis the way that they would think that you were only the
duke, and that myself was the king," said Padna.

"'Tis true, of course, that a king is no more than one of ourselves
when he is dead, but there is no doubt about him being a good deal
more when he is alive. Nevertheless, it would be a proud thing for
the Padna Dan family to have one of their kinsmen buried with the
pomp and ceremony of a mighty monarch, and they never to produce
anything more than birdcatchers and bowl players. Yes, Padna, 'twould
be a great thing entirely, and ye that always lived in a house that
you could put your hand down the chimney and open the front door,
if you forgot your latch-key. The mistake would never be discovered
till the Judgment Day, and then you'd rise from your grave, glorious
and triumphant with a crown of shiny jewels on your head, and a royal
sceptre in your hand, and a robe of state that would cover you all
over, and you looking as happy and contented as though you were used
to wearing overcoats all your lifetime."

"And what about yourself, Micus," said Padna, "and you with a red cap
on your head, like the dukes wear on state occasions, and a snowball
in one hand and a bear's claw in the other, the way the people would
think you were the Duke of the North Pole and not yourself at all?"

"All the same," said Micus, "I'd rather be a duke at any time than
have to work for a living."

"So would I," said Padna. "And in that sense, we only echo the true
sentiments of every democrat. Yet, when I was a young man, I never
bothered my head about royalty, but I was as full of wild fancies as a
balloon is of wind. And there wasn't one from the Old Head of Kinsale
to the Giants' Causeway more headstrong and intolerant than myself."

"I believe every word of that," said Micus.

"Like other temperamental and idealistic people, I naturally felt very
disappointed and likewise disgusted with the existing order of things,
and there and then I ses to myself: 'Padna Dan,' ses I, 'the world
is in a wretched condition and badly wants a great reformer.' So with
that I appointed myself mediator between good and evil, and indeed, at
first I thought it would be possible to form some kind of compromise
between those two giant forces that have kept the world in awe ever
since Adam was a boy. But subsequently I decided that the best and
only thing to do would be to rid the world of evil altogether."

"And how could that be done at all?" said Micus.

"Well, as I was filled with the enthusiasm and ignorance of youth,
I tried to make up my mind whether I would follow in the footsteps of
Savonarola, St. Francis, or St. Patrick himself, but when I thought of
what happened to Savonarola, and after all these years we don't know
whether St. Patrick was a Scotchman or an Irishman, but principally
when I took into consideration my own strong sense of personal comfort,
and my insignificance withal, when compared to greater men who have
suffered so much and accomplished so little, I finally decided to leave
the regeneration of mankind to the suffragettes or some one else."

"You're a philosopher," said Micus, "but I'm afraid that you will
accomplish no more for humanity with your old talk, than a patent
medicine advertisement or the police themselves. Sure, every young
man with a spark of decency in him must have felt as generous as
yourself at some time or other in his life. If we could all reform
ourselves before trying to reform others, then there would be some
hope for mankind, but generous impulses such as yours, Padna Dan,
are only produced by the assimilation of black coffee or strong tea,
or else an innate conceit. When the Lord made the world, he must have
known the kind of people he was going to put there. Hence, Padna,
the superabundance of people like yourself to be met with everywhere."

"Well," said Padna, "whether we mean what we say or not, we must keep
talking. Sure, 'tis talk that keeps the world going, and if we are
not dead in a hundred years, we will be very near it, so it behooves
us one and all to enjoy ourselves while we are here, lest it may be
unwise to postpone our pleasure until we arrive in the other world."

"This world," said Micus, "in a sense, is good enough for me, and I
wouldn't object to living on here for ever, if I could, instead of
taking a chance with what's to follow."

"Life is a game of ups and downs, and love very often is an
accident. If we did not meet our wives, we never would have married
them, of course. And if our wives did not meet us, they might have
met some one better. And happy indeed is the man who marries the
woman he loves before she marries some one else."

"'Tis sad to think," said Padna, "that when we get sensible enough
to appreciate our own folly, the beauties of nature, and the
idiosyncracies of our friends and enemies, we find ourselves on the
brink of the grave. Yet, we might all be worse off and treated no
better than the poor prisoners of Sarduanna."

"We are all prisoners, in a sense, from the very minute we are born,
and we may be prisoners after we are dead too, for all any of us know,"
said Micus.

"That may be," said Padna, "but nevertheless, some of us know how
to treat ourselves better than the authorities treat the prisoners
of Sarduanna."

"And how are they treated at all? Is it the way they get too much to
eat and not enough of work, or too much work and not enough to eat?"

"'Tisn't so much one as the other, but something worse than
either. They get nothing to eat but pickled pork from one end of the
year to the other," said Padna.

"And what do they get to quench their thirst?" said Micus.

"Salt fish," said Padna.






THE FOLLY OF BEING FOOLISH


"What are you doing there?" said Padna Dan to Micus Pat, as he watched
him sifting sand between his fingers as he stood on the shore of
Bantry Bay.

"I'm doing what nobody ever thought of doing before and what no
one may ever think of doing again," said Micus. "I'm counting the
pebbles of Bantry Bay from Dunboy to Glengarriffe. And that's more
than Napoleon thought of doing."

"And why should you be doing the likes of that?" said Padna.

"Well," said Micus, "when they're all counted, I'll know more than
before and be as famous as the King of Spain himself."

"You might as well be trying to count all the blades of grass from
Dunkirk to Belgrade, but you'd be dead and forgotten long before you'd
have as much as the ten thousandth part of half of them counted,"
said Padna.

"What do you know about counting pebbles or the red skeeories that
does be on the white thorn-bushes in the month of August?" said Micus.

"As much as any sensible man wants to know," said Padna. "If you
want to be really foolish, you ought to leave the pebbles alone,
and start counting all the grains of sand in the world."

"I'll count the pebbles first," said Micus.

"'Tis only vanity that makes a man do what every one else is too
sensible to do," said Padna. "But 'tis better to be foolish itself
and get married than to be so vain that you don't know you're foolish."

"And why should I get married?" said Micus.

"Well," said Padna, "a man's wife is always a great comfort to him
when he wants to get fed, when he's sick in bed and requires nursing,
or when he's too well off and suffers from discontent. Besides,
'tis a great thing to have a wife to quarrel with when you're afraid
of quarreling with any one else."

"And why should I quarrel with my wife without reason if I had one?"

"Abuse, you know, is the great safety valve that keeps the world
from exploding, and if you won't abuse your wife, she'll abuse you,"
said Padna, "and isn't it better to be first than last in anything?"

"I don't think so," said Micus. "I'd rather be the last than the
first man to meet a widow looking for a husband."

"And why?" said Padna.

"There's no escape from widows," said Micus, "whatever accidents
might happen with inexperienced young women."

"There's something in what you say," said Padna. "Perseverance,
pugnacity, and stupidity are necessary for success if you aren't
cursed with intelligence and good breeding. And you can get any young
woman without money to marry you against her will, but if you're wise
enough you won't. I need not tell you that lovers are only sensible
when they commence wondering at the foolishness of their own children."

"A man thinking about getting married should have two women to
choose from."

"And why, might I ask?"

"Well, because if he lost one he could have the other, and if he
lost both he would know what it is to be lucky. Marriage, you know,
always makes one master and two slaves."

"'Tis too bad that there should be any slaves."

"It is, but while men will marry for love, and women for money,
we cannot expect a change in our social conditions."

"There will be no change in the world while men suffering from
indigestion will marry cooks."

"That's a wise thing for a sensible man to do. A cranky and delicate
man should marry a nurse, a man always out of employment should marry
a dressmaker, and a man fond of quietness and reading should live
with a married sister, if she has no children."

"Wisha, after all's said and done, there's nothing worse nor better
than being a bachelor, as the case may be. 'Tis better to be a
bachelor, I'm thinking, for you may go to your grave without being
disillusioned. But when a man's dead, it doesn't matter whether he
was married or not, or shot by an ivory-handled revolver or died
from rheumatics."

"A man suffering from rheumatics should be mindful of the westerly
gales, and the frosts of winter, and keep from eating salty beef and
tomatoes. I think a rheumaticky man should get married, but should
not marry a woman with a tendency to gout. And 'tis always well to
marry an orphan because there's nothing worse than mothers-in-law,
except sisters-in-law, and they're the devil entirely."

"To change the subject," said Micus, "I don't think it is fair to
catch lobsters at night. No one wants to be disturbed in their sleep."

"If you look at things like that," said Padna, "you'll never be happy,
and though it isn't easy to please myself, I think 'tis a grand thing
entirely that all caterpillars are vegetarians."

"I don't think we should waste time talking about caterpillars. They
never do anything but eat cabbage and cause gardeners to use bad
language. Of course, the history of a buffalo or a butterfly is a
wonderful thing, but if elephants were to grow wings we wouldn't take
any notice of canaries, bees, or water hens," said Micus.

"I'd give a lot of money to see a flock of elephants flying over the
Rock of Cashel," said Padna.

"That would be a great thing for the newspapers and the moving
pictures, though perhaps a dangerous thing for people of a nervous
disposition," said Micus.

"And 'twould be the devil of a thing entirely if they forgot to fly."

"Nervousness is a curse or a blessing, according to the individual,
of course. The evil that some men do lives after them, and the good
does be interred with their bones."

"That's true, but when men do neither good nor harm they might as
well keep out of politics altogether. No man is as wise or as foolish
as he thinks he is, and if you were to capture all the stray thoughts
that does be floating about in your head and put them down in writing,
you'd be the greatest curiosity that ever was."

"When a man loses a button," said Micus, "he should immediately sew
it on for himself, if he couldn't get any one to do it for him."

"Selfishness is the basis of success," said Padna.

"To give away what you don't want is wisdom without generosity,
and to keep what is of no use to you is the worst kind of folly."

"Fighting is a natural instinct, and to fight for what's yours,
be it honor or property, is a noble thing, but to fight for what
doesn't belong to you is both dangerous and foolish."

"That's so indeed. I saw two crows fighting for a crust of bread that
a child dropped in the street, and they didn't cease until both had
their eyes picked out."

"And who got the crust?"

"A sparrow who came along while they were fighting, and devoured it."

"Then the crows without knowing it became philanthropists."

"Well, 'tis better to make mistakes if some one benefits by them than
to make no mistakes at all. I think I'll go on counting the pebbles
and leave you to find a philosophy for yourself," said Micus.

"Well," said Padna, "when a man can content himself by being foolish,
'tis only a fool that would be a philosopher."






THE LADY OF THE MOON


"'Tis a strange thing," said Padna to Micus, as he sat on a boulder in
his back garden, carving a dog's head on the handle of a blackthorn
walking stick, "that notwithstanding all the millions of people in
the world, no two are alike, and stranger still that no two leaves of
a tree, or blades of grass, are alike either. And while in a sense
we are always doing something for others, 'tis ourselves we do be
thinking about most of the time."

"True, very true! And as they say across the water: 'Every man for
himself, and the dollar for us all.' Or as the Devil said when he
joined the police force: 'There's no one like our own,'" said Micus.

"Life is full of surprises, and the world is full of strange people,"
said Padna. "And 'tis a good job that we are like the leaves of the
trees, and the blades of grass, so alike and yet so different. If we
all had the same tastes, we might have no taste at all, so to speak."

"Speaking of strange people," said Micus, "I wonder if you ever heard
tell of one Malachi Riordan who used to sit in his back yard, every
fine night, watching the reflection of the moon in a bucket of water,
hoping to find the evening star with the aid of his wife's spectacles."

"I did not then," said Padna. "But I met just as strange a man, and
he sitting on his hat on the banks of the Fairy Lake of Lisnavarna,
watching the moon's reflection in the clear waters, and the devil a
one of him knew that he was contrary at all."

"Sure if a man was contrary, he wouldn't know it, and if he was told
he was contrary, he wouldn't believe it, but think that every one
was contrary but himself," said Micus. "And I believe the Lake at
Lisnavarna has a fatal fascination for people who are as sensible
as ourselves. 'Twas there that Matty Morrissey, the great fiddler of
Arnaliska, and the holy Bishop of Clonmorna met their doom."

"How?" said Padna.

"They were driving in an open carriage along the lonely roads at the
dead of night," said Micus, "and no finer carriage was ever seen,
with its two wheels behind and its two wheels before, and a special
seat for the driver, and cushions fit for a duke to sit on, and the
Arms of the Four Provinces painted on the doors, and--"

"Where were they driving to?" said Padna.

"They were driving at breakneck speed to the little thatched chapel
on the Hill of Meath, with its marble altar, red-tiled floor,
painted Stations of the Cross, and beautiful silver candlesticks,
for the Bishop was in the devil of a hurry to marry Queen Maeve to the
Crown Prince of Spain, and Matty Morrissey was to play the music for
the dancers after the wedding. But, lo and behold! as the carriage
rattled along the dark, winding roads, the holy Bishop, Matty, and
the driver fell fast asleep, and the horse fell asleep also, but
he was a somnambulist and kept galloping away the same as if he was
wide-awake, and when he came to the lake, he plunged into its silent
waters, carrying with him the occupants of the carriage, and they
all sank to its icy depths the same as if they were made of lead,
and they were never heard of from that fatal hour to this blessed day."

"And why didn't some one try to recover their bodies and give them
a public funeral and christian burial?" said Padna.

"What would be the use? Sure there is no bottom at all to the Lake
of Lisnavarna. And you might as well be looking for a Christmas box
from the Devil himself as to be looking for any one who gets drowned
there," said Micus.

"That's a sad story," said Padna. "But 'tis better to be drowned
inself than roasted to death in a forest fire, or worse still, talked
to death by your mother-in-law or some of your friends."

"Talk is a deadly instrument of torture," said Micus.

"'Tis indeed," said Padna, "and sometimes as bad as silence, but tell
me how the disaster affected Queen Maeve and the Crown Prince."

"Poor Queen Maeve wept so much that she lost her beauty, and the
Crown Prince married a farmer's daughter who had a dowry of three
stockingsful of sovereigns, thirty-three acres of loamy soil, three
cows, and three clucking hens," said Micus.

"'Tis a sad world for some," said Padna. "And 'tis my belief that the
best as well as the worst of us don't give a traneen about women once
they lose their beauty."

"That's my belief also," said Micus. "Yet only for women there would
be no love, and love is the greatest thing in all the world. It is
an echo of Heaven's glory, so to speak, and when denied us we don't
live at all. Without love we are nothing more nor less than dead men,
stalking about from place to place, clutching on to this thing and
that thing with the hope that we will be compensated for what we
have missed. For what, might I ask, is a dog or a cat or a heap of
money itself to a man or woman, when the dark nights come and the
frost and snow does be on the ground, and the wind blows down the
chimney? And even though we might have plenty <DW19>s for the fire
and plenty food in the cupboard, and more than we want for ourselves,
what good is it all, unless we have some one to share it with us? 'Tis
by sharing with others that we bring ourselves nearer to God. And He
has given the earth and all it contains to the good and bad alike!"

"And 'tis by sharing with ourselves and being decent to ourselves on
all occasions that we acquire wisdom," said Padna.

"Be that as it may, now let me hear about the stranger you met at
the Fairy Lake," said Micus.

"Well," said Padna, "as I approached him I up and ses: 'Good night,
stranger,' ses I.

"'Good night kindly,' ses he.

"''Tis a fine night, thank God,' ses I.

"''Tis a glorious night,' ses he. 'But why do you come here to
interrupt me, and I enjoying myself without any expense to you?'

"'Oh,' ses I, 'if you didn't interrupt some people, they would never
cease doing foolish things, and if you didn't interrupt others they
would never make any progress. And if we never asked questions we might
be as ignorant as the schoolmasters themselves. 'Tis only by studying
others that we can find out how wise or foolish we are ourselves.'

