"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"