Chapter VI: Part 6

"'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 cripple 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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