"'That may be, but curiosity is the cause of all trouble,' ses he.

"'Curiosity is a sign of intelligence,' ses I. 'Because only for it
we mightn't try and find out what others were doing, and they might
steal a march on ourselves, so to speak, by taking advantage of our
indifference.'

"'Howsomever,' ses he, 'what is it to you what I am doing? If we
were only half as interested in our own affairs, as we are in those
of others, 'twould be a good job for us all. Then we might achieve
some success, but while we will keep bothering ourselves about others
and keep bothering others about ourselves, we can't expect either
ourselves or any one else to be happy,' ses he.

"'Well, bedad,' ses I, 'there's something, if not a good deal, in what
you say; still and all, if we weren't a source of annoyance to our
neighbours, and if our neighbours weren't a source of annoyance to
us, we might all die of inanition, and the whole globe might become
nothing more or less than a beautiful garden, for the wild animals
of the jungle, the birds of the air, and varmints like rats, mice,
and cockroaches,' ses I.

"'Why, my good sir,' ses he, 'if you could have all your questions
answered, you would become too wise, and then you would get so
disgusted with yourself and every one else that you might take it
into your head to jump from the top of some high cliff into a raging
sea and end your life in that way.'

"'If I was going to commit suicide, at all,' ses I, ''tis the way
I'd pay some one to put poison in my ear while I would be asleep,
and die like the King of Denmark himself.'

"'Your conceit is refreshing! Not alone would you have your name in
the paper for being a suicide, but for aiding and abetting in your
own murder as well. 'Twould be a clear case of dying by another's
hand at your own instigation. But now to your query. You asked me
what I was looking at in the lake.'

"'I believe I did,' ses I.

"'Well,' ses he, 'I was looking at the lady in the moon.'

"'The lady in the moon!' ses I.

"'Yes,' ses he, 'the lady in the moon.'

"'Sure, I always thought there was only a man in the moon,' ses I.

"'There's a lady there too, but don't tell any one,' ses he.

"'Are you afraid any one might run away with her?' ses I.

"'Well, I am and I am not,' ses he.

"'When did you discover that there was a lady in the moon?' ses I.

"'Years and years ago when I was a young man of three sixes,' ses he.

"'The Lord save us all!' ses I. 'And you never told the scientists
about it?'

"'I did not,' ses he. 'They should have found it out for
themselves. There's many a thing that the scientists don't know,
and many a thing that the clergy don't know, and many a thing that
the very wisest of us don't know, but there is one thing that we all
know,' ses he.

"'And what is that?' ses I.

"'Some day we will all be as dead as decency. But nevertheless it
doesn't make us treat each other a bit better,' ses he.

"'The uncertainty of everything is the only certainty we have,' ses
I. 'And very few of us say anything worth thinking about, and what
most of us think is not worth talking about. However, I'd like to know
whether the moon was in the east or the west when you discovered the
lady that captured your heart.'

"''Twas in this very lake the moon was when I saw my love for the
first time, and though some fifty years or more have passed since
then, she is as beautiful, lithe, lissome, and gay as ever, and she
as elegant as Helen of Troy herself,' ses he.

"'I've been looking at the moon all my lifetime,' ses I, 'in pools
of water, lakes, rivers, and the sky itself, and the devil a one I
ever saw in it at all.'

"'That's not a bit surprising,' ses he. 'Some walk from the cradle
to the grave without noticing the beauty of the universe, and what's
more, they are never impressed with what's extraordinary, or surprised
at the obvious. And when they see the things they have heard so much
about, they do be surprised at what they think is the stupidity of
the intelligent people, because they have no sense of the beautiful
themselves.'

"'God knows,' ses I, 'there are women enough on the face of the earth
without going to look for them in the moon, nevertheless, I'd like to
see the lady that's as purty as Helen of Troy, and she more beautiful
than all the queens of the world.'

"'Well,' ses he, 'if you want to see the lady of the moon, you must
take a hop, step, and a jump forward, and a hop, step, and a jump,
backward, then turn on your heel three times, bore a hole in the
crown of your hat with the buckhorn handle of your blackthorn, put
your face in the hat itself, look through the hole the way you'd look
at the stars through a telescope, and you'll see the lady I fell head
and heels in love with when I was a lad of three sixes.'

"'Bedad,' ses I, 'that would be a queer thing for me to do. Sure while
I'd have my face in the hat, you might run behind me and give me one
kick and pitch me headlong into the lake, and I'd be sinking in its
icy waters for ever like Matty Morrissey the fiddler, and the holy
Bishop of Clonmorna.'

"'God forgive you for having such an evil mind,' ses he. 'I that
never did hurt nor harm to any one in all my born days, but myself.'

"'Well,' ses I, 'a man always makes a fool of himself about women,
and he might as well make a fool of himself one way as another,
and as I won't be making a precedent by doing something idiotic to
please another, I'll bore a hole in my hat, though I'd rather bore
one in yours, and try if I can't see the lady.' And as true as I'm
telling you, I looked through the hole and saw the lady of the moon
for the first time, and then I up and ses to the stranger:

"'What kind of a man are you to remain a bachelor all those long
years, and to be coming here night after night, when the moon shows
in the sky, wasting your affection on a lady you never opened your
lips to?' ses I.

"'I'm the happiest man alive,' ses he. 'Because the woman I love
has never wounded or slighted me in any way, and what's more, she
never will. She don't want to be going out to balls and parties at
night, and gallivanting with other women's husbands, and she cares as
little about the latest fashions as I do myself. And we have never
had as much as a single quarrel, and we are the same to each other
now as when first we met. I have yet to be disillusioned,' ses he,
'and that's something worth boasting about.'

"'But,' ses I, 'for all you know, the lady of the moon might be in
love with the man in the moon.'

"'That's so,' ses he. 'And maybe your wife might be in love with the
man next door, or across the street, or some one away in the wilds
of Africa, Australia, or America, or she may be in love with some one
who's dead and gone, or some good-looking stranger who came into her
life for a day or a week and went out of it for ever. Women can keep
their own secrets,' ses he. 'They don't tell us all they think, and
very often when they say no, they mean yes. You have a lot to learn,'
ses he.

"'Maybe I have,' ses I. 'But 'tis as bad for a man to know too much
or too little, as to know nothing at all, I'm thinking.'

"'Maybe it is,' ses he.

"'And when are you going to wed the lady in the moon? Is it when she
comes down from the sky?' ses I.

"'No,' ses he, 'but when she comes up from the lake.' And then a
large dark cloud floated past and the lady of the moon was seen no
more that night."



"'Tis about time we went indoors," said Padna.

"'Tis," said Micus. "The Angelus is ringing, and I'm feeling hungry."






A BARGAIN OF BARGAINS


A blue haze hung on the distant hills when Padna Dan looked pensively
from the landscape to his watch, and said to his friend Micus Pat, who
stood by his side: "The world is surely a wonderful and a beautiful
place as well; but it would seem as though there were wings on the
feet of time, so quickly does night follow day."

"Time is the barque that carries us from the cradle to the grave, and
leaves us on the shores of the other world alone," said Padna. "And
as my poor mother used to say:


            Time, like youth, will have its fling,
            And of a beggar make a king;
            And of a king a beggar make,
            Merely for a joke's sake.


Time indeed brings many changes. Cromwell made peasants of the Irish
gentry, and America made gentry of the Irish peasantry, and awful
snobs some of them became too! But a whit for snobbery, for what is
it but an adjunct of prosperity, like gout, which disappears again
with adversity."

"Snobbery at best is a foolish thing," said Micus.

"But when we consider the unimportance of our own troubles, and
the importance of the principal parts of the British Empire, such
as Ireland, England, Scotland, Australia and T. P. O'Connor, our
insignificance looms up before our gaze, and almost strikes us in
the face, so to speak."

"And 'tis surprising it doesn't obliterate us altogether," said
Padna. "However, let us forget Tay Pay O'Connor for a little while,
as he will never do so himself, and I will tell you a story about
one Cormac McShane from the townland of Ballinderry."

"On with the story; I am always glad to hear tell of some one worth
talking about," said Micus.

"Well," said Padna, "Cormac was as fine a looking man as ever broke
his promises. And unless you had great astuteness of observation,
and an eye like a hawk or a landlady, you wouldn't see the likes of
him in a twelvemonth, even though you might be gallivanting through
the streets every day. And while nature treated him rather well,
for the poor man he was, Dame Fortune seemed to have ignored him
altogether, until he took his fate in his own hands, and then things
began to improve. But to make a short story as long as I can, like the
journalists and modern novelists, one day while Cormac was sitting in
a barber's chair, having his hair cut and trying to forget what the
barber was talking about, a bright idea came to him as he caught a
glimpse of himself in the looking-glass, and lo and behold! without
saying a word, he jumped up and stood on his two feet, and the poor
barber got so excited that he cut a piece off the top of his right
ear. Cormac wasn't the least displeased, because he always thought that
his ears were too long, so then and there he told the barber to cut a
piece about the same length off his other ear, so that they would both
look nice and even. And when his wishes were complied with, he thanked
the barber, and then he up and ses to himself: 'Cormac McShane,' ses
he, 'I never before thought you were such a good-looking fellow. Sure
the King of Spain or the Emperor of China would feel as proud as a
peacock to have a countenance like yours. Yet,' ses he, 'isn't it a
strange thing that one so handsome, and modest likewise, and with such
a splendid appetite, and a taste for good things in general, should
be compelled by stress of circumstances to live on pigs' heads, and
tough cabbage, and no change at all in your dietary but salt conger
eels on Fridays. Why,' ses he, 'a man with your appreciation should
have plenty of the choice things of life, and never know the want of
anything. What, might I ask,' ses he, 'has the world achieved by all
the books that have been written, and all the charity sermons that
have been preached, when you, Cormac McShane, couldn't go from Cork
to Dublin unless you borrowed the money, and it might be as hard for
you to borrow it, as 'twould be for yourself to lend it to another.'

"That's good sound talk," said Micus. "Go on with the story, and
don't let any one interrupt you."

"'Now,' ses Cormac, 'If every one in the whole world from Peru to
Clonakilty would only give you a halfpenny each, and no one would
miss such a trifle, you would be the richest man alive, and then you
needn't give a traneen about any one. But, of course,' ses he, 'that
would be too much originality to expect from the bewildered inhabitants
of the globe, moreover,' ses he, 'when we consider that the majority
of people are always trying to get something for nothing, themselves."

"He had the temperament of a millionaire," said Micus.

"Indeed, he had, and the ingenuity of the tinkers, who would charge
for putting a patch on a skillet where there was no hole at all,"
said Padna. "'However,' ses Cormac to himself, 'there's nothing like
money, no matter how it may have been earned, and every man should be
his own counsellor, because the little we know about each other only
leads us into confusion and chaos. Now,' ses he, 'very few ever became
wealthy by hard work alone, and you, Cormac McShane, must think of some
scheme by which you can become rich, and all of a sudden too.' And
so he exercised his brains for about a month, and kept thinking and
thinking, until finally he managed to capture an idea that he found
straying among all the wild fancies that ever kept buzzing about in
his head. And he was so pleased and delighted that he ses to himself:
'Cormac,' ses he, 'there isn't another man alive who could think of
such a short cut to wealth, health, and happiness, and as a mark of my
appreciation, I will now treat you to whatever you may want, provided,
of course, that it won't cost more than one shilling. A shilling is
enough to spend on any one at a time, unless you are sure of getting
two shillings, worth in return. And extravagance is nearly as bad as
economy, when it isn't used to advantage.'"

"And what was the brilliant idea that inspired such generosity?" said
Micus. "Was it the way he made up his mind to dress himself as a duke,
and go to America and marry some heiress who couldn't tell a duke
from a professional plausible humbug?"

"It wasn't anything as commonplace as that," said Padna.

"What was it then?" said Micus.

"'I'm going to raffle myself at a guinea a ticket,' ses he. 'And if I
will sell five hundred, I will have enough to buy a small farm. That
would give me a real start in life, and after I have what I want,
discontent is possible.' And then and there, he got his photo printed
on a card, on which was written:


    'A Bargain of Bargains

    To be raffled, and drawn for, on St. Swithin's eve, at the Black
    Cock Tavern, one Cormac McShane. He stands five feet six inches in
    his stocking vamps, black hair, blue eyes, an easy disposition,
    and no poor relations. A limited number of tickets, to wit,
    five hundred, will be sold at one guinea each, to widows without
    children, of less than three score and five.'"


"Well," said Micus, "the devil be in it, but that was the most
extraordinary way I ever heard of a man looking for a wife with a
fortune. And why did he make the stipulation that only widows were
eligible?"

"Because widows are always less extravagant than single women, and
they know how to humour a man better, when he has lost his temper."

"And how many tickets did he sell?" asked Micus.

"Every single one, and he could have sold as many more, only he hadn't
them printed," said Padna.

"And that was how Cormac McShane got a wife, or how a wife got him,
if you will?" said Micus.

"Yes," said Padna, "and while the money lasted, Cormac was the happiest
man in the country."

"Now," said Micus, "if Cormac McShane was a wise man, Garret Doran
was another."

"How so?" said Padna. "Was it the way he always kept his mouth shut
until he had something to say?"

"Not exactly," said Micus. "But he could do that too, when it pleased
him. Garret was a miller, who kept a mill near the courthouse, so
one day when the famous judge, Patcheen the Piper, as he was called,
was sitting on the Bench, passing sentence on a batch of patriots
who were to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, for no other offence
than loving a country that never did anything for them better than
they loved themselves, a great noise was heard, and the Judge was
so annoyed at being disturbed that he stopped short in the middle of
the death sentence and ses, at the top of his voice:

"'What hullaballoo is that I hear? And who dares make any noise
at all, and interfere with my amusement?' ses he. 'If I will hear
another sound, I'll order every one within a radius of five miles
to be boiled in turpentine, and sealed up in tin cans, and have them
shipped to the King of the Cannibal Islands, as a Christmas box from
the people of generous Ireland,' ses he.

"'Oh,' ses the Crown Solicitor, 'that's only Garret Doran's mill
grinding corn for the poor people.'

"'The poor people!' ses the Judge in a rage. 'Who the devil cares a
traneen about the poor but the politicians when they want to get their
votes, the kings and emperors when they want them to go to the wars,
or the clergy when they are preaching charity sermons for the benefit
of the inhabitants of Central Africa? And who will deny that those
cannibals wouldn't be better off if they were left alone? Nevertheless,
'tis only fair to state that they have just as much appreciation of
decency and kindness as the best of ourselves. But be all that as
it may, go and tell Garret Doran to stop his mill at once, and if
he don't obey your orders, bring him here before me, and I'll order
him to be hanged with these poor fools of patriots who have done
less to annoy me than he has. And hanging patriots, if you haven't
a conscience, is as good a way of making a living, as starving your
employees to death, like some of the pious-faced rascals who have the
impudence to invite myself to dine with them. Not indeed, that the
likes of me wants a dinner or a meal of food from any one. The poor,
who can't afford a square meal more than once in the year, are never
invited to partake of the hospitality of those who give dinners to
those who don't need them. But why should I bother about anything in
a world like this, where everything is in such a hopeless state of
confusion? Howsomever, a judge, like a lawyer, has to live down to the
dignity of his profession, and unless he hangs a man now and again,
the Government might think he had no interest in his job at all.

"'Of course,' ses he, 'when we think of the number of useless and
troublesome people in the world and the few who find their way
to the gallows, we should not worry about them, unless they might
happen to be some relation of our own. The only time we really take
an interest in other people's troubles is when such troubles affect
ourselves. Nevertheless,' ses he, 'this is a rather lengthy digression,
so be off with yourself at once to Garret Doran, and tell him his
mill must be stopped this very instant.'

