Time, which spares not kings or princes, any more than other people, at
length laid his heavy hand on the Seven Great Champions of Christendom,
and eke on their once doughty Squires. Hard knocks in battles and
tournaments, voyages by sea, and travels by land, hard fare as well as
gay revellings, fights with giants, monsters, wild beasts, and evil
spirits, had done their work, unnerved their once iron arms, and turned
their raven or auburn locks to grey; while from their chins, instead of
full bushy beards, hung down long silvery streamers of white; and those
lion voices, which once had been heard high above the din of battle, and
had braved kings on their thrones and giants in their dens, were now
changed to weak and trembling trebles, which could scarce be heard even
above the summer breeze.
First, of Saint Patrick I will tell. Laying aside his lance, and trusty
sword, and armour, which he committed to the care of his ancient
follower and faithful squire, Terence O'Grady, (now the father of a fine
family, and settled on his own estate in Ireland, which has been handed
down to his descendants from generation to generation,) he assumed the
humble palmer's guise, and resolved to wander up and down the world,
not, as before, to perform feats of arms, but to collect all sorts of
information which might be useful to his beloved native land, where he
proposed ultimately to lay his bones.
No longer was he accompanied by his faithful Terence, but solitary and
alone did the aged Palmer go forth. Great as he was, many sins had he
to mourn, and much had he to be sorry for.
Among the things he most regretted were the opportunities he had lost of
doing good, and of gaining that knowledge which would have made him
useful in his generation. However, he thought that he would make amends
for his early neglect; but even the great Saint had to learn that lost
opportunities in the days of our youth and strength can seldom or never
be recovered when years advance with rapid strides and lay a heavy hand
upon us. Thus, resting on his staff, with a scallop shell in front of
his broad-brimmed hat, in russet coat and wallet at his back, the old
hero set out once more on his adventurous journey.
Many strange adventures even then befell him. Often was he assailed by
fierce temptations, but bravely he resisted them, as he had done his
enemies of old. The laws and institutions of foreign countries were the
chief objects of his inquiries. Nothing came amiss to him; he asked
about everything he saw, and never seemed weary of gaining information.
Even into cook-shops and kitchens he found his way; and some assert that
the Irish from him learned how to cook potatoes properly, though I do
not see exactly how that can be the case, seeing, as may be remembered,
that potatoes came from America, and that America did not happen to be
known in those days. Perhaps he, however, may have been over there
unknown to the rest of the world. Others say that, at all events, he
introduced the Irish-stew; but to that there seems also some little
objection of the same character, as "praties" enter largely into its
composition.
Then, again, that objection is overruled by those who assert that some
other root or some cereal might have been used in their stead. No true
Irishman, however, doubts the following fact, which is about to be
described.
Travelling onwards, he at length reached a part of Africa, often much
infested by serpents. He was there told of a rare and wonderful means
which the inhabitants employed to get rid of the serpents. Having
caught them, they tied fish-hooks to their tails. No sooner did the
serpents find this incumberance attached to them, than in their rage
they never failed to turn round and bite at their other extremities. In
this way they invariably caught their mouths in the hooks, and thus
being turned into hoops or rings, from which uncomfortable position
being utterly unable to escape, they were easily caught up on long
sticks and thrown over the left shoulder into the nearest lake or river,
from which they were certain never again to come back.
This was only one, it must be remembered, of the many important pieces
of information that blessed Saint and great man Saint Patrick picked up
in his latter travels. Some say that he taught the Irish to read and
write. Certain, at all events, it is that he introduced that fine and
glorious weapon, the shillelagh, among them; and, moreover, taught them
the use of it, for which his memory is ever to be held in due reverence,
not to speak of many other reasons why he should be loved and admired by
all the sons of Erin.
At length, Saint Patrick, feeling that his latter days were approaching,
got back safe to Old Ireland, there firmly purposed to leave his bones.
The country, at that time there can be no manner of doubt about it, was
overrun with serpents, big and little, in great numbers, whose bite was
so venomous, that, if a man got stung by one of them, he in a minute or
less swelled up into a mountain. So the people came to Saint Patrick,--
for to whom else should they go, seeing that, of course, he was one of
the wisest men in the kingdom?--and they told him that it was their firm
belief that the whole land, from north to south, would be depopulated
before long if the snakes were not driven out of it. So, just then
thinking of something else, he told them to take their shillelaghs and
to knock the snakes on the head, and to drive them into the sea, he
himself setting the example; and right lustily he laid about him, as he
was wont to do in his early days, among Pagan hosts, or wild beasts, or
giants, or ogres.
Suddenly, as he was attacking a monstrous serpent wriggling about before
him, he recollected the way in which he had seen the snakes got rid of
in Africa. So, ordering all the fish-hooks to be procured throughout
Ireland to be brought to him, he had them tied on to the tails of all
the serpents to be found. Instantly the serpents were turned into
hoops, and calling his faithful followers, he showed them how to ring
them all on their shillelaghs. This done, staggering away with them at
their backs, all the serpents, and snakes, and vipers, were carried off
to the sea, into which they were thrown and drowned, and from that day
to this not one has ever ventured to come back to the shores of Old
Ireland, and none ever will, that we may be assured.
After this great and important achievement, the pious Saint wished to
retire altogether from public life. So he had a hermitage cut for
himself out of a big grey moss-overgrown rock, on an island in a lake
surrounded by trees, where very few people ever thought of coming to see
him; but some good pious families, who lived near, used to take him
fish, and other provisions, to supply his daily wants, which were,
indeed, but few.
There he lived on for some years, his existence being neither very
useful nor very interesting, and the puzzle was how he managed to pass
his time. His hair grew longer than ever, and so did his nails; and at
length it was discovered that he was with them, day after day, engaged
in digging his own grave. Like the mole, working away, he turned up the
earth till he had made it deep enough and long enough to suit his taste.
When it was completed he laid himself down in it, weary of the world,
and never rose from it again.
When the peasants came the next morning, they found the old Saint dead;
so, mournfully they threw back the earth he had turned up; and many
years afterwards, the exact spot being ascertained, a magnificent church
was raised over it to his memory.