I attack things that are as dear to many as some holy image carried hither and thither by some broken , and but say that I have felt in my body the affes I disturb, and believed that if I could raise them into plation I would make possible a literature, that finding its subject?matter all ready in mens minds would be, not as ours is, an i for scholars, but the possession of a people. I have founded societies with this aim, and was indeed founding one in Paris when I first met with J.M. Synge, and I have known what it is to be ged by that I would have ged, till I became argumentative and unmannerly, hating men even in daily life for their opinions. And though I was never vihat the anatomies of last years leaves are a living forest, or thought a tinual apologetic could do other than make the soul a vapour and the body a stone; or believed that literature be made by anything but by what is still blind and dumb within ourselves, I have had to learn how hard in one who lives where forms of expression and habits of thought have been born, not for the pleasure of begetting but for the public good, is that purification from insiy, vanity, malignity, arrogance, which is the discovery of style. But it became possible to live when I had learnt all I had not learnt in shaping words, in defending Synge against his enemies, and khat riergies, fiurbulent racious thoughts, whether in life or letters, are but love?children.