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That Sharp wrote less exactly of the present-day people of the Highlands than of the background of their lives was largely because he had few opportunities to learn to know them intimately. There was a basis for such intimacy laid in his childhood, in the fact that his nurse was a Highland woman; there was something built on this basis by his boyhood's vacations in many parts of Argyllshire and voyages elsewhere along the west coast. Youth spent in Arran and Skye would have counted for much more, for the boy, once he is no longer child and before he has reached his youth and is awakening man, is not much more interested in people in real life for what they are than he is in minute description of their characters in books. He likes men for the sportsmanlike and adventurous things they can do, and he likes to read records of things sportsmanlike and adventurous, but men as men, unless they are eccentric to grotesqueness, do not arrest his attention. Even the dreamy boys, the artistic boys, are not likely to learn much of others, so preoccupied are they with themselves.
It was thus, I think, that Sharp's childhood was not what he would in later years have had it, not what in "The Laughter of Peterkin" he alleges the childhood of "Fiona Macleod" to have been. For all the influence of "Barabal," his nurse, it seems from his writing that her stories remain with him more as suggestions to imagination than as definite memories, and that the fisherman referred to in "Sheumas" left with him little more than "Barabal." How fresh and wonderful to him was actual contact with Highland life is almost pathetically revealed in a letter he wrote to Mrs. Sharp from Kilcreggan in the summer of 1894. In this letter he is all but exultant in the recording of the securing of "Celtic" material from a "Celtic Islesman from Iona." Of the actual life of the Islesmen and Glensmen he could have known but little, for long living among them is necessary to their understanding,—they are, as he wrote in this same letter, "passionately reticent." It was not the way of Sharp to fall back, in this deficiency of experience, on old legends and folk-tales collected in his own day, but to trust to his imagination as that was quickened by what knowledge he had of life in the inner isles and in Argyllshire, and by the very atmosphere of known places there that seemed to demand, as Stevenson put it, to have stories invented to fit them.
It is said, too,—Mrs. Sharp gives her authority to the story,—that friendship with the woman to whom he dedicated "Pharais," "E.W.R.," stimulated him to the work. "Because of her beauty, her strong sense of life, and of her joy of life," writes Mrs. Sharp in her memoir of her husband, "because of her keen intuitions and mental alertness, her personality stood for him as a symbol of the heroic women of Greek and Celtic days, a symbol that, as he expressed it, unlocked new doors in his mind and put him in touch with the ancestral memories of his race." And Mrs. Sharp quotes him further as declaring "without her there would have been no 'Fiona Macleod.'" Perhaps; but I doubt if, after the Celtic Renaissance had won a hearing, anything could have prevented Sharp from following what was, after all, a natural bent. I am not going to argue the matter out, but he himself admitted that his development as "Fiona Macleod" began "while I was still a child," and there is proof in almost every volume he published, even before he knew Mrs. Rinder ("E.W.R.," must of course be the author of "The Shadow of Arvor"), that his tendency was toward what became characteristic of "Fiona Macleod."
It was the love that Sharp had for all sorts of "psychic things," the mysterious, the unaccountable, the hidden, that led him to believe that "without her there would have been no 'Fiona Macleod.'" Sharp himself, when his "other self," with sense of humor alert, was more than willing to admit that it is easy to believe what one wishes to believe; and he delighted to tell a story at the expense of Mr. Yeats illustrative of the trite fact. Sharp went one day, in London, to call on Mr. Yeats. When lunch-time came, they set about cooking eggs. Mr. Yeats held them in a frying-pan over the little fire in the grate. As they slipped about, Mr. Yeats, all the while looking back in the room away from the fire as he talked to Sharp, allowed the pan to tip too far and the eggs fell out into the fire. So absorbed was he in the topic of conversation, most appropriately the disappearance of material things, that he did not notice the catastrophe or the quick disappearance of the eggs among the coals. When his perfervidness subsided for a moment, he turned to see if they were done. "There, what did I tell you!" said he; "our talk of these things has conjured up the powers and the eggs are gone." Sharp did not tell him of the accident. And there were no more eggs in the room to have for lunch.
One of the reasons that led William Sharp to write "Silence Farm" (1899) was to have something under his own name that might be very different from the stories of "Fiona Macleod." And "Silence Farm" is very different, a story without the distinguishing qualities of "Pharais" or "The Divine Adventure," and suggesting kinship to the work of his other self only through certain likenesses of domestic irregularity in the family of Archibald Ruthven to other domestic irregularity in the family of Torcall Cameron of "The Mountain Lovers." Though not of so original a kind, perhaps, as the best of the "Fiona Macleod" work, "Silence Farm" has to it a "wholeness of good tissue" that belongs to little work of this most uneven writer. "Silence Farm," I would emphasize again as I emphasized at the opening of this paper, is better written, both as regards style and architectonic quality, and it is a truer reading of life, than any of the Highland stories. Though it is a story of to-day, and about a life much like that made familiar by the writers of the Kailyard school, it is not to them, but to such kindred unsentimentalized work as Mr. Shan Bullock's, that you instinctively compare it. The people, indeed, are the same dour Presbyterians, though the one writes of Scotland and the other of the North of Ireland. And as you compare the material of "Silence Farm" with that of "The Squireen," for instance, you note, too, that the art of both is the art of Mr. Hardy.
There is little modern writing with which to compare the Highland stories of Sharp. It is not that the Highlands have not been much written about, but that they have been written about intimately by but few. No part of the world so out of the world as their outlying islands, the Hebrides, has been so bewritten by travelers from Martin's time to our own; but comparatively few have known either islands or mainland well enough to dare novels of their life, and of those who have so dared no one up to the time of Sharp had written a great realistic story of the Highlands, and but one or two great romances. Now we have Mr. Neil Munro, like Sharp a very uneven writer, whose "Children of Tempest"—to take one of his best stories—now delights and now tortures you; and yesterday we had William Black, famous for sunsets. Black knew the Hebrides well, very well for a Lowlandman turned Londoner, and he labored hard to make his books true and beautiful. Unfortunately it was not in him to do fine work, not even the best sort of the second order of novelists,—such work as Trollope's, for instance, which by dint of faithfulness and humanity almost persuades you now and then that it is of higher than second order. Black was faithful to what he saw and broadly sympathetic, but his writing not only lacks distinction, but, even at its best, as in "The Princess of Thule," home thrust to one's interest. Yet, such as it is, it is all but all that we have which attempts to put before us any broad view of Highland life. The one man of the generation older than the generation of Mr. Sharp who might have drawn Highland life greatly, Robert Buchanan, was diverted all his life, as Sharp was in the twenties and thirties, from doing what he would to what would boil the pot, but he left at least one story, a story of Sutherland, "A Child of Nature," to prove to us what his reading of Highland life might have been. Had Stevenson been born a Highlander, he might have given us both novels of the Highlands of the order of "Weir of Hermiston," and romances really Highland in quality, as "Kidnapped" and "Catriona" are not.
I suppose that, back of all the failure to deal realistically with Highland life, this rare attainment of a romance of Highland life at all faithful to it, is the making of the Highlander into a stage hero by Scott. There are those to-day who fail to find any glamour in "Waverley" or "Rob Roy" or "The Legend of Montrose," but it is still there to me, investing the figures of Fergus MacIvor and the MacGregor and the Children of the Mist as it did in childhood, when I was so fascinated that I prized my Campbell plaided paper soldiers next to my Continentals in blue and buff. In going through an old trunkful of school-books only the other day, I came upon one of these bonneted fellows, still wonderfully preserved, in an old atlas of the heavens, and then I knew all of a flash why it was that the poor boy soldiers that I saw in Highland accoutrement in the yard of Edinburgh Castle during the Boer War so disappointed me by their appearance and bearing. They were not half so brave as the piper who used to make the rounds of my boyhood's town and bring tears to my eyes with his "Campbells are Comin'." I write this that my quarrel with much of what Sharp has written of the Highlands, that portion that seems to me sentimentalized or one-sided, may not be put down to lack of appreciation of the romance, the eeriness, and otherworldliness that there unquestionably are in that life.
It is their aloofness from the everyday story, their unusual use of the supernatural that has given the longer stories written out of the "Fiona mood," as Mr. Sharp once spoke of his possession, their appeal to most readers, but there is here in America a class who put the highest valuation on the shorter stories Mr. Sharp called "spiritual tales." To those who hold this view "The Divine Adventure" is of the nature of revelation. To me it is hardly this, but very interesting, not so much for its putting of the relations of Body, Will, and Spirit to one another in life and at death, as for its beautiful writing, and for its definite betrayal, when its author is writing most intimately, of a man's attitude, though he published the story as the work of "Fiona Macleod." These "spiritual tales" do not belong, all of them, to his "Fiona Macleod" period, for "Vistas" (1894) contains many of them, though they are cast here in dialogue form, and there are others among the work published under his own name. In fact, the writing under the two names never becomes liker in quality and intention than when it is "spiritual." The sketch from Part II of "The Dominion of Dreams" (1899), entitled "The Book of the Opal," for instance, is written on the very key of "Fragments of the Lost Journals of Piero di Cosimo" (1896), far apart their subject material, and "The Hill-Wind" by "W.S." dedicated as it is to "F.M.," might well be a rejected passage from "The Mountain Lovers." There is the color of the Highlands and Islands about many of these mystical stories, about "The Hill-Wind," by "W.S." and "The Wind, the Shadow, and the Soul," the epilogue "F.M." wrote to the "Dominion of Dreams"; but most of these shorter mystical tales have not the tang and savor of farm-home on lonely moors, or fisher's hut on the lonelier machar, that is characteristic of most of the tales long and short, that deal with modern days.
