Once upon a time a man lay dying.
He was dying very much at his ease, for he had had enough of it all.
None the less they brought a priest, who stretched his face a yard
long and spoke from his elastic-sided boots.
"This is a solemn moment," said the priest. "But sooner or later it
comes to us all. You are fortunate in having all your faculties."
The dying man smiled grimly.
"Is there any wrong that you have done that you wish redressed?" the
priest asked.
"None that I can remember," said the dying man.
"But you are sorry for such wrong as you have done?"
"I don't know that I am," said the dying man. "I was a very poor hand
at doing wrong. But there are some so-called good deeds that I could
wish undone which are still bearing evil fruit."
The priest looked pained. "But you would not hold that you have not
been wicked?" he said.
"Not conspicuously enough to worry about," replied the other. "Most of
my excursions into what you would call wickedness were merely attempts
to learn more about this wonderful world into which we are projected.
It's largely a matter of temperament, and I've been more attracted by
the gentle things than the desperate. Strange as you may think it, I
die without fear."
"But surely there are matters for regret in your life?" the priest,
who was a conscientious man, inquired earnestly.
"Ah!" said the dying man. "Regret? That's another matter. Have I no
occasion for regret? Have I not? Have I not?"
The priest cheered up. "For opportunities lost," he said. "The lost
opportunities--how sad a theme, how melancholy a retrospect! Tell me
of them."
"I said nothing about lost opportunities," the dying man replied; "I
said that there was much to regret, and there is; but there were no
opportunities that in this particular I neglected. They simply did not
present themselves often enough."
"Tell me of this sorrow," said the priest. "Perhaps I may be able to
comfort you."
The dying man again smiled his grim smile. "My greatest regret," he
said, "and one, unhappily, that could never be remedied, even if I
lived to be a thousand, is--"
"Yes, yes," said the priest, leaning nearer.
"Is," said the dying man, "that I have known so few children."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Sentry_ (_for the second time, after officer has
answered "Friend," and come up close_). "HALT! WHO GOES THERE?"
_Officer._ "WELL, WHAT HAPPENS NOW?"
_Sentry._ "I COULDN'T TELL YOU, SIR, I'M SURE. I'M A STRANGER HERE
MYSELF."]
* * * * *
"ABSENTEE ARRESTED.
Sergeant Storr stated that he saw Shann on a lighter in the
Old Harbour. He failed to produce his registration card and
could offer no reason why he had not reported for service.
Subsequently he said he was 422 years of age."--_Hull Daily
News_.
Passed for centenarian duty.
* * * * *
"Wanted, strong Boy, about 14, for milk cart; to live
in."--_Provincial Paper_.
He will at least have the advantage of living close to his work.
* * * * *
"THE BHAKTHI MARGA PRASANGA SABHA.--At Nagappa Chetty Pillayar
Vasantha Mantapam, 322 Thumbu Chetty Street, Georgetown,
to-morrow 4 P.M. Bramhasri Mangudi Chidambara Bhagavathar will
give a harikatha on 'Pittukkumansuman tha Thiruvilayadal.'"
--_Madras Paper_.
We like the words and should be glad to hear the tune.
* * * * *