The Whale and the Grasshopper Part 15

"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 b.u.t.terfly 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 b.u.t.ton," 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 n.o.ble 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 gra.s.s, 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 gra.s.s, 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 cus.h.i.+ons fit for a duke to sit on, and the Arms of the Four Provinces painted on the doors, and--"