"Well, the Crown Solicitor went to Garret and told him what the Judge
had said, and Garret ordered the mill to be stopped, and the Judge
received no further trouble from Garret or his mill while the trial
lasted. And when the Assizes were over, the Judge went away, and he
didn't return again for five years. But when he was sitting on the
Bench again for himself, passing sentence of death on more patriots,
who should walk up to him but Garret himself, and he dressed in his
Sunday clothes? And without as much as saying: 'Good-morrow, how are
you,' or 'Go to the devil inself,' he up and hands him a large sealed
envelope. And when Patcheen the Piper opened and read the note it
contained, his face turned scarlet, and he jumped up from his throne
of plush and gold trimmings, and ses: 'What the blue blazes is the
meaning of all this?' ses he.

"'Don't get excited, whatever you'll do,' ses Garret. ''Tis nothing
more nor less than a bill for the expenses incurred by closing down
my mill at your instigation some five years ago.'

"For a while the Judge said nothing at all, but kept looking hard at
Garret, and then all of a sudden ses he: 'Why, in the name of all
the descendants of Julius Caesar and Brian Boru in America, didn't
you start the mill going after I left the city?'

"'You never told me to do so,' ses Garret. 'And if I did start it
without your permission, I might have been sent to gaol for five
hundred years or more.'

"'Well,' ses the Judge, 'I'm sorry I can't send you to a warmer
place than gaol to punish you for fooling me in such a successful
manner. Why, man alive,' ses he, 'your conduct is preposterous;
in fact, 'tis worse, because 'tis ridiculous as well.'

"''Tis the incongruity of things that makes a living for most of us,'
ses Garret. 'And only a fool would get angry about anything. Anyway,'
ses he, 'I don't care a traneen what happens to you, so long as I
will get what is coming to me.'

"'Bedad,' ses the Judge, 'in spite of all our old talk, that seems
to be the beginning and end of human ambition. We all like to get as
much as we can for nothing, and give as little as possible in return.'

"But to finish my story, the case was taken from the high courts to
the low courts, and from the low courts back again to the high courts,
and between the jigs and the reels, so to speak, Garret got his money,
and Patcheen the Piper never asked any one to stop a mill again."



"That's the devil's own queer yarn," said Padna. "If we all had to
wait until we were told what to do, we wouldn't do anything at all."

"We wouldn't," agreed Micus.






SHAUNO AND THE SHAH


"Well," said Padna to his friend Micus, as they sat on a donkey cart
on their way to market, "I wonder if you ever heard tell of Shauno
the Rover."

"Wisha, indeed I did not then. Who was he at all?" asked Micus.

"He was a distant relation of my own who lived in the good old
days when women stayed at home and looked after the children and
the household," said Padna. "And he was as contrary a creature as
ever mistook ignorance for knowledge, and like all of his kind he
was as happy as the days are long when he was giving trouble to some
one else. But, bad luck to him and to all like him, he was the most
dissatisfied man that was ever allowed to have all his own way, and
'tis said he could swear in seven languages, and swear all day without
getting tired.

"However, though he was queer and contrary, he was a gentleman
withal. And he was never known to use his rare vocabulary in the
presence of ladies, but would wait until their backs were turned,
like a well-trained married man, and then curse and damn them one
and all to perdition."

"And was it the way he disliked women?" said Micus.

"Not exactly, but because he couldn't find any particular one that
he could like better than another. And that was why he made up his
mind to leave the country altogether, and go to foreign parts to look
for a wife who might be different from any he might find at home,"
said Padna.

"Bedad," said Micus, "Shauno must have been a genius or else a fool,
and at times it takes a wise man to know one from the other."

"Whatever he was, or whatever he wasn't, one thing is certain, and
that is, he was an excellent actor both on and off the stage, and
could play the part of poet or peasant, king or beggar, with equal
grace and naturalness. And so it was one day, when he got heartily
sick of all the tame nonentities he had to deal with, he up and ses
to himself: 'Shauno,' ses he, 'there are enough of mollycoddles and
pious humbugs in the world without adding to their number, and unless
you will do something original now while you are young and foolish,
you are not likely to do anything but what some one else tells you
to do when you are old.'

"And without saying another word, he went straight home, dressed
himself up as Henry the Eighth, and after paying a visit to the mayor
of the town, went on board a warship that was lying in the harbour
beyond. And when the poor captain saw Shauno attired like a mighty
monarch, he got the fright of his life, and never said a word at all
until Shauno up and ses: ''Tis a fine day, Captain,' ses he.

"'I know that myself, already,' ses the Captain, 'but who in the name
of all the corncrakes in Munster are you, and what brings you here,
and what can I do for you besides flinging you overboard to the sharks
and the sea gulls?'

"'Oh,' ses Shauno, 'don't be so eager to do something you may be
sorry for. All that I want you to do is to land me in Sperrispazuka
within five days, and if you will accomplish the feat, I will raise
your wages and promote you to the rank of admiral.'

"'And who the blazes are you to come here without being invited and
give an order like that to myself?' ses the Captain.

"'Who the devil do you think I could be, or want to be, you impudent
varmint, but Henry the Eighth?' ses he. 'By all the people I have
made miserable, I'll have you lashed to the mouth of a cannon, and
blown to smithereens if you don't do what you are told. How dare you
insult the King of England and Scotland, not to mention Ireland and
Australia?' ses he.

"Then the bold Captain ses: 'I beg your Majesty's pardon,' ses he. 'I
thought you were some play actor or other who had lost his wits. So I
hope you will accept my apology for the mistake I have so unfortunately
made, and my stupidity likewise.'

"''Tis hard for me ever to forgive or overlook stupidity because,
like all religious people, I can't stand in another the faults I
have in a large measure myself. But considering that you have been
a faithful servant to the family for a number of years, I will let
you off with a caution this time. But be sure and never make mistakes
again, unless you know what you are doing,' ses Shauno.

"'Thank you for your kind advice,' ses the Captain. 'Is there anything
I can do now to please or oblige your Majesty?'

"'There is,' ses Shauno. 'Hold your tongue, put full steam ahead,
and tell the sailors not to say their prayers aloud, because I am
going to bed this very instant, and don't want to be disturbed. But
call me in the morning at eight o'clock sharp,' ses Shauno. 'And
be sure and have my breakfast ready on time. I will have a busy day
to-morrow. I must shave and read the newspaper.'

"'What will you have for breakfast?' ses the Captain.

"'One fathom and half of drisheen, six fresh eggs, three loaves of
bread, goat's ears, ostrich brains, and two heads of cabbage. And I'd
like a toothful of something to help me to digest the little repast,'
ses Shauno.

"'I suppose a keg or two of rum, or a dozen of stout, will do,'
ses the Captain.

"'As there's luck in odd numbers, you had better make it three dozen of
stout,' ses Shauno. 'And if I feel like any more, I'll let you know.'

"Well, the old fool of a captain really thought he was Henry the
Eighth, and he did everything that Shauno told him, until they reached
Sperrispazuka.

"And when the mosques and the turrets of the city hove in sight and
the ship once more lay at anchor, Shauno trod the deck with pride and
ses to the Captain: 'Captain,' ses he, 'allow me to compliment you
on this marvellous achievement. I never before made the journey in
such a short space of time, and in honour of the event I will make
you a present of two-and-sixpence and make you a Knight of Columbus
besides. But before I will take my leave of yourself and the ship,
I want a royal salute of twenty-one guns to be fired and burst every
pane of glass in the town beyond with the noise. A shout is better
than a whisper if you want to be heard, and we all get more by asking
for what we want than by remaining silent.'

"'Anyhow,' ses he, 'half the world is living on its wits, or by
bluff, if you will, and the other half enjoys itself, so to speak,
at the expense of inequality, non-fraternity, and suppression of the
people's rights. Yet for all that, most of the well-fed and superfine
humbugs we meet every day seem to be as happy and contented as if
they deserved to be. And all you have got to do to convince yourself
that the wisdom of man has not interfered with the extravagance of
women is to look at the way they dress, or look at your bank book at
the end of the year if you are married. But be all that as it may,
I think that I have said enough, for talk is always cheap, and 'tis
doubtful if anything that's cheap or given away for nothing is ever
appreciated by the discerning or the undiscerning.'

"'And now,' ses he, 'as I have but a few more words to say, I would
advise you, one and all, to be decent to each other while you can,
because a time will come when you can't. And 'tis better to do a
foolish thing now than to be sorry for not doing it later. On the
other hand, 'tis a wise policy to refuse anything you may be offered
for nothing, because a compliment bestowed is always like a millstone
around a man's neck. Independence, of course, is a fine thing, but it
is always purchased at too high a price. And a state of independence
is only acquired by either cheating yourself or some one else.

"'But nevertheless,' ses he, 'the man who always thinks of himself
first is the last to be neglected. And the man who don't hold his
tongue when he has nothing to say is nearly sure to make a fool
of himself. Howsomever, the time is now come for me to make my
departure. So let loose the guns,' ses he, 'and fire the Royal Salute.'

"And lo and behold! the Captain obeyed his orders, and such noise was
never before heard in the harbour of Sperrispazuka. And when silence
was resumed Shauno whispered to the Captain and ses: 'I'm going to
sojourn here for a month or two, and I'll send a telegram to you to
call for me when I am ready to return.' So with that they shook hands
and parted.

"And when the ship sailed away, Shauno went ashore and walked around
the town until he found a menagerie. Then he hired a complement of
one hundred elephants, and numerous pages and attendants, flags,
banners, caravans, and the devil knows what."

"And what did he want the elephants for?" said Micus.

"He was going to visit the Shah," said Padna, "and he wanted to make
a good impression. And when all the elephants were placed one after
another in a line, he took the place of honour himself on the back
of the first and largest of the great brutes. And as the procession
passed on its way through the town to the Shah's country home, the
House of Ten Thousand Windows, everybody--men, women, and children
alike--stopped in the streets and took off their hats, thinking that
Shauno was the King of England, and he was beginning to think so too,
or at least that he was as great an old bla'guard as Henry himself. But
when he arrived at the castle gates and found the Shah sitting on his
tombstone feeding the pigeons, he was sorely disappointed, because
he expected a royal escort to meet him outside the courtyard.

"The Shah was kind of startled when he saw Shauno and his staff, and
nearly lost his temper and ses: 'Who in the name of the few decent
people that a man meets in the course of a lifetime, are you? And
who the devil owns these Irish terriers?' ses he, as he pointed to
the elephants.

"'Wisha, bad luck and a dozen daughters to you,' ses Shauno, 'what do
the likes of you mean by offering insults to a distinguished foreigner
like myself? If you read the newspapers as you should, you would know
that I was Henry the Eighth, and that these quadrupeds are neither
Irish terriers nor mosquitoes, but elephants.'

"'Is that so?' ses the Shah. 'Wait till I will put on my glasses. My
sight is somewhat impaired from reading the names of all my wives and
their pedigrees.' And then he put on his glasses and ses: 'Bedad,
sure enough, they are not Irish terriers at all, but real live
elephants. And 'tis yourself is no one else but Henry the Eighth. I
hope to be excused and forgiven for my mistake.'

"'I'll forgive you this time,' ses Shauno.

"'Very well,' ses the Shah, 'you might as well come inside and sit down
if you are in no hurry, and we will see if we can't enjoy ourselves,
and I will get my servants to look after the terriers, I mean the
elephants, while we'll make merry.'

"'The devil a hurry, or a flurry, am I in,' ses Shauno. And with
that they adjourned to the Shah's drawing-room, and when they were
comfortably seated in two armchairs, the Shah rang for a servant
to fetch the decanter and a pack of cards. And when the cards were
placed on the table, the Shah grabbed them up and ses to Shauno:
'What is it going to be? A game of Forty-Five, or what? There's
nothing like a game of cards to pass a dull hour among dull people.'

"'Forty-Five, of course,' ses Shauno, as he poured out a glass of
whiskey for himself and another for the Shah.

"'Right you are,' ses the Shah. 'There's nothing to beat a game of
Forty-Five, except a good game of bowls on a hard straight road on
a winter's day. Howsomever, I won't give you a demonstration on the
art of bowl-playing now, but I will show you how to deal the cards
in the true Carrigaline fashion, as introduced by the King of Spain
while he was here on a visit many years ago.'

"'Bedad,' ses Shauno, 'I think the Clonakilty, or the Skibbereen
deal is just as good, but as they are all the same, we won't allow
the matter be a subject for discussion.'

"The cards were duly dealt, and the Shah ses to Shauno: 'What will
we play for at all?' ses he.

"'Small stakes for a start, of course,' ses Shauno. 'I'll back every
ship in my navy against every ship in yours, if you don't mind.'

"'Done,' ses the Shah, as he placed the decanter on his head and
finished the whiskey. Then they took off their coats, and after
an exciting game the Shah won. Shauno was very much surprised and
disappointed, and said as he pointed to the decanter to have it filled
again: 'Damn the bit of luck have I had since I met a red-headed widow
two months ago first thing on a Monday morning, and I'm afraid I will
never have any luck again.'

"'I wouldn't worry about that, if I were you. We will be all dead
one day, and then we won't know whether we were lucky or not,' ses
the Shah.

"'That's cold comfort, as the cat said after she jumped into the
freezing water when chased by a mad dog. I have ruined my country by
my extravagance. She is no longer Mistress of the Seas, and though
that may be a consolation to Germany, it will lose for me a good deal
of prestige. Howsomever, I am not dead broke yet, and even if a man
is dead broke inself, there is no reason why he should go whining
about it. A good gambler never cares whose money he spends or how
much he loses. I will now,' ses he, 'back Ireland against what I have
lost and keep up the custom of my country by treating the Irish with
contempt and injustice. So let us play again.'

"'Good,' ses the Shah. 'We'll play again.'

"'I'll give them the tinker's deal for luck this time,' ses Shauno.

"'As you please,' ses the Shah. ''Tis all the same to me, so long as
I win. A good gambler never cares how much he takes from his friends,
or how many people he makes miserable.'

"This time they played a great game, but Shauno lost again, and it
made him more angry than ever.

"'Now,' ses he, 'that I have lost Ireland, it doesn't matter
what happens to the rest of my territory. We'll play one game of
Twenty-Five, and I'll back my boots, my meerschaum pipe, five ounces
of tobacco, and Australia against Ireland and my fleet.'

"'Don't you think you are getting reckless?' ses the Shah.

"'I may be,' ses Shauno. 'But I might as well be hanged for a sheep as
a lamb. And one poor man more or less won't make much difference. On
with the game. Philosophy is only a comfort to a man when he isn't
in a state of desperation.'

"'As you will,' ses the Shah. 'Anything at all to please you.'

"So the cards were dealt once more and they played a game of
Twenty-Five, and the Shah scored.

"Shauno lost his temper and commenced to swear and break up the
furniture, but the Shah only looked on and smiled. Then Shauno flung
a chair at him, and ses: 'You bleddy foreign rascal, sure 'tis myself
that's the fool for having anything to do with the likes of you. I'll
never be able to face home now, after all the misfortune I have had.'

"'Oh,' ses the Shah, 'I wouldn't behave like that if I were you. 'Tis
undignified to appear natural in the presence of strangers. We should
always reserve ingratitude and bad treatment for our friends. You
are a little upset, of course, for losing what didn't belong to you,
but you will feel all right again as soon as you will begin to acquire
what you don't deserve.'

"'If I had my own way,--' ses Shauno.

"'If we all had our own way, the little glimmer of democracy and
decency that we see struggling for existence occasionally would
disappear for ever,' ses the Shah. 'Howsomever, don't be downhearted,
but take a good drop of poteen, and 'twill give you all the false
courage that any man wants.'