Nor are the meanings of these "spiritual tales" consistently indicated in symbols taken from Scottish life, nor is their supernaturalism native to it. Mrs. Spoer (Ada Goodrich-Freer), in her "Outer Isles" (1902), tells us "The Celtic Gloom" amuses the Hebridean. If so, what effect would such discussion as that of "The Lynn of Dreams" and "Maya" have upon him? But if such essays are not written out of Highland life, they are none the less interesting, and in the case of "Maya," with its consideration of waking dream, beautiful as art, and valuable, too, as a contribution to science.
So far does Sharp go in his belief as to the apprehension of thought through powers other than those of the senses, that in "The Winged Destiny" he can look forward to a time "when the imagination shall lay aside words and pigments and clay, as raiment needless during the festivals of the spirit, and express itself in the thoughts which inhabit words—as light inhabits water or as greenness inhabits grass." Not only does he foresee such a time, but he foreshadows it, heralds it in some of his sketches, "Aileen" for one, by attempting it. Perhaps he has succeeded, perhaps not. To me the attempt is a failure, not, I think, because he is writing for to-morrow, for that age when the spiritual awakening he so often prophesied shall have come, but because he is attempting what cannot be done in any age. If he were seeking only suggestion, well and good. But he seeks more, and fails, I think, to attain more. It seems to me impossible that the suggestions he creates can ever be more than suggestions. They cannot become definite concepts that will mean the same thing to all men. Suggestion, the opening-up of vistas, is a high attribute of the art he follows; but he is not content with suggestion, he would seek more definite expression of what, after all, is not thought but mood. So it is that he is most successful when conveying mood and less successful when conveying esoteric thought. As a critic, of course, on a plane easier for the conveyance of thought, Sharp is definite enough, completely successful in conveying the ideas that he intends to convey.
Often, I fear, when Sharp intends "spiritual history," either in a tale wholly devoted to this purpose, as "The Divine Adventure," or as explanatory to the incidents of some more tangible tale, he is really only playing with words, beautiful words, words sometimes so beautiful that we are apt to forget that words are to be used not alone for beauty's sake. Often, again, I fear, he will introduce beautiful symbols simply for their beauty and not because they have a real purpose, not because they will more intimately convey, even to the initiated, the intent of his writing. That these practices are the result of carelessness, sometimes, as well as of his subservience to beauty, the fascination that words merely as words or visions merely as visions exert upon him, is, I think, true. It is but seldom, I believe, that the underlying thought is incoherent. In almost all of his earlier writing, however, even in the earlier "Fiona" writing, he is very careless. He contradicts himself in his short stories as to facts, he gets his family relationships tangled in a way that cannot be explained by any process of nature, and so, too, I think, he gets his symbols mixed, or deludes himself into the belief that something that was hastily written "came to him" that way and so should be preserved in that exact expression, even though to him at the second reading it meant nothing definite. He jumps to conclusions again and again in what he writes about birds, where I can follow him on a certain footing of knowledge. If he is so careless about facts, if he can, even though it is a slip, confuse Mary Magdalene and the Virgin Mary, if he can mention birds in a description of Highland landscape that is characteristic of a certain time of year when birds of that species would be in the Highlands only by accident at that time of year, it is more than likely, slips though these may be, that there will be similar slips in all he writes, no fewer, it is likely, in his writings of psychic things than elsewhere.
There is possible, of course, no hard-and-fast classification of his writings. Class shades into class almost imperceptibly. It is particularly difficult to draw the line between the several kinds of stories and sketches he writes that involve supernaturalism of one kind and another. There is possible, however, a rough-and-ready distinction between those stories of his which are esoterically mystical and those which, while concerned with the supernatural, are concerned with it in the way familiar in old romance. Of this "usual supernatural" are those in which "second sight" is the motive, second sight which is always to be looked for as the commonest supernatural motive in the writing of all Gaels, either Alban or Irish. Sharp introduced "second sight" into "The Son of Allan" (1881); it is in "Pharais" (1894), the first of his "F.M." work; it is developed at some length in "Iona" (1900), which is a microcosm of all his writing. In "Iona," Sharp puts himself on record as holding stoutly belief in the reality of the power:—
The faculty itself is so apt to the spiritual law that one wonders why it is so set apart in doubt. It would, I think, be far stranger if there were no such faculties. That I believe, it were needless to say, were it not that these words may be read by many to whom this quickened inward vision is a superstition, or a fantastic glorification of insight.
The Achannas, in the uncanny stories in which they are heroes and villains, are all possessed by the power of the second sight, but second sight is not the most remarkable of their supernatural powers. Hypnotic suggestion Gloom uses as an everyday agent in his affairs. It is through hypnotic suggestion that he puts madness upon Alasdair M'Ian, playing to him the Pibroch of the Mad, Alasdair M'Ian, in telling whose story "Fiona Macleod" revealed—I suppose, by chance—something of the struggle of William Sharp to succeed in letters. Much more frequently, however, he uses a supernatural power that is further removed from those in which modern science is interested, such as the machination of fairies that made Allison Achanna the "Anointed Man"—that, in plain speech, had driven him fey; or such as the lure of the serpent goddess that drove to his death the piper hero of "By the Yellow Moon Rock," or the exchanging of human child for fairy child that is the burden of "Faraghaol."
It is much more likely that William Sharp would have made more of this changeling motive had it not come so near to the question of dual personality, which it would be dangerous to him to discuss, as would that question so closely akin, the question of people who are "away,"—that is, with the fairies,—a kindly explanation of insanity, chronic or recurrent. As William Sharp he has touched on the question of dual personality several times in his verses, and very definitely in "A Fellowe and his Wife." In this last-named book he says, in a letter that the Countess Ilse writes to her husband in Ruegen: "This duality is so bewildering. I to be myself, whom you know, and whom I know—and then that other I, whom you do not know at all and whom I only catch glimpses of as in a mirror, or hear whispering for a moment in the twilight." That he could not take up the topic so definitely in his later writings must have, indeed, been a cross to him, for there was hardly any other question, unless perhaps that of "ancestral memory," which interested him more deeply. It might be argued, I suppose, that he did discuss it in "The Divine Adventure," in considering the relations of Spirit, Will, and Body. Mrs. Sharp, I take it, so holds when she says in her "Memoir" that the William Sharp work was that of the Will and the "Fiona Macleod" work beyond the control of the Will. And it is true that these three, the Spirit, Will, and Body, though each is given a distinctive personality, each a memory distinct from the memory of the others, are all but the component parts of one man. Mrs. Sharp does not, however, anywhere avow directly a belief in the possession of a real dual personality by her husband, and she definitely contradicts Mr. Yeats for his expression of belief that "William Sharp could not remember what as 'Fiona Macleod' he had said to you in conversation."
Very different from these short stories I have been discussing are three of the four contained in the volume entitled "Madge o' the Pool" (1896), published as by William Sharp. Of the one that is somewhat in the manner of certain of the "F.M." stories, the "Gypsy Christ," I have spoken. Two, "The Coward" and "The Lady in Hosea," are but "the usual thing." "Madge o' the Pool" is the one really worth while. In this story, with such river pirates as we have met, sentimentalized, in "Our Mutual Friend," as material, Sharp writes as realistically as he does in "Silence Farm," and with a sympathy and pathos that his objective method cannot exclude.
