Part 2

"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 faggots 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 cripple 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.'