At length, Saint Patrick, feeling that his latter days were approaching, got back safe to Old Ireland, there firmly purposed to leave his bones. The country, at that time there can be no manner of doubt about it, was overrun with serpents, big and little, in great numbers, whose bite was so venomous, that, if a man got stung by one of them, he in a minute or less swelled up into a mountain. So the people came to Saint Patrick,-- for to whom else should they go, seeing that, of course, he was one of the wisest men in the kingdom?--and they told him that it was their firm belief that the whole land, from north to south, would be depopulated before long if the snakes were not driven out of it. So, just then thinking of something else, he told them to take their shillelaghs and to knock the snakes on the head, and to drive them into the sea, he himself setting the example; and right lustily he laid about him, as he was wont to do in his early days, among Pagan hosts, or wild beasts, or giants, or ogres. Suddenly, as he was attacking a monstrous serpent wriggling about before him, he recollected the way in which he had seen the snakes got rid of in Africa. So, ordering all the fish-hooks to be procured throughout Ireland to be brought to him, he had them tied on to the tails of all the serpents to be found. Instantly the serpents were turned into hoops, and calling his faithful followers, he showed them how to ring them all on their shillelaghs. This done, staggering away with them at their backs, all the serpents, and snakes, and vipers, were carried off to the sea, into which they were thrown and drowned, and from that day to this not one has ever ventured to come back to the shores of Old Ireland, and none ever will, that we may be assured. After this great and important achievement, the pious Saint wished to retire altogether from public life. So he had a hermitage cut for himself out of a big grey moss-overgrown rock, on an island in a lake surrounded by trees, where very few people ever thought of coming to see him; but some good pious families, who lived near, used to take him fish, and other provisions, to supply his daily wants, which were, indeed, but few. There he lived on for some years, his existence being neither very useful nor very interesting, and the puzzle was how he managed to pass his time. His hair grew longer than ever, and so did his nails; and at length it was discovered that he was with them, day after day, engaged in digging his own grave. Like the mole, working away, he turned up the earth till he had made it deep enough and long enough to suit his taste. When it was completed he laid himself down in it, weary of the world, and never rose from it again. When the peasants came the next morning, they found the old Saint dead; so, mournfully they threw back the earth he had turned up; and many years afterwards, the exact spot being ascertained, a magnificent church was raised over it to his memory.