"And then he produced a small keg of the best poteen, and they drank
glass after glass, and sang all the songs they could remember, from
'The Croppy Boy' to the 'Bard of Armagh,' until they fell on the
floor and had to be taken to bed.

"And there they slept for two days and three nights, and on the
morning of the third day, Shauno woke up with a bursting headache,
and asked the Shah if he was still alive and in the land of the
living. And the Shah was surprised that a real aristocrat should be
so upset and affected by a night's innocent amusement. Well, they had
breakfast together, and after the repast, the Shah took Shauno to see
the sights, and when they arrived at the Royal Harem, Shauno fainted
when he saw all the wives the poor Shah had to look after. It took him
two weeks to count them all, and at the end of that time the Shah ses:
'Well,' ses he, 'how many would you like to take for a present? You
can have all you want, because I am expecting another shipload next
week as a Christmas box.'

"'Thanks for your kind offer,' ses Shauno. 'But I am cured now. I have
made up my mind to go home and live in peace, and remain a bachelor
for the remainder of my days.'

"'Oh,' ses the Shah, 'I think you should at least take one, and she
will help to remind you of your visit to the Shah of Sperrispazuka.'

"''Tis only too well that I know that, but I have seen all I ever
want to see of women,' ses Shauno. 'But I'll tell you what you can
do without offending me, or hurting my tender feeling in any way.'

"'What may that be?' ses the Shah.

"'You can loan me a million sovereigns to show there is no ill feeling
between us, and send me home in one of your first-class battleships. Of
course, I must travel as a private gentleman, and when I will arrive
home, I will get my poet laureate to write an ode to your generosity.'

"'I'll loan you all you want,' ses the Shah.

"So there and then he took out his bank book and gave him a cheque for
the full amount, and on the morrow Shauno sailed away for England in
one of the swiftest ships that ever went to sea, and the Shah never
heard of him from that day to this."

"That's the devil's own queer yarn," said Micus. "What did the Shah
do when he found out that he had been fooled?"

"Oh, he was as cross as a bag of cats, of course, and retired to
the banquet hall of his castle, sent for all his wives, and made
this speech:

"'Ladies of all shapes and sizes,' ses he, 'I have good news for you
this blessed day. I'm going to make widows of every one here present,
and all those who couldn't gain admittance to this large and spacious
hall as well.'

"And when they heard what he said, they all burst forth into uproarious
applause, and began to fling chairs, benches, stools, ink-bottles,
and hairpins at each other. In short, they created the devil of a
hullaballoo entirely, and they might have set fire to the place,
only he threatened to send for the police. Well, when silence and
order was restored, he continued and ses:

"'Ladies,' ses he, 'you will be all glad to hear that I have been
fooled and cheated by an impostor, and as I have proved conclusively to
my own satisfaction that I am too foolish to live, I have made up my
mind to die. Yes, ladies, and to die by my own hand too. But as many
of you as possible must have something to remind you of married life
and a devoted husband who is about to begin his troubles in the other
world by ending his troubles in this. Now,' ses he, 'come forward,
one and all, and let each of you pluck a hair from my leonine head,
and keep it in a locket as a souvenir until you will go home to the
devil, or wherever else you may be destined for.'

"And as the last few words were spoken, he bent down his head, and
his wives came along in single file to comply with his request, and
before an hour was at an end, the Shah of Sperrispazuka was as bald
as a snowball."

"And wouldn't it be easier for him to get a scissors and cut his
hair and then distribute the locks, than to do anything so foolish,"
said Micus.

"Wisha, I suppose it would," said Padna. "But we all do foolish things
when we are upset or excited. Well, when that part of the ceremony was
all over, he ses, as the tears came to his eyes: 'Ladies,' ses he,
'I have no more to say. My hour is come and I am ready to die. I
have here with me on this table a cocktail which is a concoction of
ground green bottles, prussic acid, and black beetles mixed with some
cheese that was refused by the soldiers at the fall of Rome, and if
that won't send me to glory or perdition, may I never again drown
one of you in the Canal for losing your beauty. However,' ses he,
'as a last request I would ask you to control your emotion. Let there
be no singing of the National Anthem, no dancing of jigs, drinking
or carousing, breaking of windows or skulls, or any other patriotic
manifestation of public grief, until I am cold in my grave.'

"And then he lifted the fatal glass to his lips and drained its
contents to the dregs, and so passed away the Shah of Sperrispazuka."



"I feel like having a drink of something, myself," said Micus.

"So do I," said Padna. "I think we'll stop when we'll come to the
Thrush and Magpie."

"As you please," said Micus.






THE MAYOR OF LOUGHLAURNA


"I wonder," said Padna to Micus, as they wended their way along a
lonely road after Mass on a Sunday morning, "if you ever heard tell of
the black dog of Dooniskey that was gifted with seven senses, second
sight, and an easy disposition, who followed my grandfather from the
Bridge of the Hundred Arches to the Half Way House in Cromwell's Glen
on the night of the rising of '98. And how he caught a hold of the tail
of his coat and dragged him from Owen Roe's Cross to Cuchulain's Boreen
while the soldiers of England's king were scouring the highways looking
for some one to hang to the nearest finger post. And 'twas little they
cared about any man, for one man looked as good as another to them,
as he swung from a branch of a tree on the roadside or on a gibbet on
the mountain top. And 'twas the selfsame black dog that saved him from
the fairies of Galway on a dark windy night, when all the fairies of
the world assembled in the Gap of Dunlow and made speeches in favour
of women holding their tongues until the Judgment Day."

"I never heard tell of the black dog of Dooniskey, or your old
grandfather, or the fairies who wanted to steal him either, but what
the fairies wanted him for is more than I can understand," said Micus.

"Wisha, bad luck to your ignorance this blessed day, not to know
that he was the best musician in the seven parishes, and the likes
of his playing on the fiddle was never known since the Devil played
a jig for Henry the Eighth the night he died. What do you think the
fairies would want my grandfather for, but to play the 'Coulin,'
'Eileen Aroon,' 'The Last Rose of Summer,' 'The Dirge of Ossian,'
'The Lamentation of Deirdre' and 'My Dark Rosaleen' for them in the
caves of the ocean when the drowsy eye of night quivers and closes,
and they tired of dancing to the music of the waves on the cobbled
beaches of the north, south, east, and western coast?" said Padna.

"'Tis a great thing indeed to be able to play the fiddle, sing a
song, dance a jig, make a short speech, tell a good story, or do
anything at all that gives pleasure to another, but the greatest of
all achievements is to be able to please yourself without offending
some one else. But be that as it may, let me hear no more about your
grandfather, because there is nothing disagrees with me more than to
have to listen to some one retailing the exploits of people I haven't
the remotest interest in," said Micus.

"Well, then, you might like to hear about the black cat I met the
night before I got married," said Padna.

"What's coming over you at all? If we were to be noticing the doings
of black cats, black dogs, the rats that leave a ship, the queer
dreams that follow a heavy supper, the calm that precedes and follows
a storm, and all the other signs and tokens that may mean everything
or nothing, we would become so bewildered that damn the bit of work
would we do from one end of the year to the other, and by trying to
become too wise we would become too foolish for sensible people to
pay any attention to us," said Micus.

"Some men don't realize how foolish they are by being too sensible,
until they see their grandchildren squandering their hard-earned
savings," said Padna.

"That's the kind of experience that makes pessimists, and the
few people worth working for are, as a rule, able to work for
themselves. And though there is a limit to all things, except the
extravagance of women and the patience of husbands, yet on the other
hand only for women there would be no trouble, and without trouble
of some kind life wouldn't be worth living," said Micus.

"There's trouble everywhere, both on the dry land, the stormy ocean,
in the cot and in the castle, and the devil a one will you ever find
who doesn't like to have a quarrel now and again. But as the Mayor
of Loughlaurna said to me one day: 'Life is too short for some,
too long for others, and a great bother to us all,'" said Padna.

"Who the devil was the Mayor of Loughlaurna, and where did you meet
him?" said Micus.

"The Mayor of Loughlaurna," said Padna, "if I am to take his own word
for it, was a gentleman."

"A gentleman," said Micus, "don't have to tell you he's one."

"Neither does a bla'guard, a thief, or a rogue, for that matter,"
said Padna. "Howsomever, 'twas on a summer's day, many years ago when
I was young, and believed all the things I should doubt, and doubted
all I should believe, that I met the Mayor of Loughlaurna. I was out
fishing in a small boat that I had moored in the centre of the lough
itself, and though I started at early morning, blast the bit did I
catch all day except a cold in the head and chest, but as I was about
to haul in my line at the tail end of the evening, something began to
pull and tug, and I hauled and hauled and hauled until I thought I was
dragging one of the Spanish Armada from the depths of the sea. But lo
and behold! what did I find, when I came to the end of my pulling and
tugging and dragging, but the finest-looking salmon your eyes ever
rested on. And when I drew him over the gunwale, and took the hook
from his mouth before breaking his neck on my knee, he gave one jump,
cleared two thwarts, stood on his tail and commenced to abuse me,
the same as if he was in politics all his lifetime."

"And what did he say?" said Micus.

"'Bad scran to your confounded impudence and presumption, not to say
a word about your absence of courtesy and good breeding,' ses he. 'How
dare you interfere with people who don't interfere with you?'

"'Oh,' ses I, 'sure 'tis by interference, inference, and ignorance that
most of us become prosperous and presumptuous. And without presumption
there would be no assumption, and without assumption there would
be only chaos, and people would never get the things they are not
entitled to.'

"'Well,' ses he, 'I often heard that a little learning is the saving
grace of an ignoramus, but now I have no doubt whatever about it.'

"'Well,' ses I, 'if it takes a rogue to find a rogue, it takes one
ignoramus to find wisdom in another.'

"'I think,' ses he, 'that you have a lot to learn, and as much more to
unlearn, before you will be fit to advise those who may be senseless
enough to heed you.'

"'You should know,' ses I, 'unless you are a schoolmaster, that what
is wisdom to one man is tomfoolery to another. But who the blazes
are you anyway, that I should be wasting my time talking like this?'

"'You might as well be talking to me as anyone else,' ses he,
'because most people spend their lives between talking and sleeping,
and all their old talk makes no more impression on the world than
their snoring. And when they die, they are immediately forgotten by
every one except those to whom they owed money. But if 'tis the way
you want to know who I am,' ses he, 'I will tell you before you will
have time to make another mistake.'

"'You must hurry up then,' ses I.

"'The man who stands here before you,' ses he, 'is no less a person
than His Lordship the Mayor of Loughlaurna.'

"'That's a giant of a title for a bit of a man like yourself,' ses
I. 'But how came the likes of you to be Mayor of Loughlaurna?'

"'What way would any one become mayor of a city, unless by his ability
to control others, or the ability of others to control him? Many a
man got a good job because he knew how to hold his tongue,' ses he.

"'Bedad,' ses I, 'honesty must have gone on a holiday the day that
gold was discovered, and never returned.'

"'Wisha, God help you for a poor fool to think that honesty ever
existed. Honesty is like the gift of silence among women,--it only
exists, so to speak, after death. But now to my history. I suppose
you often heard tell of a song that the tinkers sing in public houses
on Saturday nights. It goes like this:


            "On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays,
              When the clear cool eve's declining,
            He sees the round towers of other days
              In the waters beneath him shining."'


"'Indeed, I did then many and many a time,' ses I. 'My mother used to
sing it for me when I was in the cradle, and 'twill keep ringing in my
ears till the day I die, as 'twill keep ringing in the ears of every
son of Granuaile, whether he be drinking tea with the dusky maidens of
the South Seas or philandering with the beauties of the United States.'

"'Are the American beauties as contrary as ever?' ses he.

"'Well,' ses I, 'they can afford to be more so than women who can't
support their husbands. Man at last is emancipated and is now beginning
to take his place side by side with woman. The age of freedom is at
hand and chaos is within arm's reach,' ses I.

"'That little digression was interesting,' ses he. 'But to proceed
about the song. My poor mother used to sing it for me too, and told me
the story of how it came to be written. It appears that in the long,
long ago, before people were as satisfied with their ignorance and bad
manners as they are to-day, there was a well in the town of Neagh that
grew to be a great lake in the middle of the night, and before morning
came the highest steeple was covered, and every single inhabitant,
man, woman, and child, was drowned. And only for that,' ses he,
'maybe 'tis the way yourself would be walking through the streets of
the town this very day admiring the pretty girls, for 'tis the eye
of a philanderer you have, not to mention your sleuthering tongue.'

"''Twas long ago that I gave up admiring the pretty girls,' ses I.

"'I don't believe a word of it,' ses he. 'A man is never too old
to admire a pretty woman. And the old men, God forgive them, are
worse than the young men. For the young ones does be shy and bashful,
while the old ones are as brazen and courageous as the Devil himself,
even though they might be on the brink of the grave itself.'

"'I have listened to enough of your old talk, and if you want me to
believe that you are the Mayor of Loughlaurna, you must prove it. What
are you but a fish? And how could a fish be Mayor of a city?'

"'I wasn't always a fish, and I suppose you have heard of Spain and
the Rocky Mountains?' ses he.

"'I have, of course,' ses I.

"'And the children of Lir?' ses he.

"'Yes,' ses I.

"'Well, the night before King Lir's lovely daughter Fionnuala and
her two brothers were turned into swans by the magic power of their
stepmother, and condemned to wander on the waters of the world for
three hundred years, I was sitting by my own fireside, reading about
the adventures of Brian Boru, the Red Branch Knights, Queen Maeve,
and Deirdre.'

"'Pardon me,' ses I, 'Brian Boru wasn't born when King Lir took unto
himself a second wife.'

"'You shouldn't interrupt me for a trifle like that, though strictly
speaking trifles are the cause of most interruptions. That's only a
historical mistake, and history itself is full of mistakes. And the
man who can't make a mistake must be a damn fool. However,' ses he,
'as I was sitting by the hearth reading away for myself, who should
stroll into the drawing-room but a fairy princess with a wand in her
hand? And as I didn't know who she was or where she came from, I up and
ses: "Good night, ma'am," ses I, "as you wouldn't say it yourself."'

"'Good night kindly,' ses she.

"'Might I ask who are you at all?' ses I.

"'If I told you who I am, you would be as wise as myself,' ses she.

"'Do you know who you are talking to?' ses he.

"'Indeed, I do,' ses she. 'You are Michael Henry Patrick Joseph Billy
Dan MacMorrough, the Mayor of Laurna.'

"'That's my full name and title,' ses he, 'but I takes more after my
mother's people than my father's.'

"'That's a pity, because your mother was decent to the point of folly,
while your father never did a bit for any one but himself,' ses she.

"'And what may your business be with me this blessed night?' ses he.

"'I just want to amuse myself at your expense,' ses she.

"'And why at all?' ses he.

"'Well, just because you are the most respected man in the land,
and have only a good word for every one, and because you have always
done the right thing and lived an exemplary life. In this world most
things go by contrary. The good must suffer so that the bad may have
a chance of enjoying themselves. And as the good are always worrying
about the bad, and as the bad never bother their heads about the good,
and as everything is topsy turvy, 'tis only right and consistent that
you should be duly punished for your virtues, and made to know what
sorrow means in its widest sense,' ses she.

"'What are you going to do to me?' ses he.

"'I'm going to turn you into a fish,' ses she.

"'What kind of a fish? A sprat or a mackerel maybe?' ses he.

"'Nothing so common,' ses she.

"'What, then?' ses he.

"'A salmon,' ses she.

"'Thank heavens,' ses he. 'That same is a consolation.'

"'Things are never so bad that a woman can't make them worse. And
things might be much better.'

"'Howsomever,' ses he, 'I think that 'tis a piece of gross injustice
to change me from a respectable man into a fish, moreover when I am
head and ears in love with King Lir's lovely daughter Fionnuala.'