There are episodes or sketches, some of them what sharp calls "prose imaginings," throughout his many books, that one may hardly call short stories, or myths, or studies in folk-lore, or criticism, or any of the other many kinds of writing that he essayed. Perhaps "memories" would be the proper general term for writing of this kind. In almost every one of these episodes or sketches there is a germ of a story, and some, I suppose, regard them as but unrealized art. But I for one am glad Mr. Sharp did not "work them up." In them are some of his best writing and some of that most personal and intimate. I have spoken of "Aileen" and "Barabal"; "Sheumas, a Memory," is another that is memorable, and memorable too, are "The Sea Madness" and "The Triad." "The Triad" is almost his credo, certainly a statement of the things he holds "most excellent"—"primitive genius, primitive love, primitive memory." Here Sharp recurs, as so often in his writing, to "ancestral memory," that possession of men by which they are aware of what was in the world before they were, through oneness with the universal memory into which they are absorbed in dream or vision or of which they become aware by what we call intuition. If such a power be restricted so that its possessor recalls only certain parts of antiquity, he is virtually in the state of him who believes he remembers what he remembers because of previous incarnations. I have no personal opinion to express on the subject, but if such memories exist in us because of our participation in a universal memory or because of reincarnation, it is easy to explain why Sharp is best in his writing of myths, his pictures of the wild beauties of love and war and dream in barbaric Erin and Alba. It is because he is the reincarnation of the shanachie of the Dark Ages. When he thought of reincarnation, however, in relation to himself, he thought, I have no doubt, of himself as the reincarnation of a druid, one who had been aware of mysteries; but what he really was, in life, with his magnificent enthusiasm and bravado,—picturesque raiment after all and no more for the high-hearted and inherently ailing body of him,—was this reincarnation of the shanachie, such an one as his own Oran the Monk turned tale-teller. If you doubt that he was shanachie, not druid, compare the two legends in "Beyond the Blue Septentrions." The ordered beauty of the legend that tells of the derivation of the name of Arthur from Arcturus falls familiarly on our ears. It is evidently made under a lamp by one who has read many old legends. It is no druidic revelation. The other, that which ends with the three great hero-leaps of Fionn from the Arctic Floes to the Pole, from the Pole up to Arcturus, from Arcturus to the Hill of Heaven itself, is fantastic, bizarre, extravagant to grotesqueness, with the very flamboyance of old Irish legend and modern Irish folk-tale. In other words, it is in the very manner of the shanachie of the Dark Ages, whether his work was recorded then as court poem or has been handed down by word of mouth among the folk. Nor is there anything inconsistent in this wild imagining with a very different power displayed in "moralities" like his "Last Supper." I have heard stories as incongruous, one uproarious, another of cloistral quiet and piety, from the old Irish gardener with whom I spent a large part of my happier days, the days from seven to seventeen. Lawrence lost his life doing a "retreat" morning after morning on the cold stone floor of a Vincentian church, not in any sudden repentance at fourscore and three for the sins of his youth for they had been fewer than those of almost all I know, but in the usual way of his austere life. Yet Lawrence was just as much himself when he was telling me stories of Dean Swift that were full of malice and brutality and orgiac ecstasy.
The range of the shanachie is wide, and wide, too, the range of Sharp in the role of shanachie of barbaric life on both sides of the Moyle. Among such writings there are few tellings of the order of the folk-tale, more of the order of the hero saga, many—perhaps the best of them—of an order all his own that has developed, it is likely, from the old "Saints' Lives," but to which he has given a ring of authenticity that makes them seem descended from an antiquity as remote as that of folk-tale or hero-tale. "The Flight of the Culdees" brings before you with vividness what must have been the life of the Celtic missionaries in the days when the men out of Lochlin began to seek the Summer Isles; and "The Annir Choile" and "The Woman with the Net," what was the fate they meted out to those among themselves who slipped back into the pleasant old ways of paganism. These are written out of his own revisualization of the past. More immediately sprung of the old legends are "The Three Marvels of Hy," which tells of the inner life of Columba and his brethren on Iona, and "Muime Chriosd," which utilizes folk-lore as old or older than the legends collected by Mr. Alexander Carmichael in his pursuit of the stories of St. Bride among the peasantry of the Outer Isles. "The Song of the Sword" and "Mircath" have in them the battle-madness of the Viking, whetted to its keenest intensity as he meets the hard resistance of the Hebrideans; and "The Laughter of Scathach" and "The Sad Queen," that more terrible fury of the Amazon who ruled in Skye. Than this last-named story Sharp has done no starker writing, but it is so evidently from a man's point of view that it confirmed many in the belief that "Fiona Macleod" could not be a woman.
"The Washer of the Ford" has its roots in folk-lore, but it is so remoulded in the mind of the writer that it is rather a re-creation of the old belief than a restoration of it. There are those who would rather have had Sharp follow the tales as they are told by Campbell of Islay, Cameron of Brodick, and Carmichael of South Uist, but to me, unless the tale is one familiar to many readers, such a remoulding, if done with power, is surely a prerogative of the artist. But when he takes a well-known legendary character, as well known among the Gaels as Achilles among English school-boys, and changes his hair from black to golden and his stature from short to tall, utterly transforming not only our picture of him, but the significance of his deeds, then I object, as I would object if he had made the fair-haired and great-statured Achilles into such "a little dark man" as the Red Branch legends record Cuchullin to have been. Nor would I quarrel even with his changing of the spirit of the old tales if he had always, as he has almost always, substituted a new beauty for the old beauty of the legend in its bardic or folk form. It is in the few instances in which his dream of the old tale does not lift to so great a power in its way as the old tale possessed in its way that I protest. Of such a nature are some of the changes Sharp made in his retelling of the "Three Sorrows of Story-Telling" in "The Laughter of Peterkin," which, it must be remembered, however, was hurried work, almost hackwork.
Sharp was particularly successful, I think, in his handling, in the three tales—he calls them "legendary moralities"—in which he brings Christ to the straths of Argyll. These three are "The Last Supper," "The Fisher of Men," and "The Wayfarer." The last is the least successful of the three, but significant in its attack on certain forms of Presbyterianism for their attempts to kill out, as un-Christian, the old ways of life among the Highlanders. This charge was made fifty years ago by Campbell of Islay, and it had been repeated only yesterday by Mr. Carmichael. William Black and Mr. Munro confirm it, too, in their novels, and, in fact, it is only what one expects of Puritanism, whether in its dominating of the Scotch Presbyterian minister or of the Irish Catholic priest. The latter is to-day doing as much to kill the joy of life in Connacht as did even the minister of the Free Kirk yesterday on the Lews. It may have been partly to hide his identity that Sharp assumed what some thought an anti-Presbyterian attitude in his "Fiona Macleod" writing; it may have been the sympathy of the artist toward a church that has conserved art that led him to what some thought a pro-Catholic attitude; but scratch this gypsy artist and you find, surprising as it may be, moral prejudice for Protestantism. Does he not admire Torcall Cameron and Archibald Ruthven, stern Calvinists both? "The Fisher of Men," and "The Last Supper" have in them the austere beauty of the old morality plays, a beauty that is akin to the beauty of the Puritan imagination of Bunyan, and a tenderness that we may in vain look for there. They are written in all reverence and simplicity, and it is no wonder we find Mr. Yeats suggesting that "Fiona Macleod" turn them into plays for the Irish Theatre.
I do not care so much for "The Birds of Emar," myths he has rewoven from the "Mabinogion" into Gaelic texture, or the series that purport to be collected among the Isles and are found to be very like certain well-known Greek legends. These, too, seem to me reweavings, and the "Treud-nan-Ron" and "The Woman at the Crossways"; and "The Man on the Moor," though its origin is far from their origins, is also a reweaving. In certain of his writing of this time Sharp passes over virtually into criticism or comparative mythology, as in "Queens of Beauty" and "Orpheus and Oisin," and in many of the papers of "Where the Forest Murmurs." These all have interest; but some smell much of the lamp; and none of them are to be compared to the best of his "Seanchas," to "The Harping of Cravetheen," or "Enya of the Dark Eyes," or "Silk o' the Kine," or "Ula and Urla"; or to his Plays "The House of Usna" and "The Immortal Hour," in which, for all the savagery, there is nobility, the nobility that was in the old legends themselves, that nobility that withstood even the hand of Macpherson, that nobility that has been reproduced most nobly of all in the "Deirdre" of Synge.
I am not so sure that the tone of these old myths is always distinctively Celtic, as it is undoubtedly in "The Annir Choile," and in other "Seanchas" that reveal him at his best. There was viking blood in Sharp, and it comes out, I think, in such tales as "The Song of the Sword." How he came to write these barbaric tales I do not know, though I have sometimes thought that the "Dhoya" (1891) of Mr. Yeats may have suggested them, as the Hanrahan stories may have suggested certain of the more modern tales. But whatever their genesis, the heroes and heroines of the "Seanchas" seem to him like the heroes and heroines of Homer and the Greek tragedians; and his friend whom he thought inspired him to much of the "F.M." work stood, we must remember, as symbolical to him of the women of Greek as well as of Celtic legend.
There are many indications, in his last writing, not only in that unpublished book on "Greek Backgrounds" and in his articles in the magazines on Sicily, all by William Sharp, but in the "Fiona Macleod" work, that he would have come to write of Greek antiquity with an enthusiasm very like that with which he wrote of Gaelic antiquity. "W.S." is speaking with the voice of "F.M." when he says in a letter to Mrs. Sharp, dated Athens, January 29, 1904: "It is a marvelous homecoming feeling I have here. And I know a strange stirring, a kind of spiritual rebirth."
One reason, perhaps, that the best work of Sharp has come out of his consideration of the Celts of antiquity is that the stark stories he has to tell of them restrain his style, a style too flamboyant when there is in what he is writing a large opportunity for description of landscape or exhibition of great emotion in his characters. Another reason is, perhaps, that his tendency to introduce the supernatural is more in harmony with the subject material got out of antiquity than of the subject material got out of to-day. We can accept magic in these old tales, even to the incantations of Bobaran the White that swayed the waves of the sea so that Gaer, the son of Deirdre, was saved from the men of Lochlin. That is as it should be in druidic times. It is impossible, of course, that Bobaran had power over the waves, but in such a story such an episode seems more probable than the possible hypnotic suggestion of Gloom Achanna's pipe-playing that sent Manus MacOdrum to his death among the fighting seals, because to-day we do not often come upon such things. It is even less easy to accept the piping to madness of Alasdair in "Alasdair the Proud." Hypnotic suggestion may drive to death in the sea a man half fey because of sorrow long endured and the superstition that he is descended from seals, but pipe-playing cannot believably in modern tales drive a man insane, whatever it may do in the famous old "Pied Piper of Hamelin" or other folk-tale.
