would do also. That was Fionn.

Once, as they rested on a chase, a debate arose among the
Fianna-Finn as to what was the finest music in the world.

"Tell us that," said Fionn turning to Oisi'n [pronounced Usheen]

"The cuckoo calling from the tree that is highest in the hedge,"
cried his merry son.

"A good sound," said Fionn. "And you, Oscar," he asked, "what is
to your mind the finest of music?"

"The top of music is the ring of a spear on a shield," cried the
stout lad.

"It is a good sound," said Fionn. And the other champions told
their delight; the belling of a stag across water, the baying of
a tuneful pack heard in the distance, the song of a lark, the
laugh of a gleeful girl, or the whisper of a moved one.

"They are good sounds all," said Fionn.

"Tell us, chief," one ventured, "what you think?"

"The music of what happens," said great Fionn, "that is the
finest music in the world."

He loved "what happened," and would not evade it by the swerve of
a hair; so on this occasion what was occurring he would have