"'Lir's lovely daughter was turned into a swan last night,' ses
she. 'But 'tis better to have loved and lost inself than to be kept
awake at night by squalling children who won't thank you when they
grow up for all you had to endure on their account. And who would
want to provide for a large wife and a large family unless he might
have plenty money,' ses she.

"'Is it the truth you are telling about the children of Lir?' ses he.

"''Twill soon be a recorded fact in history,' ses she.

"And as the words fell from her lips, tears fell from his eyes,
and he wept and wept until the water reached his chin, and then with
one wave of the magic wand he was turned into a salmon, but he still
continued to weep and weep until the waters rose above the highest
steeple in the town of Laurna, and there he lived swimming about in
his own tears, until I caught him when fishing for bream on a summer's
evening some five and twenty years ago," said Padna.

"And what did you say to him when he told you that yarn?" said Micus.

"I said that I thought he should have been more upset about his own
fate than that of Lir's lovely daughter.

"'That may be,' ses he, 'but there's no pleasure to be got from
worrying about yourself. We only really enjoy ourselves when we fret
and worry about those we love. The pleasures of melancholy are best
enjoyed by those who have loved and lost and been desired by no one
else. And besides,' ses he, 'the man who has suffered is always more
interesting and entertaining than the man who has not. But at best
that is only cold comfort.'

"'True for you,' ses I. 'Yet you should have received your liberty
years and years ago, because the children of Lir were released from
their captivity at the dawn of Christianity. The ringing of the first
church bell was the signal for their release, but when they returned
home after their wanderings, all their old friends and neighbours were
dead and gone. Why you should be made suffer so much, or any of us,
the best and the worst, is more than I can comprehend.'

"'The devil a one of me can understand it, either. None of us know
what's before us, because none of us know what may have been behind
us, so to speak. But if I did live before, 'tisn't likely that I was
an angel,' ses he.

"'I suppose,' ses I, 'that none of us can differentiate thoroughly
between good and evil. What one man thinks is right another will
think is wrong, and while none of us understand the other, we can't
expect things to be any better than they are. If we all thought alike,
there would be no difference of opinion. And if we all agreed about
religion and politics, we might have the greatest contempt for each
other. And unless a man is either better or worse than ourselves,
we don't pay any attention to him at all.'

"'True,' ses he.

"'We could keep bladdering away like this till the leaves fall from
the trees, but you have not told me yet when the fairy princess said
you would be released,' ses I.

"'When a woman can be found who don't want to get her photo taken,
or see herself in a mirror, or want to read her husband's letters,
or search his pockets, and when the Germans will get to Paris,' ses he.

"'You had better go back to the Lough,' ses I.

"'I will,' ses he, 'because I am getting thirsty as well as homesick.'

"And with that he shook hands with me, bid me good-by, and jumped into
the waters, and that was the last I saw of the Mayor of Loughlaurna."



"There's no place like home," said Micus.

"No," said Padna.






THE LAND OF PEACE AND PLENTY


"Ah, God help us, but 'tis a bad night for poor sailors," said Padna
Dan, as he pulled his chair close to the glowing hearth where <DW19>s
blazed and a kettle sang. "The strand will be strewn with wreckage
to-morrow, and there will be more widows and lonely mothers in the
world than ever there was before, and all because the winds have
no mercy, and the sea has no mercy, and there's no mercy anywhere
but in the heart of God. There's a peal of thunder now, and if the
clouds burst and the rain comes, there won't be a sheaf of corn left
standing in Castlebawn to-morrow."

"There will, please God," said Micus, as he stirred the fire.

"'Tis like you to have the good word," said Padna, "but I'm sick and
tired of this country altogether. When we have a fine summer we have
a bad autumn, and when we have a good spring we have a wet summer, and
when we have a hard winter we have nothing at all. I can't understand
these things. 'Pon my word, I can't."

"No, nor any one else, either," said Micus. "How is it that decent
fathers and mothers rear worthless children, and worthless children
rear decent fathers and mothers? Or how is it that grass grows in
the fields, and the lark sings in the sky, and the trees lose their
leaves in winter? Or how is it that the world isn't under water long
ago after all the rain we've had since Cromwell went to hell? Or how
is it that people will spend half their lifetime educating themselves,
and then go to war and kill people they had no quarrel with at all?"

"Didn't I tell you I can't understand these things?" said Padna,
rather piqued. "Sure if I could, I'd be a philosopher, and if I was
a philosopher, I wouldn't have to worry about anything."

"And why?" said Micus.

"Because philosophers are people with easy minds and usually they
have all they want."

"And what's a pessimist?" said Micus.

"A pessimist is a philosopher before he gets a good job," answered
Padna.

"And what am I then?"

"What are you? You're a philosopher, of course."

"Bedad, I suppose I am," said Micus. "It takes all kinds of people
to make a world, anyway."

"It does," said Padna. "Philosophers, pessimists, suffragettes,
and policemen."

"The world is a strange place."

"Indeed it is, and a beautiful place, when you haven't to work for
a living."

"And life is a strange thing."

"Life is a wonderful thing, a queer and bewildering thing, but a
magnificent thing withal, when you're not married."

"'Tis, but no one makes the most of it. Some make it short by trying
to make it long, and others make it long by trying to make it short."

"Suicide is a cowardly thing if you're married, and a brave thing
if you're not, but there's nothing worse than selfishness, except
being an Orangeman. They're more proud than the peacocks themselves,
and no one would bother with peacocks only for their fine feathers."

"I never ate peacocks," said Micus, "but I'd rather a good piece
of bacon and cabbage than the finest turkey that was ever killed,
cooked, and eaten."

"Good green cabbage is a wholesome thing and bacon is better, but
when a man has neither, there's nothing like a good smoke."

"That's the worst of this country," said Micus. "Some things are
better than others, and a little of anything only gives you an appetite
for more, and too much is as bad as too little. Too little makes one
peevish and selfish, and too much makes one foolish. When you're happy,
you start thinking about the days of sorrow and mourning you had,
and when you're unhappy you start thinking about the days of joy
and pleasure, and no matter what way you are, you want to be some
other way. Sure this is no place for a man to live, if he wants to
enjoy himself."

"And where would you live if not in your native land? The savage
loves his native heath."

"I know he does, but the real estate men love it better, and that's
why land is so dear in America. The Land of Peace and Plenty is the
only place to live."

"The Land of Peace and Plenty! Where's that?"

"Oh! 'tis leagues and leagues and leagues from anywhere you know."

"And how did you get there?"

"In a ship, of course. When I was a boy, I sailed over the ocean
for six months without finding a single night, nothing but days all
the time, until you forgot what darkness was like. Well, one night at
twelve o'clock, though 'twas broad daylight, mind you, one of our crew,
Martin O'Farrell, was playing 'The Boys of Wexford' on a gadget, when
lo and behold! a sea serpent puts his head out of the waters and ses:
'Bravo, Martin,' ses he. 'That's the finest tune in all the world,
but play me a four-hand reel,' ses he, '"The Kerryman's Daughter,"
for choice, and I'll dance for you until old Ireland is free.' And
Martin started to play 'The Kerryman's Daughter' and the sea serpent
started to dance, and he kicked up such a devil of a row, and lashed
and splashed the waters until our ship got tossed about so badly that
she finally foundered, and not a soul was saved but myself."

"And how did you save yourself?"

"Well, when I saw the way things were, I thought to myself that there
was trouble ahead, so I lashed a knife to each of my feet, and one
on each of my hands, the way you'd see fins on a fish. I put three
on my back and so many on my head that you'd think I was a porcupine,
and when I looked to the west, I saw land about two or three hundred
miles away. 'Fortune favors the brave as well as the foolish,' ses I,
and then I started out for the shore."

"You did, is it?"

"If I didn't, how could I be telling you all about it? Well, the sea
was alive with hungry sharks, but every time one swallowed me up, I cut
my way through and escaped, only to be swallowed again, but even that
had its advantages. I was carried nearer the shore each time, until
finally I reached terra firma, as safe and as sound as a Protestant."

"How many sharks did you kill?"

"Just enough to teach the others how to behave themselves."

"And when you reached the shore, what did you do?"

"I dried my clothes on the hot sand, shaved myself with one of the
knives I had on my head, and used a pool of water for a looking glass,
and when I combed my hair, every lady in the land fell in love with
me, but I only fell in love with one."

"And what kind was she?" asked Padna.

"She was a lady of great beauty," said Micus, "and as she passed by
she looked into my eyes, and though I might live for ten thousand
years I will never forget her. Sure no words that ever were spoken
could describe her queenly gait and inspiring glances. She seemed to
have come from some place not yet discovered by man, and looked as
lonesome and as beautiful as a lily in a cabbage garden."

"And why did you not follow her and find out something about her?"

"Ah me, sure she disappeared for ever, before I could find any word at
all to say. I have seen other beautiful women, but they had only the
beauty of flowers which fade and die. But her beauty was the beauty
which lives and never dies."

"I suppose it must be that same thing which all the people does be
talking about, but don't know what it is at all, at all."

"Sure if you knew all about anything, you wouldn't be talking
about it."

"That's true."

"Love is the most beautiful thing in all the world, and it isn't so
much anything else as a divine state of mind."

"So 'twas in the Land of Peace and Plenty that you fell in love with
a beauty who came into your life for a moment and went out of it
for ever?"

"Yes," said Micus.

"An' that's why you've remained an old bachelor, was it?"

"That's the one and only reason."

"I am sorry for you," said Padna.

"You needn't be sorry," said Micus. "If a bachelor has sorrows, he
has joys as well, and 'tis better to keep what you have than to lose
what you haven't."

"How could you lose what you haven't?"

"Well, you might get it if you tried hard enough, and then only find
discontent and disillusionment."

"I'd like to go to the Land of Peace and Plenty. It must be a
wonderful place."

"A wonderful place it is, then, surely, and nearly as wonderful as
the sun itself."

"When the earth goes too near the sun it is too hot, and when it goes
too far away from the sun it is too cold, but in the Land of Peace
and Plenty, I suppose it must be always beautiful."

"Indeed and it is."

"What do all the people do there?"

"In the Land of Peace and Plenty, nobody does anything but enjoy
themselves."

"And if the Land of Peace and Plenty is such a wonderful place,
how is it that the great powers of the world don't go to war for
it?" asked Padna.

"Sure they did go to war for it long before you began to make
mistakes," answered Micus, "and great battles were fought there
too. And after the greatest battle of all was ended, the King ses
to all the High Generals: 'Fellow warriors and likewise courageous
omadhauns,' ses he, 'what are we fighting for, anyway? The world
is large enough for us all, and there's enough of dead men already,
and those that aren't dead are alive, and those that are alive are
nearly dead, but all the same,' ses he, 'I must compliment you on
the magnificent way you slaughtered my fellow countrymen and your
own fellow men, though why you did so, or wanted to do so, God alone
knows.'"

"Every man is entitled to as much enjoyment as he can afford," said
Padna. "Sorrow is the price of pleasure, and the sport of nations is
the curse of mankind."

"We won't discuss international politics. The world was best when
people left others to mind their own business."

"Proceed about the King of the Land of Peace and Plenty," said
Padna. "Interruptions and digressions are bad unless they're for
one's good."

"That's true, but half a loaf is better than no bread when a man
isn't hungry."

"Two heads are better than one," said Padna, "and two fools, if
they are any way sensible at all, are better than a wife with a
bad temper. But comparisons are odious, as the whale said to the
grasshopper. Go on with your story."

"Well, the King ses to the Generals, after they had all forgotten what
he first started talking about: 'I demand,' ses he, 'in the name of
justice, common sense, and humanity, that we will be allowed time to
bury our dead, and that there will be no thunderous cannonading of
artillery, no charges of cavalry, infantry, nor anything else that
might be a breach of the etiquette of war, until our last man is
buried.' And then and there the Generals agreed, and from that day
to this, there was never a sound, except of music, heard in the Land
of Peace and Plenty."

"I don't quite understand," said Padna.

"Well," said Micus, "don't you see, when the last man was buried,
some one else died, and as there will be always some one dying, there
will be always some one to be buried in the Land of Peace and Plenty."

"All the water is boiled out of the kettle," said Padna.

"There's plenty more in the well," said Micus.






THE LINNET WITH THE CROWN OF GOLD


"What's troubling you at all? You're not looking yourself to-day,"
said Padna Dan to his friend Micus Pat, as he cut a switch from a
blackthorn tree on the road to Mallow on a May morning.

"There's many a thing that troubles a man that he doesn't like to
talk about," said Micus, "and many a thing that he talks about that
doesn't trouble him at all."

"Maybe some one died who owed you money," said Padna.

"Well, as you seem to be anxious to know, it was the way that some one
died, but the devil a ha'penny did he owe me, no more than yourself
or the Pope of Rome," said Micus.

"Was he a member of the Royal Family then, or some one born with a
silver spoon in his mouth, and no more brains in his head than you'd
find with a sparrow?"

"He was no way connected with royalty or the aristocracy, but a
decent man who always worked for a living, one Lareen, the birdcatcher
from Duhallow."

"And what's the use fretting about any one who is dead and gone? Sure
we must all die, and maybe there will be no one fretting about
ourselves."

"There is some truth in that, but we can't always be as philosophic
as we pretend to be."

"And was Lareen of such importance that you can't forget him, now
that he's gone to his reward or his deserts, as the case may be?"

"Well," said Micus, "Lareen was a Murphy on his father's side and
a Cassidy on his mother's, and both families were noted the world
over for their love of sport, black pudding, and fresh drisheens. And
Lareen, like his father and grandfather, was a birdcatcher by nature
and a shoemaker by profession, and he always made boots and shoes
for the parish priest and the minister, and he used to collect the
money at the chapel door on Sundays. There was no man in the seven
parishes who could blow the organ for vespers better than himself,
but the devil a bit he ever got for all he did for others, except that
he contracted rheumatics from walking in the rain while attending
funerals of the poor. However, that same had its compensations,
because it helped him to remember that he wasn't long for this life,
and that he had a soul to save and a wife and family to support. But to
go on with my story. One fine morning, as I was reading the newspaper
that I got the lend of from the public house opposite the pump at the
bend of the road, who should come into the house but Lareen himself,
and there and then he up and ses: 'Good morning, Micus,' ses he.

"'Good morning kindly, Lareen,' ses I. 'What's the good word?'

"'Nothing in particular,' ses he.

"'Have you no news at all?' ses I.

"'Yes, I have a little,' ses he.

"'I'd like to hear it then,' ses I.

"'Very well,' ses he. 'The King of Morocco has a corn on his big toe,
and he sent to the United States for a specialist to remove it.'

"'Is that so?' ses I. 'Sure 'twould be as cheap to send to London
or Dublin or Cork itself for a specialist as the United States,'
ses I. 'An operation like that will cost him a lot of money, anyway,
but what matter? He don't have to earn it, and the more he spends,
the more respectable the people will think he is. But nevertheless
'twould be cheaper for him to cut a piece out of his boot, or cut
his toe off altogether, than to send to America for a doctor.'

"'True,' ses he, 'and if we were all to charge as much for the little
we do as the doctors and the specialists, 'tis the way that we might
make bankrupts of each other overnight, and as a consequence we might
all die of want and privation.'

"'That's very true indeed, but is that all the news you have for
me?' ses I.

"'Well, not exactly,' ses he. 'There was a man shot in Russia last
week, the Grand Duke of Ballybrophy went to America to be lionized
by the republicans and democrats, a kangaroo died in Australia, the
King of Italy bought a new hat, and Queen Victoria gave a shilling
for the relief of the poor of Ireland.'

"'And tell me,' ses I, 'is it all to be given to the Protestants?'

"'No,' ses he, ''tis to be equally divided among the poor of all
classes.'

