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not as it seems to eyes habit has made dull； but as we were adam and this the first morning； and when the new image bees as little strange as the old we shall stay with him； because he has； beside the strangeness； not strange to him； that made us share his vision； sincerity that makes us share his feeling。
to speak of ones emotions without fear or moral ambition； to e out from under the shadow of other mens minds； to forget their needs； to be utterly oneself； that is all the muses care for。 villon； pander； thief； and man？slayer； is as immortal in their eyes； and illustrates in the cry of his ruin as great a truth as dante in abstract ecstasy； and touches our passion more。 all art is the disengaging of a soul from place and history； its suspension in a beautiful or terrible light； to await the judgement； and yet； because all its days were a last day； judged already。 it may show the crimes of italy as dante did； or greek mythology like keats； or kerry and galway villages； and so vividly that ever after i shall look at all with like eyes； and yet i know that cino da pistoia thought dante unjust； that keats knew no greek； that those country men and women are neither so lovable nor so lawless as mine author sung it me； that i have added to my being； not my knowledge。
。。
Synge And The Ireland Of His TimeXV
（／／小｜//说//网）
i wrote the most of these thoughts in my diary on the coast of normandy； and as i finished came upon mont saint michel； and thereupon doubted for a day the foundation of my school。 here i saw the places of assembly； those cloisters on the rocks summit； the church； the great halls where monks； or knights； or men at arms sat at meals； beautiful from ornament or proportion。 i remembered ordinances of the popes forbidding drinking？ cups with stems of gold to these monks who had but a bare dormitory to sleep in。 even when imagining； the individual had taken more from his fellows and his fathers than he gave； one man finishing what another had begun； and all that majestic fantasy； seeming more of egypt than of christendom； spoke nothing to the solitary soul； but seemed to announce whether past or yet to e an heroic temper of social men； a bondage of adventure and of wisdom。 then i thought more patiently and i saw that what had made these but as one and given them for a thousand years the miracles of their shrine and temporal rule by land and sea； was not a condescension to knave or dolt； an impoverishment of the mon thought to make it serviceable and easy； but a dead language and a munion in whatever； even to the greatest saint； is of incredible difficulty。 only by the substantiation of the soul i thought； whether in literature or in sanctity； can we e upon those agreements； those separations from all else that fasten men together lastingly； for while a popular and picturesque burns and scott can but create a province； and our irish cries and grammars serve some passing need； homer； shakespeare； dante； goethe and all who travel in their road with however poor a stride； define races and create everlasting loyalties。 synge； like all of the great kin； sought for the race； not through the eyes or in history； or even in the future； but where those monks found god； in the depths of the mind； and in all art like his； although it does not mand？？indeed because it does not？？may lie the roots of far？branching events。 only that which does not teach； which does not cry out； which does not persuade； which does not condescend； which does not explain is irresistible。 it is made by men who expressed themselves to the full； and it works through the best minds； whereas the external and picturesque and declamatory writers； that they may create kilts and bagpipes and newspapers and guide？books； leave the best minds empty； and in ireland and scotland england runs into the hole。 it has no array of arguments and maxims； because the great and the simple （and the muses have never known which of the two most pleases them） need their deliberate thought for the days work； and yet will do it worse if they have not grown into or found about them； most perhaps in the minds of women； the nobleness of emotion； associated with the scenery and events of their country； by those great poets； who have dreamed it in solitude； and who to this day in europe are creating indestructible spiritual races； like those religion has created in the east。
w。 b。 yeats。
september 14th。 1910。
？？
WITH SYNGE IN CONNEMARA
（／小｜说｜网）
i had often spent a day walking with john synge； but a year or two ago i travelled for a month alone through the west of ireland with him。 he was the best panion for a roadway any one could have； always ready and always the same； a bold walker； up hill and down dale； in the hot sun and the pelting rain。 i remember a deluge on the erris peninsula； where we lay among the sand hills and at his suggestion heaped sand upon ourselves to try and keep dry。
when we started on our journey； as the train steamed out of dublin； synge said： now the elder of us two should be in mand on this trip。 so we pared notes and i found that he was two months older than myself。 so he was boss and whenever it was a question whether we should take the road to the west or the road to the south； it was synge who finally decided。
synge was fond of little children and animals。 i remember how glad he was to stop and lean on a wall in gorumna and watch a woman in afield shearing a sheep。 it was an old sheep and must have often been sheared before by the same hand； for the woman hardly held it； she just knelt beside it and snipped away。 i remember the sheep raised its lean old head to look at the stranger； and the woman just put her hand on its cheek and gently pressed its head down on the grass again。
synge was delighted with the narrow paths made of sods of grass alongside the newly？metalled roads； because he thought they had been put there to make soft going for the bare feet of little children。 children knew； i think； that he wished them well。 in bellmullet on saint johns eve； when we stood in the market square watching the fire？play； flaming sods of turf soaked in paraffine； hurled to the sky and caught and skied again； a