An' sez he, "It's quare to think that a hole ye might bore wid a pin 'Ill be wide enough to let such a power o' darkness in On such a power o' light; an' it's quarer to think," sez he, "That wan o' these days the like is bound to happen to you an' me." Thin Misther Barry, he sez: "Musha, how's wan to know but there's light On t'other side o' the dark, as the day comes afther the night?" An' "Och," says Misther Pierce, "what more's our knowin'--save the mark-- Than guessin' which way the chances run, an' thinks I they run to the dark; Or else agin now some glint of a bame'd ha' come slithered an' slid; Sure light's not aisy to hide, an' what for should it be hid?" Up he stood with a sort o' laugh: "If on light," sez he, "ye're set, Let's make the most o' this same, as it's all that we're like to get." Thim were his words, as I minded well, for often afore an' sin, The 'dintical thought 'ud bother me head that seemed to bother him thin; An' many's the time I'd be wond'rin' whatever it all might mane, The sky, an' the lan', an' the bastes, an' the rest o' thim plain as plain, And all behind an' beyant thim a big black shadow let fall; Ye'll sthrain the sight out of your eyes, but there it stands like a wall. "An' there," sez I to meself, "we're goin' wherever we go, But where we'll be whin we git there it's never a know I know." Thin whiles I thought I was maybe a sthookawn to throuble me mind Wid sthrivin' to comprehind onnathural things o' the kind; An' Quality, now, that have larnin', might know the rights o' the case, But ignorant wans like me had betther lave it in pace. Priest, tubbe sure, an' Parson, accordin' to what they say, The whole matther's plain as a pikestaff an' clear as the day, An' to hear thim talk of a world beyant, ye'd think at the laste They'd been dead an' buried half their lives, an' had thramped it from west to aist; An' who's for above an' who's for below they've as pat as if they could tell The name of every saint in heaven an' every divil in hell. But cock up the lives of thimselves to be settlin' it all to their taste-- I sez, and the wife she sez I'm no more nor a haythin baste-- For mighty few o' thim's rael Quality, musha, they're mostly a pack O' playbians, each wid a tag to his name an' a long black coat to his back; An' it's on'y romancin' they are belike; a man must stick be his trade, An' _they_ git their livin' by lettin' on they know how wan's sowl is made.