So, too, in the verse of Sharp, whether lyric or dramatic, it is the Celt that inspires him to his best work. Nowhere does his verse win so much of beauty and glamour as when his thought turns to the four cities of Murias and Finias and Falias and Glorias, or when it breaks into a chant on the lips of Etain, in "The Immortal Hour."
Though there is less unevenness of technique, both in the style and in the unfolding of the story, in these "Seanchas" than elsewhere in his writing, the technique breaks down at times here, too, more usually through sins of omission than through sins of commission. Sharp realized the something wanting that so many find in much of his writing, even in much that is most beautiful, realized it so keenly that he felt called upon to explain. He explained not directly, it is true, as if in answer to criticism, but none the less definitely in thus affirming his attitude toward legends in the "Sunset of Old Tales": "We owe a debt, indeed, to the few who are truly fit for the task [the collecting of tales from oral tradition], but there are some minds which care very little to hear about things when they can have the things themselves." This statement explains in part why it is that the life of the people, even that part of their life that fronts the past, has escaped him. He prefers his dream, thinking that it is their dream, or the dream of their ancestors. He has, indeed, the thing itself, the Highlander's dream, and when it is given to him to impart that dream fully we forgive him the proud words I have just quoted. The pity of it is he has not always so succeeded through the way he has chosen, and then it is, of course, that we condemn him for the lack of that humility the great dramatic artist must have whereby he must forget himself and so subordinate himself that tradition or life speaks through him.
It is not to be wondered, then, that there is little direct record of folk-lore of his own collecting in his writing, even when he is writing of folk-topics. There are borrowings in plenty, especially in "Where the Forest Murmurs," and even when the collecting seems his own, as it does in "Earth, Fire, and Water," "Children of Water," and "Cuilidh Mhoire," it is diamond dust, not diamonds, to which he gives so beautiful setting.
Just as appealing to Sharp as the old myths themselves are the localities that tradition or the stories themselves assign as background to them. He loves Iona not only for its gray and barren beauty, but because it was here Columba wrought his wonders. "Iona," which fills the major part of the volume "The Divine Adventure" gives title to, is the finest in quality as well as the longest of his writings that may be called, prosaically, topographical. They, in their varying ways, are much more than merely topographical, whether done in the way of "F.M.," as "Iona" is, and as "From the Hebrid Isles" is, and several papers from "Where the Forest Murmurs"; or in the way of "W.S.," as "Literary Geography" is. In this last-named book, Scott and Stevenson, among others, are put against the background that inspired their work, as in "Iona" certain stories are imagined so as to fit their surroundings and certain legendary history narrated that is fitting to these surroundings with an appropriateness almost too exact to be believable. In "Iona," because he loved the island that inspired its writing beyond any other of the places he loved greatly, is to be found some of his very best work, and examples of all kinds of his writing, as I have said; and even when this "topographical writing," as in some of his magazine articles, is evidently of the sort initially intended to "float cuts," it is very well done, done most often with distinction. At times, of course, it suffers from over-emphasis, as do the descriptive portions of his long stories, but generally he attunes his writing to the genius of the place. This is as true of his letters as of what he wrote for the public, especially true of that series on Algiers from which Mrs. Sharp quotes in her "Memoir." Papers of this sort, papers giving the genius of place, Sharp was happier in, I think, than in those which are more definitely the out-of-door essay. Sharp knew much of birds and small mammals, of trees and plants, with a knowledge that evidently began in childhood, but, as with so much else in his life, this knowledge he never had time to fill out and deepen through patient observation. You must not, then, turn to "Where the Forest Murmurs" to find writing of a kind with that in which Thoreau and Jefferies so finely attained, much less that loving intimacy with the personal side of birds and animals that so humanly tempers the scientific spirit in White of Selborne. Nor is there in them the racy earthiness of Mr. Burroughs. Their greatest asset is their enthusiasm over the beauty of the world they are written to praise; the next greatest their power of catching in words the mood of a landscape; their next greatest their distinction of style, though there are several in which the style is wholly without distinction. Now and then, too, they are valuable for their guesses at the whys and wherefores of things. There are to-day many explanations of what is commonly called "The Lure of the Wild." Is not this as revelatory as any?—
Is this because, in the wilderness, we recover something of what we have lost?... Because we newly find ourselves as though surprised into an intimate relationship of which we have been unaware or have indifferently ignored? What a long way the ancestral memory has to go, seeking, like a pale sleuth-hound, among obscure dusks and forgotten nocturnal silences, for the lost trails of the soul! It is not we only, you and I, who look into the still waters of the wilderness and lonely places, and are often dimly perplext, are often troubled we know not how or why: some forgotten reminiscence in us is aroused, some memory, not our own, but yet our heritage is perturbed, footsteps that have immemorially sunk in ancient dusk move furtively along obscure corridors in our brain, the ancestral hunter or fisher awakes, the primitive hillman or woodlander communicates again with old forgotten intimacies and the secret oracular things of lost wisdoms. This is no fanciful challenge of speculation. In the order of psychology it is as logical as in the order of biology is the tracing of our upright posture or the deft and illimitable use of our hands, from unrealizably remote periods wherein the pioneers of man reach slowly forward to inconceivable arrivals.
The weakness of these essays that are like out-of-door essays, but are not out-of-door essays, is their dearth of freshly observed fact. This dearth would not matter so much if there were not so many of them, but a book full of such essays with little original observation will pall, no matter how well written, no matter how interesting the personality of the writer. Thus it is that some of the essays of Jefferies pall, some of those written in his last days, of Jefferies who had in his earlier writing been so objective. In Thoreau there is a happy combination of freshly observed fact with personal comment, and in Mr. Burroughs a personal element greatly subdued, and presented in most of the essays only through the selective art that has preserved the incidents he relates out of many of a vast store of their kind.
In these "nature studies" of Sharp, as in so much of his writing, there is a great deal of generalization from phenomena superficially observed. He is not so often inaccurate, but he is very often merely repetitive, giving us in beautiful and oftentimes distinguished phrase what others have given us before. Sharp wrote sometimes, I have no doubt, with the thing he describes before him but oftener, it would seem, from notes, and oftenest, I take it, from memory. Sometimes it is best to write thus from memory. The unessential will fade out, the essential remain; but with Sharp the trouble is that the first observation has often been hurried. He was content with the beauty that he saw when he first noticed the incident; he did not wait to observe what in the further actions of the life observed would make that beautiful incident more significant. It may, of course, be said that all he was after was the impression that the passing incident made upon him. Perhaps so, and if so, more is the pity, because, while, as I have said, one out-of-door essay with little or even with nothing but the personality of the writer may interest, or perhaps two such, or even ten, a book full will be monotonous. At its best, however, his writing of "natural romance" is of great beauty. "Still Waters," for one, is almost perfect, as perfect as this sort of thing may be. It is wrought of his own experiences with just enough of mythological data to give it the texture of old and lasting things.
"The Rainy Hyades," on the other hand, is largely a rehash of folk-lore notes, second-hand work with very little added from experience and very little finely imagined or recaptured by way of ancestral memory. At times it would seem that, poor, tired man, he had to feed his flagging invention from a dictionary of quotations. So, it appears, he has done in his "Winter Stars" as well as in "The Rainy Hyades." As I think over the unevenness of these essays, the beauty of "Still Waters," and the obviousness of these others, I am brought back again to wondering what Sharp would have done had all his time been his to do as he would with. Such wonderment is, of course, idle, idle as that as to what Keats would have done had he lived, for a man's art is judged by what it is, with no tempering of the appraisement by what the man's life has been. Fortunately there is inspiring work in plenty in Sharp, in this, as in other phases of his work, to make readers turn to him when interest in him as a phenomenon of current literature has passed away. It is hard to think of the time when writing so beautiful as that of "Still Waters" will not be sought by lovers of beauty in words and by lovers of beauty in landscape, and when the opening of "The Coming of Dusk" will not be turned to, as the opening of Emerson's "Nature" is turned to to-day.
Were I to attempt to enumerate the critical writings of Sharp, from the "Rossetti" of 1882 to "The Winged Destiny" of 1904, I should run up a catalogue that would exceed any even of Walt Whitman's. For years Sharp lived by criticism, as editor of "The Canterbury Poets" and as reviewer for many of the London journals. To me none of this critical work is significant until he came to write of the movement that carried him to fame,—to fame, I say, because "Fiona Macleod" was famous for a decade, and not only as a mystery, but as a revealer of a new beauty in words, and as a widener of horizons.
