“‘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”
DUTY, and Other Irish Comedies