"'I'm glad to hear that,' ses I, 'because it denotes a fine,
broad-minded, and generous spirit. But what pleases me more than
anything else is that she has not forgotten that Ireland is still on
the map.'

"'Why,' ses he, 'Ireland will never be forgotten while there is
money to be made at politics in America, and politics, they say,
is the most popular religion in the United States.'

"'And was it to tell me what I know already that brought you here?'

"'No,' ses he. 'I wanted to tell you that I dreamt of my mother's
people last night, and that always brings me good luck. So as 'tis a
fine hard frosty day, I'd like to go birdcatching in Fingal's Glen,
and catch a dozen linnets, half a dozen finches, and maybe a couple
of blackbirds and thrushes. But I haven't the makings of a sprig of
birdlime, or a crib, or a good singing bird to bring with me,' ses he.

"'If that is all that's troubling you,' ses I, 'you have no longer
any cause to worry. I'll give you the box of birdlime that the bishop
himself made me a present of last Easter, and I'll give you the loan
of the best singing bird I have in the house, a linnet that would
put a nightingale or a prima donna to shame,' ses I.

"And with that I handed him the box of birdlime that was made by the
best cobbler in Antrim, and I took down the linnet cage from over
the half door, and gave him that also.

"And then ses I, 'Go your way and may God bless you, and if you can't
catch birds with my linnet and the bishop's birdlime, you might as
well go to America and try and convince the Irish-Americans that they
are not a bit better than the Irish at home.'

"'Wisha, bad luck to their impudence,' ses he. 'What do they know
about the Irish at home?'

"'The devil a hap'orth,' ses I. And then he put the cage under his
arm and ses: 'I wish I knew how to thank you for all your kindness,
and now I will trouble you for the loan of your topcoat, the fillings
of a pipe, and a box of matches. For 'tis frozen with the cold I'll be,
standing behind a furze bush waiting for a flock of linnets to rise,
so that I may throw myself down on my face and hands on the wet grass,
the way they wouldn't see me at all,' ses he.

"'A good birdcatcher,' ses I, 'will always find a place where he will
be able to hide without throwing himself down on the wet grass or
soft earth. However, you are welcome to the loan of my old coat, and
I will make you a present of a plug of tobacco and a box of matches.'

"So after he put on the coat, he walked away with his 'May the Lord
spare and protect you all the days of your life,' and a week passed
before he returned. I was eating my breakfast when he called, and as he
pushed open the half door with his 'God bless all here,' I up and ses:
'What luck?' ses I.

"'Don't talk to me about luck,' ses he, as he placed the overcoat,
the box of birdlime, and the cage on a chair beside him. 'I'm the
happiest man alive,' ses he.

"'I'm sorry to hear that,' ses I.

"'And why, might I ask?' ses he.

"'Well,' ses I, ''tis only selfish people who can be really
happy. Howsomever, let me hear what you have to say.'

"'I caught a linnet with a crown of gold,' ses he.

"'You did!' ses I.

"'Yes, I did,' ses he.

"'There must be a finch or a canary in the family then,' ses I.

"'Maybe both,' ses he.

"'How does he sing?' ses I.

"'Sing!' ses he. 'Why, he never stops singing at all, only when the
twilight fades and the darkness comes from east and west, and north
and south, and the blackness of the night covers up the hills and
the valleys, the trees and the rivers, and the streams and the houses
themselves,' ses he.

"'He must be a wonder,' ses I.

"'A wonder he is surely,' ses he. 'He starts at five o'clock in the
morning and sings all day.'

"'If that's so,' ses I, 'I'll be outside your door with my ear to
the keyhole at quarter to five, so that I can't miss the first note
to break the silence and tell us that day is come.'

"'And herself is going to stay up all night, lest she might miss even
the flutter of his wings, when he wakes from his sleep,' ses Lareen.

"Well, when the morrow came, I was at Lareen's door at the peep o'
day, listening to the sweetest music that was ever heard in town or
city, in lonely glen or by the cobbled seashore when the storm does be
raging and huge breakers dash themselves to pieces on the treacherous
rocks. Wonderful indeed was the song of the linnet with the crown of
gold, and musicians came from all parts of the world to hear him,
and all listened with great attention and took down in a book each
note as he uttered it. And when they returned home, they made operas,
oratorios, and symphonies from the melodies they heard in Lareen's
kitchen. And selections were made for the violin, 'cello, and organ,
and played at classical concerts where the well-fed fashionable people,
who have no more love for art or music than a tinker's donkey, pay for
being bored to death. And thus it was that the fame of Lareen's linnet
grew until the King of Spain heard all about him, and immediately he
sailed away from the shores of his native country with more money in
his pocket than all the kings of Europe could earn in ten thousand
years. And when, after a weary journey, he found himself seated by
the fire talking to Lareen, all of a sudden he up and ses: 'Lareen,'
ses he, 'I'll give you a golden guinea for every mistake you have
made since you came to the use of reason, if you will give me the
linnet with the crown of gold,' ses he.

"'And did you accept his offer?' ses I.

"'No, I did not,' ses he.

"'You damn fool,' ses I. 'Sure, if you only got a half sovereign inself
for every mistake you made since you were born, you would have been
made a millionaire on the spot.'

"'And how do you know I have made so many mistakes?' ses he.

"'Why, you omadhaun,' ses I, 'don't you know as yet that nearly
everything we do is some kind of a mistake or other, but we don't
know it until we are told so by some one else?'

"'I do not,' ses he. 'And I am just as well pleased that I don't.'

"'And what did the king say when he heard your refusal?' ses I.

"He took out his handkerchief and began to cry, and then ses he:
'I will give you your choice of a wife, and I will give you your
own way as long as you can stand it, if you will give me the linnet,
and I will make you a Knight of the Spade and Turnip besides.'

"'Thank you kindly,' ses Lareen. 'But, not for all the women that
ever made fools of their husbands would I part with the linnet with
the crown of gold.'

"So the king sailed away that night with sadness in his heart and tears
in his eyes, and 'twas said that he was never heard whistling anything
till the day he died but the song of the linnet with the crown of gold.

"And then the King of Prussia came and ses to Lareen: 'There's going to
be a great war one day,' ses he, 'and if you will give me the linnet
with the golden crown, I will give you half of France, the whole of
Belgium, and maybe the Tower of London as well, when the war is over.'

"'Don't count your chickens before they are hatched,' ses Lareen,
'and remember the gentleman who went to live on St. Helena after the
battle of Waterloo.'

"'Oh, the spalpeen!' ses he. 'He was bound to be caught anyway,
because he overestimated his own importance.'

"'Just like a good many more people who don't know it,' ses Lareen.

"'So you won't give me the linnet?' ses the king.

"'No,' ses Lareen. And with that the king shook his head and went
his way.

"The next to come was the King of Japan. And he up and ses: 'There's
going to be great ructions on the other side of the Atlantic another
day, and if you will give me the linnet with the golden crown, I will
give you your choice of New York or Boston when the war is over.'

"'And how are you going to land an army, might I ask?' ses Lareen.

"'With the aid of the navy,' ses the king, with a smile.

"'Bedad, I wonder if that ever occurred to America,' ses Lareen.

"'I don't know, and what's more, I don't care,' ses the king.

"'There's too much old talk about peace, I'm thinking,' ses Lareen.

"'That's so,' ses the king. 'And talk by itself never did
anything. Why, man alive, there is no such thing as peace in the
world. The very people who advocate peace are always at cross-purposes
with some one else. Sure every thing that's alive fights, from the fish
in the sea to the birds of the air, and those who are not prepared
always gets the worst of it. A man with a gun is better than a man
with a blackthorn stick in his fist at any time, even though he might
be an Irishman inself,' ses he.

"'And a small dog often leathered the devil out of a large dog when
he caught him unawares,' ses Lareen.

"'Now you're talking sense,' ses the King. 'And 'tis only after a
fight that you can tell who is the better man. Life itself is a fight
from beginning to end, and when we cease fighting, well,' ses he,
'that's the end of us. But be all that as it may, what about giving
me the linnet?'

"'I wouldn't part with him,' ses Lareen, 'for all the money in
the world.'

"'Well,' ses the King, ''tis a great pity that you don't know you are
so foolish.' And with that he put on his hat, curled his moustache,
and walked out the door.

"And every day brought some mighty monarch or other to Lareen's
cottage, and each and every one tried their very best to persuade
him to part with the linnet, but they all went as they came, because
Lareen was determined that he would never part with him until the
day of his death."

"And what happened in the end?" said Padna.

"One day, after the King of the Ballyallen Islands came and offered
all his wealth and possessions for the loan of the linnet to entertain
some of his wife's people at the Royal Palace during the Christmas
holidays, a large grey cat from the police sergeant's house across the
road tumbled the cage from the wall, opened the door, and golloped up
the linnet, with less ceremony than if he was a mouse or a cockroach."

"And what happened then?"

"Lareen killed the cat and made a fur cap with its skin and sent it
to the Czar of Russia to remind him to be kind to the poor musicians,
because there's nothing finer in the country than its music, except
its literature, of course," said Micus.

"Lareen was a fool not to sell the linnet when he got the first good
offer. Any man who leaves opportunity slip between his fingers, so
to speak, is a fool, and the man who doesn't know what he likes is
the greatest fool of all. 'Pon my word, I don't know what to think
of half the people I hear about," said Padna.

"Neither do I, but while the song of a bird and a sense of duty means
more for some than either money or glory, there's hope for the world,"
said Micus.

"Bedad, I don't doubt but there is," said Padna.






THE MAN WITH THE WOODEN LEG


"A man who loves nature and lives near the country need never be
lonesome," said Micus Pat to his friend Padna Dan, as they strolled
along a mountain road near the southwestern coast.

"That's very true," said Padna. "And if a man owes a lot of money, he
has the consolation of knowing that he will not easily be forgotten."

"Like every other man of poetic temperament, I think more about the
glories of nature, for they are both inspiring and incomprehensible,
than about what I owe, or the people who were good enough to oblige
me with the loan of money," said Micus.

"'Tis real decent of you to say so, and you such a judge of everything
but your own idiosyncrasies," said Padna.

"Look around and about you," said Micus, "from the north to the
south, and from the east to the west, and from the west again back to
the east, and from the south again to the north, and if you are not
impressed with the wonder and grandeur with which you are surrounded,
you might as well give up your life to reading the newspapers and
talking politics at the street corners."

"Beauty confronts us at every turn. The saffron moon peeps through
the vista of pines on the distant hills, the sky is all ablaze with
twinkling stars, and not a sound is heard except that of my own voice,
and the creak of a toad in the rushes," said Padna.

"I can hear, or I seem to hear," said Micus, "the rippling of a
brook as it joins the Owenacurra on its way to the sea, and it is
the sweetest of all music, because it is of nature's own making,
and more soothing to a troubled mind or a weary spirit than all the
melodies made by man."

"I hear no sound but my own voice," said Padna.

"Put your ear to the ground, and if you are not deaf you will hear the
maddening rush of the brook and the low murmuring of the Owenacurra
and the heart of the world itself beating," said Micus.

"I will, then," said Padna, as he put his ear to the ground.

"Well," said Micus, "do you hear anything?"

"I hear the pulse of the earth."

"Isn't it wonderful?"

"'Tis wonderful, surely."

"I knew you'd like it."

"Sure 'tis myself always loves to walk alone by the seashore when
the world does be sleeping, and listen to the melancholy cry of the
sea lark and the curlew, and the soft splash of the waves against the
boulders on the beach on a dark night without any light at all, except
maybe the flash from the lightship, or the glow from the binnacle lamp
of some passing vessel, and she sailing over the seas with a cargo
of groundsel for the Emperor of Japan's linnets. There's an eeriness
about the night that creates an atmosphere of poetry and mystery,
the like of which we never experience in the most glorious sunshine,
even when we might be in love itself, and listening to the silvery
speech of the most beautiful woman in all the land," said Padna.

"When a man is listening to the silvery speech of some lovely woman,
he never knows how expensive 'tis going to be for him afterwards."

"The silvery speech of women is a magnificent thing, but their golden
silence is a more magnificent thing still."

"That's true indeed, but let us forget all about the contrary creatures
for a little while, and I will tell you a story that the Emperor of
Russia would give his two thumbs and two little fingers to hear."

"And what is it all about?" said Padna.

"'Tis the story of a man with a wooden leg," said Micus.

"Begin," said Padna.

"Well," said Micus, as he filled his pipe, "as I was sauntering home
the other night, I dropped into the Half Way House to get a toothful
of something to keep out the cold, when lo and behold! who should
come in and flop down beside me but a one-legged sailor and he minus
an eye as well, and no more hair on his head than you'd find on a
yellow turnip. He was the first to speak, and he up and ses: 'Good
night, stranger,' ses he, as he poked the fire with his wooden leg,
and lit his pipe with a piece of his old straw hat.

"'Good night kindly,' ses I.

"''Tis a cold kind of night,' ses he.

"'The devil of a cold night entirely,' ses I.

"''Tis indeed,' ses he, 'and a bad night for a poor man who has
neither friends nor relations, or one to bother their heads about him,
or even the price of a drink inself.'

"'If 'tis a drink you want,' ses I, 'all you have to do is to call
for it, and I will pay. What will you have?' ses I.

"'I'll take all I can get for nothing, and give as little as I can
help in return. I'm a capitalist by temperament, but poor because I
didn't get a chance of exercising my talents,' ses he.

"'I suppose you wouldn't say no to a glass of whiskey,' ses I.

"'I'd say no to nothing except a black eye,' ses he.

"'You couldn't afford to have an eye blackened, when you have only
one good eye already,' ses I. And then and there I treated him to
two glasses of whiskey, and when he had them swallowed, I up and ses:
'How did you lose your lamp?' meaning his eye, of course.

"'In a duel with the King of Spain,' ses he.

"'Glory be to the Lord!' ses I. 'All over a woman, I presume?'

"'Of course,' ses he. And then the salt tears flowed down his sunken
cheeks and formed a pool on the floor.

"'Tell me,' ses I, 'was she a very handsome woman?'

"'She was the most beautiful woman in all the world,' ses he,
'except my seventh wife, who was more beautiful than Venus, herself.'

"'And what happened to your seventh wife?' ses I.

"'Oh, she was too fond of her own people, and they got her to do all
their washing and scrubbing, and never gave her a moment's rest until
they killed her with hard work. And then the devil blast the one of
them came to the funeral, and 'twas strangers that lowered her into
the grave, and no one but myself and the clergyman said a prayer for
the repose of her soul,' ses he.

"'She was too good to be remembered, I suppose,' ses I.

"'She was, God help us,' ses he. 'But my ninth wife wasn't either a
Venus or a Helen of Troy. She was so ugly that one day when we were
going over a bridge, the river stopped, and didn't begin to flow
again until she left the town.'

"'You had a lot of wives,' ses I.

"'Yes, I had a few, but 'tis a mistake to marry more than ten or
twelve times,' ses he.

"Well, when I saw that his grief was getting the better of him, I ses:
'Let us not talk any more about your eye, but tell me how you lost
your leg, and I'll give you another glass of grog.'

"'I never told that story to any one for less than three glasses of
grog and a small bottle of rum to bring home with me for the morning,
except one time I told it to the Shah of Persia for nothing, when he
promised me the hand of his favourite daughter in marriage.'

"'Tell me the story, whatever 'twill cost,' ses I.

"'All right,' ses he. And then he moved closer to the fire, and this
is what he told:



"'It was a cold and stormy night in the long long ago. The thunder
rolled and the lightning flashed and the rain fell down in torrents. I
was aboard ship in the middle of the ocean; the stars and moon were
screened and not a light was seen except a glimmer from the port side
of another vessel labouring in the storm. Peal after peal of thunder
resounded until one thought that the gods of war on all the other
planets had gone mad, and were discharging their heavy artillery at
the earth, trying to shatter it to atoms. The canvas was torn from the
yards, and spar after spar fell, until nothing but the masts remained.

