As for George, he went on smoking.
"When you are young," pursued the Ancient, "you eats well, an' enjys it, you sleeps well an' enjys it; your legs is strong, your arms is strong, an' you bean't afeard o' nothin' nor nobody. Oh! life's a very fine thing when you're young; but youth's tur'ble quick agoin'—the years roll slow at first, but gets quicker 'n quicker, till, one day, you wakes to find you 'm an old man; an' when you'm old, the way gets very 'ard, an' toilsome, an' lonely."
"But there is always memory," said I.
"You 'm right theer, Peter, so theer be—so theer be—why, I be a old, old man, wi' more years than 'airs on my 'ead, an' yet it seems but yesterday as I were a-holdin' on to my mother's skirt, an' wonderin' 'ow the moon got lighted. Life be very short, Peter, an' while we 'ave it 'tis well to get all the 'appiness out of it we can."
"The wisest men of all ages preached the same," said I, "only they all disagreed as to how happiness was to be gained."
"More fules they!" said the Ancient.
"Eh?" I exclaimed, sitting up.
"More fules they!" repeated the old man with a solemn nod.
"Why, then, do you know how true happiness may be found?'
"To be sure I du, Peter."