THE LAND OF YOUTH
The last of the heroes left in Ireland was Ossian, the greatest of the warriors who were also bards. He was a son of Finn, but lived on into Patrick's time and would sit talking to the saint and even listening to him. The saint had sprinkled holy water on the hero, yet for a little while he was not sure that he ought to be talking to such a one except about Christianity, of which Ossian was too old to know anything. But two angels answered his doubts. They told him that he should write down the words of Ossian, especially his tales of the times of old, because they would give gladness to after times.
Ossian was now as gentle as any Christian. He could not ride, or run, or sing clear, but most of his time sat leaning forward on his spear, like some old apple-tree that has lost all but one of its branches and has long borne no fruit save pearls of mistletoe. He belonged to a race whose deeds and stature and way of life seemed more fitting to the earth than Christian men's, more in harmony with mountains, forests, stormy seas, and heavens. He would listen to tales of religion, but it was impossible to make him a Christian; he was altogether too old and gigantic, and his memory was too full. When Patrick or some duller priest tried to stir him by saying that Finn and his brothers and companions were not in Heaven, he replied: 'If they be not there, what should I do there? Why should I go there?' He was never tired of describing the godlike Finn.
