"'Not to be born surpasses every lot; And the next best lot by far, when one is born Is to go back whence he came as soon as possible; For while youth is present bringing vain follies, What woes does it not have, what ills does it not bear-- Murders, factions, strife, war, envy, But the extreme of misery is attained by loathsome old age-- Old age, strengthless, unsociable, friendless, Where all evils upon evils dwell together.'" "I'll give you the words of a later poet," said Melick, "who takes a different view of the case. I think I'll sing them, with your permission." Melick swallowed a glass of wine and then sang the following: "'They may rail at this life: from the hour I began it I found it a life full of kindness and bliss, And until they can show me some happier planet, More social and bright, I'll content me with this. As long as the world has such lips and such eyes As before me this moment enraptured I see, They may say what they will of their orbs in the skies, But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.' "What a pity it is," continued Melick, "that the writer of this manuscript had not the philological, theological, sociological, geological, palaeological, ontological, ornithological, and all the other logical attainments of yourself and the doctor! He could then have given us a complete view of the nature of the Kosekin, morally and physically; he could have treated of the geology of the soil, the ethnology of the people, and could have unfolded before us a full and comprehensive view of their philosophy and religion, and could have crammed his manuscript with statistics. I wonder why he didn't do it even as it was. It must have been a strong temptation." "More," said Oxenden, with deep impressiveness, "was a simple-minded though somewhat emotional sailor, and merely wrote in the hope that his story might one day meet the eyes of his father. I certainly should like to find some more accurate statements about the science, philosophy, and religion of the Kosekin; yet, after all, such things could not be expected." "Why not?" said Melick; "it was easy enough for him." "How?" asked Oxenden. "Why, he had only to step into the British Museum, and in a couple of hours he could have crammed up on all those points in science, philosophy, ethnology, and theology, about which you are so anxious to know." "Well," said Featherstone, "suppose we continue our reading? I believe it is my turn now. I sha'n't be able to hold out so long as you did, Oxenden, but I'll do what I can." Saying this, Featherstone took the manuscript and went on to read. CHAPTER XXVIII IN PRISON