I have, I think, by this time made clear what to me is the great strength of William Sharp—his power to revisualize the Celtic past of Scotland and to imagine stories of that past that are as native to it as those handed down in Bardic legend or folk-lore. I have emphasized my belief that in other kinds of writing his attainment is less original, though often beautiful in its imitativeness, and this imitativeness I will explain as being due partly to that quality of the play-actor that was in him as in so many of Celtic blood, partly to his lack of time to hew out for himself a way of his own, and partly to his quick responsiveness to any new beauty pointed out by work that he admired. It was not altogether, however, lack of time that prevented his attainment of a larger originality, an originality in other sorts of writing than the "Seanchas." Sharp had an unfortunate disbelief in early life in the value of technique. In the preface to the "Romantic Ballads" (1888), for instance, he expressed the belief that "the supreme merit of a poem is not perfection of art, but the quality of the imagination which is the source of such real or approximate perfection." This, as I interpret it means that a poem, when of perfect art, has back of that perfect art a high imaginative quality; but by his own practice Sharp knows that he thought the quality would suffice without the highest art in its expression. It was this belief that made him leave his work incomplete; he read his verses, no doubt, with the glow in which he wrote them recalled to memory, and without the realization that he had not got down on paper for others half of the creative force that was in him as he wrote.
I have found a reason for a lesser success than the early work of "Fiona Macleod" promised to him in his imitativeness, but in some ways he was handicapped, too, by lack of models to follow. Granted he could have blazed other ways for himself than that of the "Seanchas," he lessened the originality of his attainment by imitation, but if he could not have so blazed other ways he just as surely could have gone further had he had models, or rather good models, to follow, models, for instance, in novels of Highland life. The very fact of there being great realistic stories of Highland life might have made it possible for him to have written a Highland "Silence Farm."
But enough of what might have been: what is is good enough, good enough at its best to treasure among those things that are a lasting part of our lives. However great may be the reaction against his work because of the nine days' wonder about the identity of its creator, certain parts of it, certain tales and certain verses and a play, will hold their own against the years. Through such tales as "The Sad Queen," and such verses as "The Dirge of the Four Cities," and "The House of Usna" even eyes of little vision may see "eternal beauty wandering on her way," leaving about them a glamour as recurrent to the mind as sunset to the skies.
THE END
APPENDIX
APPENDIX
PLAYS PRODUCED, IN DUBLIN, BY THE ABBEY THEATRE COMPANY AND ITS PREDECESSORS, WITH DATES OF FIRST PERFORMANCES
IRISH LITERARY THEATRE AT ANTIENT CONCERT ROOMS
May 8, 1899. "The Countess Cathleen." W.B. Yeats. May 9, 1899. "The Heather Field." Edward Martyn.
IRISH LITERARY THEATRE AT THE GAIETY THEATRE
Feb. 19, 1900. "The Bending of the Bough." George Moore. Feb. 19, 1900. "The Last Feast of the Fianna." Alice Milligan. Feb. 20, 1900. "Maeve." Edward Martyn. Oct. 21, 1901. "Diarmuid and Grania." W.B. Yeats and George Moore. Oct. 21, 1901. "The Twisting of the Rope." Douglas Hyde. (The first Gaelic play produced in any theatre.)
MR. W.G. FAY'S IRISH NATIONAL DRAMATIC COMPANY AT ST. TERESA'S HALL, CLARENDON STREET
Apr. 2, 1902. "Deirdre." "A.E." Apr. 2, 1902. "Kathleen ni Houlihan." W.B. Yeats.
IRISH NATIONAL DRAMATIC COMPANY AT ANTIENT CONCERT ROOMS
Oct. 29, 1902. "The Sleep of the King." Seumas O'Cuisin. Oct. 29, 1902. "The Laying of the Foundations." Fred Ryan. Oct. 30, 1902. "A Pot of Broth." W.B. Yeats. Oct. 31, 1902. "The Racing Lug." Seumas O'Cuisin.
IRISH NATIONAL THEATRE SOCIETY, MOLESWORTH HALL
Mar. 14, 1903. "The Hour-Glass." W.B. Yeats. Mar. 14, 1903. "Twenty-Five." Lady Gregory. Oct. 8, 1903. "The King's Threshold." W.B. Yeats. Oct. 8, 1903. "In the Shadow of the Glen." J.M. Synge. Dec. 3, 1903. "Broken Soil." Padraic Colum. Jan. 14, 1904. "The Shadowy Waters." W.B. Yeats. Jan. 14, 1904. "The Townland of Tamney." Seumas McManus. Feb. 25, 1904. "Riders to the Sea." J.M. Synge.
IRISH NATIONAL THEATRE SOCIETY AT THE ABBEY THEATRE
Dec. 27, 1904. "On Baile's Strand." W.B. Yeats. Dec. 27, 1904. "Spreading the News." Lady Gregory. Feb. 4, 1905. "The Well of the Saints." J.M. Synge. Mar. 25, 1905. "Kincora." Lady Gregory. Apr. 25, 1905. "The Building Fund." William Boyle. June 9, 1905. "The Land." Padraic Colum.
NATIONAL THEATRE SOCIETY, LTD. (ABBEY COMPANY)
Dec. 9, 1905. "The White Cockade." Lady Gregory. Jan. 20, 1906. "The Eloquent Dempsey." William Boyle. Feb. 19, 1906. "Hyacinth Halvey." Lady Gregory. Oct. 20, 1906. "The Gaol Gate." Lady Gregory. Oct. 20, 1906. "The Mineral Workers." William Boyle. Nov. 24, 1906. "Deirdre." W.B. Yeats. Dec. 8, 1906. "The Canavans." Lady Gregory. Dec. 8, 1906. New Version of "The Shadowy W.B. Yeats. Waters." Jan. 26, 1907. "The Playboy of the Western J.M. Synge. World." Feb. 23, 1907. "The Jackdaw." Lady Gregory. Mar. 9, 1907. "The Rising of the Moon." Lady Gregory. Apr. 1, 1907. "The Eyes of the Blind." Miss W.M. Letts. Apr. 3, 1907. "The Poorhouse." Douglas Hyde and Lady Gregory. Apr. 27, 1907. "Fand." Wilfred Scawen Blunt. Oct. 3, 1907. "The Country Dressmaker." George Fitzmaurice. Oct. 31, 1907. "Devorgilla." Lady Gregory. Nov. 21, 1907. "The Unicorn from the Stars." W.B. Yeats and Lady Gregory. Feb. 13, 1908. "The Man who missed the Tide." W.F. Casey. Feb. 13, 1908. "The Piper." "Norreys Connell." Mar. 10, 1908. "The Piedish." George Fitzmaurice. Mar. 19, 1908. "The Golden Helmet." W.B. Yeats. Apr. 20, 1908. "The Workhouse Ward." Lady Gregory. Oct. 1, 1908. "The Suburban Groove." W.F. Casey. Oct. 8, 1908. "The Clancy Name." Lennox Robinson. Oct. 15, 1908. "When the Dawn is come." Thomas MacDonogh. Oct. 21, 1908. New Version of "The Man who W.F. Casey. missed the Tide." Feb. 11, 1909. Revised Version of "Kincora." Lady Gregory. Mar. 11, 1909. "Stephen Grey." D.L. Kelleher. Apr. 1, 1909. "The Crossroads." Lennox Robinson. Apr. 1, 1909. "Time." "Norreys Connell." Apr. 29, 1909. "The Glittering Gate." Lord Dunsany. May 27, 1909. "An Imaginary Conversation." "Norreys Connell." Aug. 25, 1909. "The Showing-up of Blanco Posnet." Bernard Shaw. Sept. 16, 1909. "The White Feather." R.J. Ray. Oct. 14, 1909. "The Challenge." Miss W.M. Letts. Nov. 11, 1909. "The Image." Lady Gregory. Jan. 13, 1910. "Deirdre of the Sorrows." J.M. Synge. Feb. 10, 1910. "The Green Helmet." W.B. Yeats. Mar. 2, 1910. "The Travelling Man." Lady Gregory. May 12, 1910. "Thomas Muskerry." Padraic Colum. May 26, 1910. "Harvest." Lennox Robinson. Sept. 28, 1910. "The Casting-out of Martin R.J. Ray. Whelan." Oct. 27, 1910. "Birthright." T.C. Murray. Nov. 10, 1910. "The Full Moon." Lady Gregory. Nov. 24, 1910. "The Shuiler's Child."[3] Seumas O'Kelly. Dec. 1, 1910. "Coats." Lady Gregory Jan. 12, 1911. "The Deliverer." Lady Gregory. Jan. 26, 1911. "King Argimenes and the Lord Dunsany. Unknown Warrior." Feb. 16, 1911. "The Land of Heart's Desire."[4] W.B. Yeats. Mar. 30, 1911. "Mixed Marriage." St. John G. Ervine. Nov. 23, 1911. "The Interlude of Youth." Anon., first printed 1554. Nov. 23, 1911. "The Second Shepherds' Play." Anon., circa 1400. Nov. 30, 1911. "The Marriage." Douglas Hyde. Dec. 7, 1911. "Red Turf." Rutherford Mayne. Dec. 16, 1911. Revival of "The Countess W.B. Yeats. Cathleen." Jan. 4, 1912. "The Annunciation." circa 1400. Jan. 4, 1912. "The Flight into Egypt." circa 1400. Jan. 11, 1912. "MacDarragh's Wife." Lady Gregory. Feb. 1, 1912. Revival of "The Country George Fitzmaurice. Dressmaker." Feb. 16, 1912. "The Tinker and the Fairy." Douglas Hyde. (Played in Gaelic.) Feb. 29, 1912. "The Worlde and the Chylde." 15th century. Mar. 28, 1912. "Family Failings." William Boyle. Apr. 11, 1912. "Patriots." Lennox Robinson. June 20, 1912. "Maurice Harte." T.C. Murray. July 4, 1912. "The Bogie Men." Lady Gregory. Oct. 17, 1912. "The Magnanimous Lover." St. John G. Ervine. Nov. 21, 1912. "Damer's Gold." Lady Gregory.
