Part 7

"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 faggots 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.