"'And as the storm grew in intensity, the ship lurched and the masts
themselves fell, and crashed through her as though she was only made
of matchwood; and in their fall they killed as many as five and twenty
men at a time. And as the last mast made splinters of the deck house,
the good ship Nora Crena sank beneath the waves never to rise again.

"'Not a soul was saved but myself, and in those days I was a great
swimmer, and I swam and swam until I found a piece of floating
wreckage, and clung to it the way you'd see a barnacle clinging
to the rocks. I remained that way for three days and three nights,
without a bit to eat or anything to read, and nothing to drink but
salt water. And sure I need not tell you that the more you'd drink
of that, the more thirsty you'd become.

"'Well, at the end of the third night, I was cast up on a little
bit of a rock no larger than a stepmother's supper, and while I was
wondering how I could get a bit to eat or reach the shore in safety,
a large fish about the size of a shark, but much more refined and
respectable looking, came up from the depths of the sea, and as he came
ashore and sat beside me, he up and ses: "God bless all here," ses he.

"'"And you too," ses I.

"'"How are you feeling to-day?" ses he.

"'"A good deal worse than yesterday," ses I. "Can't you see, you
foolish omadhaun, that I am all dripping wet from being saturated in
the waters of the briny deep, for this last three days and nights?"

"'"That's nothing at all," ses he. "How would you like to be dripping
wet like myself for twenty years or more?"

"'"Are you as old as all that?" ses I.

"'"Every day of it, if not more. My poor mother, God help her, had
all our birthdays written down in a book, and she had us all called
after the saints of America. Originality was a weakness with her,
but now she's dead and gone, more's the pity!" ses he.

"'"What did she die of?" ses I. "Too much old talk, maybe."

"'"She didn't die a natural death at all, but was caught in a net
and sold to a fishmonger, the same as everyone belonging to me,
both young and old, and the list includes aunts and uncles, first and
second cousins, fathers-in-law and mothers-in-law, and they the first
blight on a man's happiness. And here I am now," ses he, "and I a poor
orphan and the last of my name and race." And then the tears began
to come to his eyes, and when he had stopped weeping he up and ses:
"Do you know," ses he, "that I'm a misanthrope?"

"'"I'm not a bit surprised at that," ses I, "if, as you say, all
belonging to you were philanthropists, and gave up their lives for
the sustenance and maintenance of the people in the great world
beyond. Indiscriminate philanthropy like that would make a pessimist
of any one. Howsomever, things might be better or worse. You might
have been caught in a net yourself, and sold to a family of tinkers,
and I'm sure all your relations wouldn't bother their heads about
you, or care whether you were boiled or fried. They would logically
conclude that as they were so numerous, they could afford to lose at
least one of the family," ses I.

"'"About that I haven't the remotest doubt," ses he. "But what I can't
understand is why some women will marry their husbands so that they
can help their own sisters' or brothers' children, as the case may be."

"'"Well," ses I, "once women arrive at the age of indiscretion,
there's no use trying to understand them."

"'"Of course," ses he, "the great trouble with women, I'm thinking,
is that they don't understand themselves or any one else, either."

"'"Be all that and more as it may," ses I, "even the most foolish
women are well able to look after themselves. But old talk like this
would never get me home. And unless you will take me on your back and
swim with me to the shore, 'tis the way I'll be after dying both from
cold and starvation."

"'"There was many a better man died from hunger," ses he. "And better
men have died from believing all their wives told them. Howsomever,
I will take you to the shore on one condition."

"'"And what may that be?" ses I.

"'"Well," ses he, "you must promise that you will never again taste
a piece of fish while you live."

"'"Why, that's an easy matter," says I. "Sure, of course, I'll promise
you that much, or as much more if you like."

"'"That's just like a coward," ses he. "A coward would promise anything
to save his skin, and make a promise as quickly as he'd break one."

"'"I don't see for the life of me why you won't take the word of a
decent man," ses I.

"'"Wisha, who told you that you were decent?" ses he. "Can't I see
and tell what you are by the shifty look in your eye. To be candid,
I wouldn't trust you as far as I'd throw you, and you with two
ferrety eyes, and they so close together that only a rogue, a thief,
a bla'guard, or a bully could own them, and one of them blind at that."

"'"If you only knew how I lost that winker," ses I, "'tis the way
you'd be taking off your hat to me, and shaking hands with yourself
for having met the likes of me."

"'"God knows," ses he, "there's no limit to the conceit of some and
the ignorance of others. I have eaten my dinner off men and women too,
that wouldn't recognise you at a dog fight. There was the King of
Himyumhama and his royal daughters, for instance, who were drowned
in the Skidderymackthomas. And there were two American millionaires
besides, and they as tender and as nourishing as a boiled chicken or
a porterhouse steak."

"'"I bet you," ses I, "that you never ate Irish stew."

"'"And who the devil would want to eat Irish stew but the
Chinese? Sure the Irish themselves never eat it. However," ses he,
"there's no use trying to convince me against my will. I'm a man of
fixed ideas, and people with fixed ideas are nearly as impossible as
women. Nevertheless, I suppose you are anxious to get to the shore,
and for that I don't blame you. Like us all, you carry your character
in your face, and I won't lose much by parting company with you. I'm
sorry all the same that you haven't an honest countenance, because a
face like yours would do you no more good among decent people than
letters of introduction in the United States of America, and they
are no more use to any one than the measles or the whooping cough."

"'"Well," ses I, "don't you think you are talking too much and doing
too little?"

"'"That may be. Sure, my poor father always told me I'd make a good
politician. Howsomever, sit up on my back, and I'll bring you safe
and sound to the shore." And without waiting to say as much as thank
you, or anything else, I jumped on his back, and he swam for a few
hundred yards, but, lo and behold you! all of a sudden he stopped and
turned around to me and ses: "Do you know what?" ses he. "I'm losing
confidence in you."

"'"Indeed, then, is that so?" ses I.

"'"Yes, it is then," ses he, "and the little bit of respect I had
for you in the beginning is nearly all gone."

"'"Is there any way by which I can inspire confidence in you, at
all?" ses I.

"'"I don't believe there is," ses he. "I'm a patriot and want to do
something for the race, besides making speeches about the achievements
of my ancestors and getting well paid for my pains, and getting all
my children and relations good jobs as well."

"'"And what is it you want to do, at all?" ses I.

"'"I want to make sure," ses he, "that you will keep your promise
never to eat fish again."

"'"I will keep my promise," ses I.

"'"I don't believe a word of it," ses he. "There's nobody forgotten
sooner than a good friend. But I'll make sure that you will remember
me, as the traveling salesman said to the landlady, when he ran away
without paying for his board and lodging."

"'"'Tis true," ses I, "that we forget our friends when they cease
to be an advantage to us, and equally true that we lose respect for
our enemies when they cease to torment and persecute us, but all the
same I can't see why you won't finish your job, considering the good
start you have made."

"'"I never pay any attention to flattery," ses he. "But whist. I have
an idea! I suppose you often heard tell of the law of compensation?"

"'"Many and many a time," ses I.

"'"All right then!" ses he. "You know, of course, that we must pay
a price for everything we get in this life, and some, they say, pay
in the other world as well. That being so, then you must pay for
your passage to the shore. And as I haven't had my breakfast yet,
I think you couldn't do better than forfeit one of your legs, and in
that way you would serve the double purpose of paying for your journey
and helping me to appease the pangs of hunger. And, besides, you will
be sure to remember me, and 'tis a matter for yourself whether you
will keep your promise or not." And then and there he did a double
somersault, and I fell into the water, and before I had realized what
had happened, my leg was bitten off. And while I tried to keep myself
afloat by hanging on to some seaweed, he up and ses: "Bedad," ses he,
"that was the nicest meal I had for many a long day. And I think
now that I like the Irish better than the French, Germans, Scotch,
Americans, or the Australians, and I have tasted them all."

"'"How do you like the English?" ses I.

"'"Don't talk to me about the English," ses he, "I wouldn't taste
one of them if I had to go hungry for ever, for the stupid way they
treated the Irish."

"'"God knows then, in a way, I wouldn't blame you. But 'tis a queer
thing for you to leave me here to drown when you could carry me safely
to the shore."

"'"Tell me, are you a Protestant?" ses he.

"'"I am, God forgive me," ses I.

"'"I am sorry for that," ses he.

"'"And why?" ses I.

"'"Well, I don't think I can carry you to the shore at all now,'
ses he.

"'"How's that?" ses I. "Sure all the Protestants are fine, decent,
respectable people."

"'"They think they are," ses he. "But who's to know whether they
are or not? The Protestants would eat fish every day of the week,
if they could get it, but the Catholics will only eat it on Fridays,
and wouldn't eat it then if they could help it. And moreover, the
Protestants have all the good jobs in Ireland and the United States,
but for choice, 'tis a Freemason I'd be myself, if I could."

"'"That's not the question at all," ses I. "Are you, or are you not,
going to bring me to the shore?"

"'"Well, I'm about sick and tired of you now, anyway," ses he, "so
sit up on my back, and I'll land you at the Old Head of Kinsale." And
sure enough he kept his word, and I was landed high and dry on the
rocks of my native parish in less time than you'd take to lace your
shoe. And all he said as he went his way was: "Good-by, now, and
don't forget all I told you. I have an invitation to lunch at the
Canary Islands, and I'll be late if I don't hurry." And with that,
he plunged beneath a breaker, and that was the last I ever saw of
the fish who ate my leg off, and made me a <DW36> for life."

"'And did you keep your promise?' ses I to the man with the wooden leg,
when he had finished his story."

"'No,' ses the man with the wooden leg, 'but instead, I swore ten
thousand holy oaths that I would eat nothing but fish, if I lived
to be as old as Batty Hayes's old goat. And that's why I am always
so thirsty.'"



"Bedad, but that's a queer story, surely," said Padna. "I suppose
the fish would have eaten his other leg off, only it might spoil his
appetite for lunch."

"Very likely," said Micus.

"Well, I don't believe I could beat that for a yarn," said Padna.

"I wouldn't try, if I were you," said Micus.






THE HERMIT OF THE GROVE


"What do you think of the weather?" said Padna Dan to Micus Pat,
as he leaned over the half-door, and looked up at the sky.

"Oh," said Micus, as he struck a match on the heel of his shoe,
"I think we will have a fine day, that's if it don't either rain or
snow. And snow and rain inself is better than a drought, that would
parch the whole countryside, and bleach every blade of grass in the
fields as white as linen."

"The two things in life you can never depend on," said Padna, "are
women and the weather. But as the hermit of Deirdre's Grove said
to me the other day, when I happened upon him as he was strolling
about looking for something he never lost: 'Every season,' ses he,
'has its own particular charm, and we all have our faults as well as
our virtues.'

"And what kind of a man was he at all, to be looking for something
he never lost?" said Micus.

"He was a man just like one of ourselves. Sure that's what we all
do, from the day we open our eyes until we close them again upon the
world," said Padna.

"I never knew that there was a hermit in Deirdre's Grove," said Micus.

"Neither did I," said Padna, "until one day last week when I went
looking for hazel-nuts for the grandchildren, and I came upon a man
of strange appearance, and he with long flowing beard, dark black
curly hair, and a physique surpassing anything I have seen for many a
day. His general demeanour was very impressive indeed, and a kindly
look lit up his well-chiseled face. As I approached him, I wondered
what manner of man he was, but he was first to break the silence. And
what he said was: 'Good morrow, stranger,' ses he.

"'Good morrow and good luck,' ses I.

"'May the blessing of God be with you,' ses he.

"'May the blessing of God be with us all,' ses I.

"'Amen to that,' ses he.

"'Amen, amen!' ses I.

"'Would you mind telling me what day of the year is it, and what year
of the century is it, if you please?' ses he.

"'I can easily tell you that,' ses I, 'but I couldn't tell you the
time of day if you were to make me as gay as a sprite, as blithe as
a lark, and as nimble and fresh as a hare in the month of March. This
is St. Crispin's Day,' ses I, 'and every shoemaker in Christendom who
knows how to enjoy himself will be as drunk as a lord before the sun
goes down.'

"'I wouldn't blame them for getting drunk,' ses he, 'for hammering
on the sole of a shoe from daylight to dark is no way for a man to
enjoy himself. But now,' ses he, 'if you want to know the time of day,
I can tell you that.'

"'Of course, I'd like to know the time of day,' ses I.

"'All right,' ses he, 'come along.' And then we walked to a
sun-splashed glade, and he looked up at the sun itself, and turned
to me, and ses, with the greatest gentleness: ''Tis just a quarter
to twelve,' ses he.

"'That's a wonderful clock you have,' ses I.

"''Tis the most wonderful clock in all the world, and never once ran
down since it was set a-going long ago before Adam was a boy,' ses he.

"'But 'tisn't every one can tell you the time of day by it,' ses I.

"'I know that,' ses he. 'And 'tisn't every one who can tell you all
the other things they should know, and 'tisn't every one who can
forget all the things not worth remembering,' ses he.

"'That's true,' ses I, 'and if we could only remember all that is good
for us, and forget all that is bad for us, we needn't go to any one
for advice. But we either remember too much, or forget too much, and
that's why there is so much discontent and trouble everywhere. However,
be that as it may, I'd like to know how you manage to enjoy yourself
in this eerie place without any one to keep you company,' ses I.

"'I don't want company,' ses he, 'because I came here to get rid
of myself.'

"'Are you a married man?' ses I.

"'No,' ses he, 'I escaped.'

"'That's a strange state of affairs,' ses I. 'Sure I always thought
that the only way a man could get rid of himself was to get lost, so
to speak, in the highways and byways of matrimony, and that he would
be so busy trying to please his wife and children that he wouldn't
have any time to think of himself.'

"'There are more ways of killing a dog than by making him commit
suicide,' ses he.

"'That's so,' ses I. 'And there are more ways of getting drunk than
paying for what you drink. And many a man can't feel natural at all,
until he is so blind drunk that he don't know what he does be saying.'

"'Yes,' ses he, 'and a man might live without working if he could
get any one to support him. But no matter what happens, time and
the world rolls by as indifferently as though there was nothing
worth bothering about. And after all,' ses he, 'what is the world
but a whirling mass of inconsistencies, and everything changes but
man. He has no more sense now than ever he had. And more's the pity,
for women are as deceitful as ever.'

"'But you haven't told me how you succeeded in getting rid of
yourself?' ses I.

"'Well,' ses he, 'I only got rid of myself, in a measure, of course,
by escaping from the thralls of convention, and coming to live the
life of a recluse in this shady and lonely grove. And while I am here,
'tis consoling to know that I cannot injure anybody by doing them
good turns, nor can I be of any assistance to them by being their
enemies. A decent enemy,' ses he, 'oftentimes is worth ten thousand
friends, who would only do you a kindness for the sake of talking
about it afterwards. But the best and most charitable way to behave
towards those who try to injure you is to treat them one and all with
silent contempt. That will hurt them more than anything else. The
tongue may cut like a scissors, but silence gives the deepest wound.'

"'That was well spoken for a lonely man,' ses I.

"'There are worse things than loneliness,' ses he, 'and, strictly
speaking, we never feel really lonesome until we find ourselves in
the midst of a crowd. And we are never in better company than when
we take our place among the trees of a glorious forest like this,
where nature has so plentifully bestowed her choicest gifts. I never
felt lonesome since I left the noise of the cities behind me, and
as I lie awake on my couch at night, I ever long for the morning, so
that I may hear the birds on the wing and the birds on the branches
singing their praises to the Lord. Aye, and I never tire of watching
the rabbit and the weasel, the fox and the hare, or listening to the
droning of the bee,' ses he.