TRANSLATIONS OF THE FOLLOWING HAVE BEEN PRODUCED
Apr. 16, 1906. "The Doctor in spite of Himself." (Moliere.) Translated by Lady Gregory. Mar. 16, 1907. "Interior." (Maeterlinck.) Mar. 19, 1908. "Teja." (Sudermann.) Translated by Lady Gregory. Apr. 4, 1909. "The Rogueries of Scapin." (Moliere.) Translated by Lady Gregory. Jan. 21, 1909. "The Miser." (Moliere.) Translated by Lady Gregory. Feb. 24, 1910. "Mirandolina." (Goldini.) Translated by Lady Gregory. Jan. 5, 1911. "Nativity Play." (Douglas Hyde.) Translated by Lady Gregory.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] First produced by an amateur company at the Molesworth Hall in 1909.
[4] First produced at the Avenue Theatre, London, in 1894.
INDEX
Abbey Theatre, organization of company, 13-36.
All Ireland Review, 86.
All on the Irish Shore, 6.
Allgood, Sara, 19, 22, 23, 24, 26, 27, 28, 211.
Allingham, William, 39.
Ancient Legends of Ireland, 51.
Antient Concert Rooms, the, 18, 78, 86, 106, 200.
Apostle, The, 111.
Aran Islands, The, 168, 187, 188, 191.
Aran Islands, the, 147, 162, 166, 170, 171, 177, 178, 179, 181, 187, 188, 190, 191, 192.
Argyll, 4, 267, 268.
Arnold, Matthew, 3, 59, 255.
Arran, 267.
Arthurian stories, 3, 48.
Austen, Jane, 155, 156.
Ave, 73, 76, 94, 99, 108, 109.
Avenue Theatre, London, 25, 50.
Bards and Saints, 8.
Barker, Granville, 230.
Barlow, Jane, 1, 7, 148.
Beerbohm, Max, 81.
Belfast, 47.
Beltaine, 75, 85.
Bending of the Bough, The, 76, 88, 95, 98, 105.
Benson, Sir Frank, 18.
Benson Company, the, 106.
Beowulf, 142.
Berkeley, George, 135.
Bernhardt, Sara, 16.
Bhagavad-Gita, 117.
Birmingham, George A. (The Rev. Dr. James O. Hannay), 8.
Birthright, 216, 217, 218, 219, 222.
Bjoernson, Bjoernstjerne, 36.
Black, William, 271, 284.
Blake, William, 38.
Bodley Head, the, 2. Book of Saints and Wonders, 138, 142.
Borrow, George, 161, 165, 173, 179.
Boucicault, Dion, 168.
Boyle, William, 15, 33, 208-215, 238, 239, 240. Building Fund, The, 209-213; Eloquent Dempsey, The, 208, 209, 213; Family Failings, 208; Mineral Workers, The, 208, 213-214, 238.
Brigit, St., 142, 147, 282.
Brittany, 3, 266. Broken Soil, 32, 202.
Brown, T.E., 4, 5.
Browning, Robert, 50.
Buchanan, Robert, 272.
Buckley, William, 7, 8. Building Fund, The, 208, 209-213, 214.
Bullock, Shan, 7, 214, 234, 236, 270.
Bunyan, John, 285.
Burns, Robert, "Jolly Beggars," 177, 234.
Burroughs, John, 290, 292. Bursting of the Bubble, The, 9. By Thrasna River, 7.
Calendar of the Saints, 247.
Cameron, Dr., of Brodick, 283.
Campbell, John F., of Islay, 283, 284.
Campbell, Joseph (Seosamh MacCathmhaoil), 246-250. Judgment, 247-250; Mearing Stones, 247; The Mountainy Singer, 247.
Campbell, Mrs. Patrick, 23, 28, 45.
Canavans, The, 149, 152.
"Carberry, Ethna" (Anna Johnston MacManus), 10, 216, 255.
Carmichael, Alexander, 263, 282, 283, 284.
Carmina Gadelica, 263.
Carnegie Lyceum, The, New York, 85.
Cathleen ni Houlihan, 10, 17, 19, 31, 50-51, 53, 54, 55, 77.
Catriona, 272.
"Celtic Gloom, The," 274.
Celtic Literature, On the Study of, 3.
Celtic Renaissance, The, 1-12, 13, 18, 33, 36, 41, 93, 105, 114, 158, 251, 256, 259, 260.
Celtic Twilight, The, 37, 41, 42, 54.
Chesson, Nora Hopper, 10.
Child of Nature, A, 272.
Children of Lir, 200.
Children of Tempest, The, 4, 271.
Children of To-morrow, 264.
Church, Richard William, 138.
Clancy Name, The, 223, 224, 228.
Clare, 84, 141.
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 210, 211.
Colum, Padraic, 11, 15, 21, 198-208, 240. Broken Soil, 32, 202; Children of Lir, 200; Eoghan's Wife, 201; The Fiddler's House, 200, 202, 204-205, 206; The Foleys, 201; The Kingdom of the Young, 201; The Land, 200, 202, 204, 206; The Miracle of the Corn, 200, 202; The Saxon Shillin', 201; Studies, 200; Thomas Muskerry, 199, 200, 206; Wild Earth, 200, 208.
Columba, 147, 282, 289.
Congreve, William, 13.
Conn the Shaughraun, 168.
Connacht, 39, 154, 179, 188, 215, 239.
"Connell, Norreys" (Conal O'Riordan), 31, 241-243. An Imaginary Conversation, 242; Piper, 31, 33, 242, 243; Shakespeare's End, 242; Time, 242.
Connemara, 7, 147, 188.
Connla, 20, 21.
Conway, Hart, 218.
Cork, 15, 47, 220, 222.
Cork Dramatic Society, The, 35, 216, 223.
Cork Realists, 216.
Cornwall, 2, 3, 4.
Countess Cathleen, The, 18, 32, 43, 47, 48-49, 50, 51, 59, 64, 69, 78.
Court Theatre, London, The, 241.
Cousins, James H., 20, 32.
Craig, Gordon, 29.
Craigie, Pearl Teresa ("John Oliver Hobbes"), 104, 105.
Crashaw, Richard, 135.
Croker, Crofton, 168.
Croppies Lie Down, 7.
Crossroads, The, 224-228, 230, 231.
Cuchulain of Muirthemne, 58, 138, 143.
Cumann nan Gaedheal, 90, 115.
Dan the Dollar, 7, 214.
Dandy Dick, 233.
Darragh, Miss, 28.
Dartmoor, 6.
Daughters of Erin, The, 18, 200.
Davis, Thomas, 39.
Death of Dermid, The, 109.
Death of Tintagiles, The, 252.
Deirdre (G.W. Russell), 20, 21, 31, 77, 115.
Deirdre (W.B. Yeats), 23, 27, 28, 44, 50, 61-63.
Deirdre of the Sorrows, 160, 163, 166, 168, 181, 183, 192, 196, 197, 285.
Deliverer, The, 149.
DeMax, 16.
De Quincey, Thomas, 265.
Derry, 14.
Destruction of the Hostel, The, 205.
Devorgilla, 152.
Dhoya, 41, 286.
Diarmid and Grania, 32, 106-110, 143.
Dickens, Charles, 6.
Digges, T. Dudley, 21, 22.
Discoveries, 42.
Divine Adventure, The, 263, 270, 273, 275, 279, 289.
Divine Vision, The, 116, 122.
Dolmetsch, Arnold, 64, 98.
Dome, The, 81.
Dominion of Dreams, The, 273, 274.
Donegal, 7, 246, 247, 249, 250.
Donegal Fairy Stories, 7.
Donne, John, 164.
Down, 15, 210, 216, 226, 235, 237, 238, 243.
Drama in Muslin, A, 96, 101, 102, 110, 171.
Drone, The, 210, 235, 236.
Drosdan and Yssul, 254.
Dual personality, 278.
Dublin Castle, 32.
Dublin University Review, 38.
Duffy, Sir Charles Gavan, 2.
Dun Theatre, the, Cork, 224.
Earth Breath, The, 116.
Edgeworth, Maria, 6.
"Eglinton, John." (See Magee, W.K.)
Elizabethan Stage Society, the, 30.
Eloquent Dempsey, The, 208, 209, 213.
Emerson, R.W., 115, 120, 122, 125, 126, 127, 135, 293.
Enchanted Sea, The, 75, 77, 83, 85-87, 89, 90.
Enchanted Valleys, The, 254.
Eoghan's Wife, 201.
Ervine, St. John G., 15, 33, 243-246. The Eviction, 246; The Magnanimous Lover, 243, 245, 246; Mixed Marriage, 243, 246, 247.
Esther Waters, 6, 96, 112.
Evelyn Innes, 95, 96, 97, 98, 122.
Everyman, 30, 51.
Eviction, The, 246.
Fairies, 39, 41.
Family Failings, 208.
