There, too, my ethics won the day. I saw the traffic was a wrong one For people of a certain age. One may drop off before one dreams of it. And then there were the thousand pitfalls Laid by the philanthropic camp; Besides, of course, the hostile cruisers, And all the wind-and-weather risks. All this together won the day. I thought: Now, Peter,[74] reef your sails: See to it you amend your faults! So in the South I bought some land, And kept the last meat-importation, Which chanced to be a superfine one. They throve so, grew so fat and sleek, That ’twas a joy to me, and them too. Yes, without boasting, I may say I acted as a father to them,— And found my profit in so doing. I built them schools, too, so that virtue Might uniformly be maintained at A certain general _niveau_,[74] And kept strict watch that never its Thermometer should sink below it. Now, furthermore, from all this business I’ve beat a definite retreat;— I’ve sold the whole plantation, and It’s tale of live-stock, hide and hair. At parting, too, I served around, To big and little, gratis grog,[74] So men and women all got drunk, And widows got their snuff as well. So that is why I trust,—provided The saying is not idle breath: Whoso does not do ill, does good,— My former errors are forgotten, And I, much more than most, can hold My misdeeds balanced by my virtues. VON EBERKOPF. [_Clinking glasses with him._] How strengthening it is to hear A principle thus acted out, Freed from the night of theory, Unshaken by the outward ferment! PEER. [_Who has been drinking freely during the preceding passages._] We Northland men know how to carry Our battle through! The key to the art Of life’s affairs is simply this: To keep one’s ear close shut against The ingress of one dangerous viper. MR. COTTON. What sort of viper, pray, dear friend? PEER. A little one that slyly wiles you To tempt the irretrievable. [_Drinking again._ The essence of the art of daring, The art of bravery in act, Is this: To stand with choice-free foot Amid the treacherous snares of life,— To know for sure that other days Remain beyond the day of battle,— To know that ever in the rear A bridge for your retreat stands open. This theory has borne me on, Has given my whole career its colour; And this same theory I inherit, A race-gift, from my childhood’s home. MONSIEUR BALLON. You are Norwegian? PEER.