"'To live close to and feel the divine influence of nature must be a
wonderful thing surely, but I am sorry to say that 'tis the ugly in
nature that interests me more than anything else, and the sting of
a bee or a mosquito affects me more than the beauty of the sunset,'
ses I.

"'Why, man alive,' ses he, 'there's nothing ugly in nature. And
the sting of an insect, like the slur of a friend, is a thing to
be forgotten and not remembered. But for all that, insects with the
capacity for causing annoyance have their uses. And those who never
lift their eyes to the skies, so to speak, to look at other worlds
than their own, will never feel lonesome while they have bees, wasps,
and mosquitoes to torment them.'

"''Tis the devil of a thing,' ses I, 'when you come to think of it,
that man can never really enjoy himself. When his wife or daughters,
as the case may be, stop nagging at him, his friends commence to turn
on him, or the wild animals of the earth, such as bugs and mosquitoes,
will try to drive him to desperation.'

"'Very true, indeed,' ses he, 'but we must cultivate patience in
all things, and self-control as well, if we want to be comparatively
happy.'

"'Patience,' ses he, 'is the next best thing to stupidity. And 'tis
nothing more nor less than an infinite capacity for taking pains.'

"'And what's genius then?' ses I.

"'Genius,' ses he, 'is the blossom of inspiration.'

"'I am beginning at long last,' ses I, 'to see some of the advantages
of being a recluse. It makes a man think more than pleases those who
disagree with him.'

"'You are still a novice at philosophy,' ses he, 'and when you can
understand why people won't associate with others, you will know why
they keep to themselves.'

"'Oh,' ses I, 'I always want to be with my friends, and live as
comfortably as I can. But evidently you don't care where you live,
or how you live.'

"'Well,' ses he, 'I live in the present, the past, and the future,
and though I dwell in a hut at the foot of the hills beyond, I
am as happy as a cow in clover. And if all the water in the ocean
was to be turned into whiskey, and if all the fish and the Sunday
excursionists were to drink themselves to death, I don't believe
that 'twould interfere with my comfort. I have all I want,' ses he,
'and I know it, and that's the only time a man can be happy.'

"'And why don't you write a poem?' ses I.

"'I live one,' ses he, 'and that's much better. I love the rustle
of the leaves and every sound in the woods. All that grows and lives
and dies interests and inspires me. And the only thing that makes me
sad is that I am not a vegetarian. But,' ses he, 'I'd be one in the
morning if I could get as much satisfaction from eating a handful of
hazel-nuts, or a few skeeories or blackberries, as from feasting on
a roast partridge.'

"'And that,' ses I, 'just goes to prove that we would all be decent
if our decency wouldn't interfere with our happiness. Nevertheless,
a man who can drift away from his fellow men and live alone in a wood
must be the descendant of some ancient line of kings, or else he must
be one of those highly civilized people we read about in books. Or
perhaps a species of snob who cannot see the difference between his
own foolishness and the foolishness of others. Such a one usually
thinks he is better than his equals and his superiors as well.'

"'Very often,' ses he, 'when nature makes one man better than another,
he thinks 'tis his privilege to make others as bad as himself, so
to speak. And to be a success, a man must be a snob of some kind,
or else have no more brains than a herring.'

"'Snobbery is the greatest of all virtues, because it makes us feel
better than we are. Take the Protestants, for instance,' ses I.

"'Snobbery is an inheritance with them,' ses he. 'And 'twas they
brought democracy to America. And what, after all, is democracy but
the highest form of snobocracy? It begets self-deception in us all,
and makes the beggar think he is as good as the king, and the fool
think he is as good as the scholar. Aye,' ses he, 'and it makes
the monied vulgarian think he is as good as those who only tolerate
him. Democracy only gives the downtrodden an opportunity of becoming
snobs. 'Tis true, of course,' ses he, 'that the aristocracy couldn't
exist only for the common people, and the common people couldn't
learn the art of snobbery only for the aristocracy.'

"'But good breeding will always show in a man,' ses I.

"'Yes,' ses he, 'but some are too well bred to be mannerly, and others
are too mannerly to be just merely polite. Politeness can be acquired,'
ses he, 'but good manners must be born with us. The most ignorant
and ill-bred are oftentimes the most polite class of people. And you
don't have to spend a year with a man to know whether or not he is a
gentleman. The very good manners of some is the most offensive thing
about them.'

"''Tis wonderful astuteness of observation, you have entirely,' ses I,
'and I think it is a shame for a man with your insight to be wasting
your time in this dreary grove, when you could be giving pleasure
and instruction to the poor and ignorant in the outer world.'

"'Why should I spoil the happiness of the ignorant?' ses he. 'What,
might I ask, has the world gained by two thousand years of
culture? What is the use of educating people who at a moment's notice
will go to the wars and slaughter each other for the sake of pleasing
the kings and rulers of Christendom?'

"'I'm afraid you are a selfish man,' ses I.

"'Without a tinge of selfishness no man is any good,' ses he.

"'And don't you do anything at all for others?' ses I.

"'Oh, yes,' ses he. "I keep out of their way, and you don't know
what a kindness that is. Those who don't bore me,' ses he, 'I bore
them. And that is one of the reasons why I keep so much to myself.'

"'And why don't you keep a record of all your thoughts and write them
down in a book?' ses I.

"'I might be hanged, drawn and quartered, and beheaded besides, if
I were to do that. But, nevertheless, I have preserved a few stray
thoughts that may help to amuse the ignorant after I am dead and gone,'
ses he.

"'Where are they?' ses I.

"'They are written in large letters on the trees of the grove,'
ses he. And then he took my arm, and we walked from tree to tree,
and as we went our way, we read as follows:



"'A democrat is one who is sorry that he is not an aristocrat, and
an aristocrat is a snob, and doesn't know it.

"'If you think long enough, you will discover that such a thing as
equality could never exist, because we all imagine we are better or
worse than some one else.

"'People who don't think before marriage learn to do so after, but
better late than never.

"'If our friends were as generous as we would wish them to be, we
would have no respect for their foolishness.

"'Flies never frequent empty jam-pots, but money always brings friends.

"'The man who seeks a bubble reputation in the newspapers must always
keep reminding the public that he doesn't want to be forgotten.

"'It is no easy matter to praise ourselves without abusing others,
or to abuse others without praising ourselves.

"'Speech is a blessing to those who have not the courage to carry
out their threats.

"'Any fool can smash the shell of an egg into ten thousand pieces,
but who can put it together again?

"'When a man takes a false step, he must suffer the consequences,
and if he is sensible, he will do so cheerfully.

"'Many say all the things they should be content with thinking,
and brilliance, within limits, often only leads to chaos.

"'Congenital stupidity is such a potent factor with most of us that
we never know our limitations until we examine our mistakes.

"'Most people are led through life while thinking they are leaders.

"'if we could only see half the comedy of life, we would become
pessimists.

"'The man who could be spoilt by success would not be saved by
adversity.

"'The great are not always humble, and the humble are not always great.

"'Silence is often more the sign of stupidity than wisdom.

"'We can keep our enemies by continuing to treat them badly, and lose
our friends by treating them too well.

"'Wisdom after the event is only repentance.'"



"Bedad," said Micus, "he knew a thing or two."

"No doubt about it," said Padna.

"And 'twas by writing down his thoughts on the bark of trees that he
spent his time," said Micus.

"Yes," said Padna. "And 'tis better a man should write down his
thoughts, and then forget them, than to leave them die in his mind,
or maybe eat into his heart and send him to an early grave."

"Many a man went to his grave for saying too much," said Micus.

"And many a man went to his grave for saying nothing at all,"
said Padna.






THE KING OF GOULNASPURRA


"The cold has left the breeze, the lonely moon sails over the hills,
bats are on the wing, the owl rests on the barn door, the badger is
gone in search of his prey, the otter scurries through the stream,
and the nightingale with his rich, melodious note fills the air with
sweetness," said Padna to his friend Micus.

"It is a glorious night for a ramble," said Micus, "and as we have
nothing to do, we might as well take a stroll through the woods,
and we may find something to talk about. I too like to watch the
moon wandering all alone through the sky at the dead of the night,
and no one to keep her company but the stars, and they no company
for any one but the poets themselves."

"And the poets are the best company in the whole world," said Padna,
"except the dead and they that can't do an injury to any one at
all. However, the moon does be kept busy throwing light on a troubled
world, and sometimes as she floats through the sky I seem to see a
blush on her face as though she was shocked at the badness that steals
into the hearts of the young and the old at the close of day. Night
is the time that the Devil has his fling, and evil lurks behind
everything that is beautiful and enchanting. When there is no moon
in the sky, badness does be everywhere, and there does be trembling
in every innocent heart until the darkness of night is dispelled by
the rising sun, and the first chirrup of the birds is heard, and the
cock's shrill crow tells us that day is come."

"The power and majesty of the sun is astounding. With a grace and a
gentleness beyond compare, he closes the door of night and greets the
waking world with a smile. And the man who can find pleasure looking
at the moon in a starry sky should be as happy as a king upon his
throne," said Micus.

"Kings," said Padna, "are expensive ornaments, but they are not always
happy, if what we hear is true. And the only difference between a
king and an ordinary poor man, like one of ourselves, is that we must
pay for what we eat, whereas kings get paid for eating, drinking,
carousing, and doing what they please."

"The real difference between a king and the common man is a lot
of brassy buttons, a high hat with an ostrich plume in it maybe,
a silver sword at his side, gold buckles on his shoes, and a few
medals on his breast," said Micus.

"And what does a king want a sword for?" said Padna.

"You might as well ask me what do we want kings for, and why they get
so much for all the things they don't do. And sure, you wouldn't know a
king from any other man if you saw him in his nightshirt. Kingship is
the easiest of all professions and the hardest of all trades, because
once a man is a king he has no chance of getting a rest until some
one fires a bomb at his head or puts poison in his tea," said Micus.

"Well," said Padna, "there is a compensation in all things, and when
a man is not fit for anything else, it is a good job for him that he
can be a king."

"I suppose," said Micus, "you never heard tell of the King of
Goulnaspurra?"

"I did not," said Padna. "Who the blazes was he?"

"He was a distant relation of my own on the wife's side, and so called
because he was the best man in a town of two dozen inhabitants,"
said Micus.

"And what did he do for a living at all?" said Padna.

"He was a mason by trade, and 'tis said that he built more ditches
than all the kings in Christendom put together, and there wasn't a
better birdcatcher in the whole country than himself. Well, after he
had worked some forty years or more in all kinds of weather, he found
himself at last on the flat of his back in the Poorhouse Hospital,
and no better to look at than an old sweeping brush worn to the stump
and kept in the back yard for beating the dogs. And there he remained
pining away like a snowball in the sun, until one day the doctor,
who wanted a little exercise and diversion, approached him and ses:
'Good morrow, Malachi, King of Goulnaspurra,' ses he.

"'Good morrow kindly and good luck,' ses Malachi. 'What's the best
news to-day?'

"'Oh,' ses the doctor, 'the poor are thought as little about as ever,
and the same friendly relations exist between the clergy and the rich.'

"'God forgive the clergy for their respectability. It spoils some to
make gentlemen of them,' ses Malachi.

"'That's true,' ses the doctor, 'but now as regards yourself, I want
to tell you that you needn't worry about looking for a job any more,
because you will either be above with St. Patrick and his chums by
this day week, or somewhere else. It all depends on how you behaved
yourself.'

"'Won't you take a chair and sit down for awhile?' ses Malachi. 'That's
the first bit of strange news I have had since I heard that England
made the discovery that the most stupid thing she ever did was to
treat the Irish badly.'

"'Thanks for your kind offer,' ses the doctor, 'but I am in a hurry
to-day. I think that I prescribed arsenic instead of olive oil for one
of my patients in Tipperary last week. So I must go and see how he is
getting along, and if I don't get there in time to cure him inself,
I'll be in time for the funeral, though 'tis against the rules of my
profession to attend the funerals of your patients, whether you are
responsible or not for their death. But 'tis all the same to us. We
get paid anyway.'

"'Olive oil is good for the hair, I believe,' ses the King of
Goulnaspurra, 'and they say 'tis a cure for a toothache also.'

"'Olive oil is all right in its way,' ses the doctor, 'but there's
nothing like a good drop of whiskey on a cold night if you are not
feeling well.'

"'Now,' ses Malachi, 'with reference to that little matter, I mean my
journey to the land of the mighty dead; all I can say is that 'tis
better a man should die when he is out of employment like myself,
than die when he has a good job. But as we must all die some time,
there is no reason why we shouldn't emulate the ancient philosophers,
when we are no more use to ourselves or any one else, and shuffle off
this mortal coil by drinking our health, so to speak, in a glass of
hemlock. Life, anyway,' ses he, 'is a feast for some, a famine for
others, and a puzzle to all. Some think so little about it that they
are dead before they realize what has happened, and others don't know
that they are alive at all until they are married. Howsomever,' ses he,
'our own affairs are always interesting to ourselves, so I must now
make my will before I die.' And then and there he asked for pen, ink,
and paper, and this is what he wrote:


    "'I, Malachi, King of Goulnaspurra, bequeath the hard earnings of
    years of trials and tribulations for the purchase of a stained
    glass window with my name at the end of it, to be placed in the
    village church so that those who didn't give a traneen about
    me when I was alive, including the clergy themselves, may think
    kindly of me when I am dead.

    "'To my son and heir, Henry Joseph Michael John Dorgan, Crown
    Prince of Goulnaspurra, I bequeath, in recognition of his
    indifference to me while I lived, one shilling and sixpence,
    and the Devil's blessing which is commonly called the curse of
    Cromwell. Besides, I am also desirous that he should inherit
    my bad temper, bad habits, rheumatics, gout, and all the other
    hereditary complaints of the family.

    "'To my first cousin Padeen Dooley, the King of Ballinadurraka,
    I bequeath my large hand trowel and hammer, and to the Emperor of
    Japan I bequeath all my old clothes, either to be used by himself
    after the invasion of his country by the suffragettes, or to be
    placed in a museum with other kingly relics, after freedom of
    speech has killed monarchy. To the clergy I bequeath an abundance
    of good wishes to be distributed liberally among the poor, so that
    they may thrive on them in the absence of anything better. To
    the needy people of all nations, I bequeath  the privileges of
    the army and navy in times of war, and to everyone in general I
    bequeath all they can get from their friends for nothing.'


"And with that he laid down his pen, closed his eyes, and so passed
to the land of no returning Malachi Dorgan, King of Goulnaspurra,"
said Micus.






                            By the author of
            "The Whale and the Grasshopper and Other Fables"

                     DUTY, and Other Irish Comedies

                           By SEUMAS O'BRIEN

                Frontispiece portrait. 12mo. $1.25 net.


The rich Irish humor and the delightful philosophy of Seumas O'Brien
are to be found in the five one-act comedies that make up this
volume just as they are ever present in his fiction. "Duty," which is
probably the best known of his dramatic work, was performed with great
success by the Irish players during their American tour in 1914. The
others are entitled "Magnanimity," "Jurisprudence," "Retribution,"
and "Matchmakers." All of them are notable for hilarious situations,
clever character drawing, and bright dialogue, some of it so delicious
as to bear comparison with the talk of Thomas Hardy's country folk.

    "In Seumas O'Brien I believe that America has found a new humorist
    of popular sympathies, a rare observer and philosopher whose very
    absurdities have a persuasive philosophy of their own."--Edward
    J. O'Brien in the Boston Transcript.


                    LITTLE, BROWN & CO., Publishers

                        34 Beacon Street, Boston







End of Project Gutenberg's The Whale and the Grasshopper, by Seumas O'Brien

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