Farr, Florence, 25, 26, 27, 28.
Fay, Frank J., 19, 21, 22, 23, 24.
Fay, William G., 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 28, 201.
Fellowe and his Wife, A, 261, 264, 278.
Ferguson, Sir Samuel, 39, 61, 109, 184.
Fermanagh, 7.
Fiddler's House, The, 200, 202, 204-205, 206.
FitzGerald, Edward, 141.
Flamel, 43.
Flora MacDonald, 266.
Foleys, The, 201.
Folk-plays, 17, 29, 35, 49.
Folk-songs, 2, 40.
Folk-tales, 283.
From the Hills of Dream, 259.
Full Moon, The, 152.
Gaelic League, the, 1, 18, 41, 107.
Gaiety Theatre, the, Dublin, 30, 106, 110.
Galway, 73, 101, 108, 141, 189, 208, 210, 216, 238, 240.
Gaol Gate, The, 153, 154.
Ghosts, 80.
Gilbert, Lady (Rosa Mulholland), 6.
Gillian the Dreamer, 4.
Gods and Fighting Men, 109, 138, 141, 145.
Golden Helmet, The, 27, 63.
Goldsmith, Oliver, 13.
Gonne, Maud, 27, 59, 136.
Gore-Booth, Eva, 11.
Grangecolman, 91-92.
Grania (Lady Gregory), 110, 154, 156-157.
Grania (The Hon. Emily Lawless), 7.
Greek Backgrounds, 286.
Green Fire, 263, 266.
Green Helmet, The, 63.
Gregory, Lady, 8, 9, 15, 22, 30, 31, 32, 47, 53, 54, 56, 58, 73, 74, 75, 76, 88, 92, 93, 108, 109, 110, 114, 138-159, 179, 206, 215. Book of Saints and Wonders, 138, 142; The Canavans, 149, 152; Cuchulain of Muirthemne, 58, 138, 143; The Deliverer, 149; Devorgilla, 152; The Full Moon, 152; The Gaol Gate, 153, 154; Gods and Fighting Men, 109, 138, 141, 145; Grania, 110, 154, 156-157; Hyacinth Halvey, 150, 151; The Image, 150, 151; The Jack Daw, 151; Kincora, 152; MacDaragh's Wife, 154, 155; Poets and Dreamers, 147; The Poorhouse, 9; The Rising of the Moon, 22, 31, 32, 152; Spreading the News, 150, 151; A Travelling Man, 153; Twenty-five, 32, 152; The Unicorn from the Stars, 27, 53-56; The White Cockade, 152; The Workhouse Ward, 152, 154.
Gregory, Robert, 30.
Grundy, Sydney, 104.
Gwynn, Stephen, 122.
Gyles, Althea, 247.
Gypsy Christ, The, 265, 279.
Hail and Farewell, 73, 92, 98, 113.
Hankin, St. John, 245.
Hardy, Thomas, 6, 7, 101, 164, 175, 176, 192, 193, 239, 258, 271.
Harrigan plays, the, 22.
Harte, Bret, 241.
Harvest, 221, 224, 228, 229, 230, 231.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 82, 175.
Heather Field, The, 18, 78-83, 85, 89, 91, 92, 93, 95.
Hebrides, the, 271, 274, 283.
Hedda Gabler, 104, 175.
Hermetic Society, the, 39, 117, 120.
Hewlett, Maurice, 165.
Highlands of Scotland, the, 3, 4, 260, 263, 264, 267, 268, 270, 271, 272, 274, 276, 284, 295.
Hinkson, Katherine Tynan, 1, 6, 10.
Homer, 64, 120, 144, 286.
Homestead, The, 117.
Homeward, 116.
Horniman, Miss, 21, 31, 33, 35.
House of Usna, The, 251, 252, 253, 254, 259, 285.
Hyacinth Halvey, 150, 151.
Hyde, Douglas, 1, 2, 8, 18, 40, 41, 46, 107, 147, 153, 158, 166, 171, 179.
Hypnotic suggestion, 278.
Ibsen, Henrik, 13, 34, 36, 38, 80, 93, 163, 168, 178, 213.
Ideas of Good and Evil, 42.
Image, The, 150, 151.
Imaginary Conversation, An, 242.
Immortal Hour, The, 251, 252, 285, 287.
Impressions and Opinions, 103.
In a Balcony, 50.
In Chimney Corners, 7.
Independent Theatre, The, London, 103, 104, 105.
Iona, 277, 289.
Iona, 282.
"I.O.," 116.
Irish Idylls, 7, 148.
Irish Agricultural Organization Society, the, 13, 117, 118, 137, 225.
Irish Literary Theatre, The, 5, 18, 19, 42, 52, 73, 74, 76, 85, 105, 109, 110, 115, 251.
Irish Pastorals, 7.
Irving Terry Company, the, 105.
Island of Statues, The, 47.
Jack Daw, The, 151.
Janvier, Mrs. Thomas A., 256.
Jefferies, Richard, 290, 291.
John Bull's Other Island, 241.
John Sherman and Dhoya, 41.
John Splendid, 4.
Johnson, Lionel, 5, 10, 64.
Johnston, Charles, 125, 134, 146.
Journeys End in Lovers Meeting, 105.
Joyce, Dr. P.W., 3, 110, 139.
Judgment, 246, 249, 250.
Kailyard School, the, 270.
Keats, John, 48, 293.
Kelley, P.J., 21, 22.
Kelpius, 122.
Kembles, the, 18.
Kerrigan, J.M., 23, 27, 217.
Kerry, 166, 188, 190, 216.
Kidnapped, 272.
Kiltartan English, 141, 142.
Kincora, 152.
King of Ys, The, 254.
Kingdom of the Young, The, 201.
King's Threshold, The, 60, 69.
Kingston, Thomas, 81.
Kipling, Rudyard, 47.
Lady from the Sea, The, 85.
Lake, The, 96, 99, 101, 102, 111, 112, 113.
Land, The, 200, 202, 204, 206.
Land League, the, 102.
Land of Heart's Desire, The, 25, 43, 49-50, 51, 59.
Larminie, William, 8.
Last of the De Mullins, The, 245.
Last Supper, The, 251.
Laughter of Peterkin, The, 267, 284.
Lawless, The Hon. Emily, 6.
Laying of the Foundations, The, 32.
Lays of the Western Gael, The, 110.
Leabhar Sgeuluigheachta, 41.
Lear, 45.
Legend of Montrose, The, 272.
Leinster, 215.
Le Moyne, Mrs., 50.
Lesson of Life, The, 224.
Lever, Charles James, 102.
Literary Geography, 289.
Lost Pibroch, The, 4.
Lost Saint, The, 9.
Love in the Valley, 49.
Love Songs of Connacht, The, 1, 9, 166, 179.
Lover, Samuel, 101.
Lowlands of Scotland, the, 258, 260, 264.
Luke Delmege, 7.
Lynchehaun case, the, 171.
Lyra Celtica, 4.
Mabinogion, 285.
MacDaragh's Wife, 154, 155.
McGee, Eithne, 23, 26, 211.
"Macleod, Fiona." (See Sharp, William.)
MacManus, Anna Johnstone. (See "Ethna Carberry.")
MacManus, Seumas, 7.
Macpherson, James, 3, 285.
Madge o' the Pool, 279.
Maeterlinck, Maurice, 13, 38, 45, 48, 113, 135, 178, 192, 202, 252, 253, 260.
Magee, W.K. ("John Eglinton"), 8, 10.
Magic, 67.
Magnanimous Lover, The, 243, 245, 246.
Man, Isle of, 3, 4, 5.
Martin, Martin, 271.
Martyn, Edward, 13, 18, 46, 72, 73, 74-95, 97, 98, 102, 105, 112, 115, 178, 207. The Enchanted Sea, 75, 77, 83, 85-87, 89, 90; Grangecolman, 91-92; The Heather Field, 18, 78-83, 85, 89, 91, 92, 93, 95; Maeve, 75, 76, 77, 83-85, 90; Morgante the Lesser, 97; The Place Hunters, 75, 78, 90, 93; A Tale of a Town, 75, 76, 78, 81, 87-90, 105, 112, 213.
Masefield, John, 238, 239.
Maurice Harte, 216, 219-221, 222.
Mayne, Rutherford, 15, 210, 233-240, 244. The Drone, 210, 235, 236; Red Turf, 238, 239, 240; The Troth, 235, 237; The Turn of the Road, 216, 235, 238, 239.
Mayo, 95.
Mearing Stones, 247.
Measure for Measure, 24.
Meath, 226.
Memoirs of My Dead Self, 98.
Meredith, George, 4, 11, 101, 165, 166, 261.
Meynell, Alice, 10.
Milligan, Alice, 116.
Milton, John, 48, 120, 135.
Mineral Workers, The, 208, 213, 214, 238.
Miracle of the Corn, The, 200, 202.
Mixed Marriage, 243, 246, 247.
Modern Lover, A, 74, 96.
Modern Painting, 95.
Molesworth Hall, 163.
Monna Vanna, 45.
Moore, George, 6, 8, 18, 52, 72, 73, 74, 75, 80, 81, 88, 92, 94, 95-113, 122, 158. The Apostle, 111; The Bending of the Bough, 76, 88, 95, 98, 105; Diarmid and Grania, 32, 106-110, 143; A Drama in Muslin, 96, 101, 102, 110, 111; Esther Waters, 6, 96, 112; Evelyn Innes, 95, 96, 97, 98, 122; Hail and Farewell, 73, 92, 98, 113; Ave (vol. I), 73, 76, 94, 99, 108, 109; Salve (vol. II), 99; Impressions and Opinions, 103; The Lake, 96, 99, 101, 102, 111, 112, 113; Memoirs of My Dead Self, 98; A Modern Lover, 74, 96; Modern Painting, 95; A Mummer's Wife, 101; Parnell and his Island, 96, 97, 101; Sister Teresa, 98; The Strike at Arlingford, 103, 104; The Untilled Field, 101, 102, 111, 112; The Wild Goose, 101.
More, Henry, 135.
Morgan, Sydney J., 217.
Morgante the Lesser, 97.
Morris, William, 38.
Mosada, 47.
Mountain Lovers, The, 262, 264, 265, 266, 270, 274.
Mountainy Singer, The, 247.
Mulholland, Rosa. (See Lady Gilbert.)
Mummer's Wife, A, 101.
Munro, Neil, 4, 6, 59, 271, 284.
Munster, 178, 215.
Murray, T.C., 15, 215-222. Birthright, 216, 217, 218, 219, 222; Maurice Harte, 216, 219-221, 222; The Wheel o' Fortune, 216.
My New Curate, 7.
Mysticism, 11, 123, 134, 135, 273, 274, 275.
Nan, 238, 239.
Nash, Thomas, 66.
National Dramatic Company, the 16, 19, 20, 21, 29, 32, 56, 77, 110, 115, 118.
National Players, the, 35.
National Theatre Society, the Ltd., 30, 35, 60, 202, 223, 241.
Nethersole, Olga, 233.
New Songs, 116.
Norway, 36.
O'Curry, Eugene, 140.
O'Doherty, Eileen, 217.
O'Donoghue, Taidgh, 108.
O'Donovan, Fred, 23, 26, 27, 211, 217.
"Oghma," 116.
O'Grady, Standish Hayes, 110, 140, 141.
O'Grady, Standish James, 3, 86, 117, 139.
Oisin, 13, 40, 69.
Olcott, Chauncey, 22.
Old Celtic Romances, 139.
Old Knowledge, The, 122.
Omar Khayyam, 141.
On Baile's Strand, 27, 28, 58, 59.
O'Neill, Maire, 23, 26.
"Moira O'Neill" (Mrs. Nesta Higginson Skrine), 10, 255.
Origines Islandicae, 238.
O'Riordan, Conal. (See "Norreys Connell.")
O'Rourke, J.A., 211, 217.
Ossian, 3, 138.
O'Sullivan, Seumas, 11.
Our Dramatists and their Literature, 103.
Our Mutual Friend, 279.
Outer Isles, The, 274.
Pagan Review, The, 261.
Palestrina, 77.
Parnell, Charles Stewart, 2, 147, 149.
Parnell and his Island, 96, 97, 101.
Pater, Walter, 121, 133.
Patrick, St., 13, 40, 142.
Patriots, 231-232.
"Paul Gregan," 116.
Pebbles from a Brook, 8.
Peer Gynt, 163.
Pharais, 262, 263, 264, 266, 270, 277.
Phedre, 16.
Phillpotts, Eden, 6.
Pinero, Sir Arthur Wing, 104, 214, 233.
Piper, The, 31, 33, 242, 243.
Place Hunters, The, 75, 78, 90, 93.
Playboy of the Western World, The, 23, 26, 31, 32, 33, 75, 149, 163, 164, 166, 170, 171, 176, 178, 180, 182, 184, 196, 218, 228.
Players Club, The, 86.
Plotinus, 125.
Poe, Edgar Allan, 40, 48, 265.
Poel, William, 24.
Poems and Ballads, 49.
Poetry of the Celtic Races, The, 3.
Poets and Dreamers, 147.
Pomfret, John, 203.
Poorhouse, The, 9.
Pope, Alexander, 203.
Porphyry, 54.
Pot of Broth, A, 22, 32, 51, 52, 54.
Pre-Raphaelites, The, 10, 158.
Princess of Thule, The, 271.
Proclus, 126.
Psaltery, 64.
Puritanism, 135, 234, 235, 244, 285.
Quiller-Couch, Sir Arthur, 3.
Quinn, Maire T., 21, 22.
Racing Lug, The, 20, 21.
Raftery, 147.
Red Turf, 238, 239, 240.
Rehan, Ada, 233.
Religious Songs of Connacht, The, 9, 171, 179.
Renan, Ernest, 3, 255.
Revival of Irish Literature, The, 2.
Rhys, Ernest, 4.
Riders to the Sea, 149, 162, 178, 179, 181, 183, 195, 197.
Rinder, Edith Wingate, 268, 269.
Rising of the Moon, The, 22, 31, 32, 152.
Robin Hood, 138.
Robinson, S. Lennox, 15, 33, 112, 215, 221, 222-232. The Clancy Name, 223-224, 228; The Crossroads, 224-228, 230, 231; Harvest, 221, 224, 228-230; Lesson of Life, 224; Patriots, 231-232.
Rob Roy, 272.
Romantic Ballads, 253, 259, 294.
Rosmersholm, 91.
Ross, Martin. (See Somerville, E. Oe.)
Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 293.
Ruskin, John, 89, 158, 159.
Russell, G.W. ("A.E."), 1, 5, 8, 11, 19, 20, 21, 39, 41, 46, 95, 98, 111, 112, 114-137, 146, 251, 253, 255. Deirdre, 20, 21, 31, 77, 115; The Divine Vision, 116, 122; The Earth Breath, 116; Homeward, 116; "Symbolism," 126; "Weariness," 128; "Memory of Earth," 130.
Ryan, Frederick, 32.
Salve, 99.
Samhain, 16, 29, 76, 81, 109.
Saturday Review, The, London, 81.
Saxon Shillin', The, 201.
Scotch Irish, the, 215, 234.
Scott, Sir Walter, 6, 100, 234, 272, 289.
Scotus Erigena, 135.
Second Mrs. Tanqueray, The, 104.
Secret Rose, The, 41, 54.
Seething Pot, The, 8.
Seven Woods, In the, 43.
Shadow of the Glen, In the, 32, 60, 77, 162, 168, 169, 175, 178, 181, 184, 190, 195, 218.
Shadowy Waters, The, 28, 56-58, 60.
Shakespeare, 120.
Shakespeare's End, 242.
Sharp, William ("Fiona Macleod"), 4, 86, 251-296. A Child of Nature, 272; Children of To-morrow, 264; "The Dan-nan-Ron," 263, 287; "The Dirge of the Four Cities," 255, 259, 287, 296; "Dim face of beauty haunting all the world," 259; The Divine Adventure, 263, 270, 273, 275, 279, 289; The Dominion of Dreams, 273, 274; Drosdan and Yssul, 254; The Enchanted Valleys, 254; A Fellowe and his Wife, 261, 264, 278; Flora MacDonald, 266; From the Hills of Dream, 259; Greek Backgrounds, 286; Green Fire, 263, 266; The Gypsy Christ, 265, 279; The House of Usna, 251, 252, 253, 254, 259, 285; The Immortal Hour, 251, 252, 285, 287; Iona, 277, 289; The King of Ys, 254; The Last Supper, 251; The Laughter of Peterkin, 267, 284; Literary Geography, 289; Lyra Celtica, 4; Madge o' the Pool, 279; The Mountain Lovers, 262, 264, 265, 266, 270, 274; The Pagan Review, 261; Pharais, 262, 263, 264, 266, 270, 277; Romantic Ballads, 253, 259, 294; Silence Farm, 257, 258, 264, 265, 270, 271, 279, 295; The Sin-Eater, 263; Sospiri di Roma, 257, 258; Vistas, 251, 252, 253, 259, 260, 273; The Washer of the Ford, 263, 283; Where the Forest Murmurs, 263, 285, 289, 290; The Winged Destiny, 263, 274, 293; Wives in Exile, 261, 264.
Sharp, Mrs. William, 251, 256, 262, 268, 279, 286, 290.
Shaw, George Bernard, 53, 177, 230, 241.
Sheehan, Canon, 7.
Shelley, P.B., 38.
Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 13.
Shorter, Dora Sigerson, 11.
Showing-up of Blanco Posnet, The, 241.
Sigerson, Dr. George, 2.
Silence Farm, 257, 258, 264, 265, 270, 271, 279, 295.
Sims, George Robert, 103, 104.
Sinclair, Arthur, 19, 23, 24, 27, 211.
Sin-Eater, The, 263.
Sister Teresa, 98.
Skrine, Nesta Higginson. (See "Moira O'Neill.")
Skye, 267, 283.
Sligo, 40, 41.
Sohrab and Rustum, 59.
Some Experiences of an Irish R.M., 6.
Somerville, E. Oe., and Martin Ross, 6.
Sospiri di Roma, 257, 258.
Sowing the Wind, 104.
Spenser, Edmund, 38, 39, 123.
Spoer, Ada Goodrich-Freer, 274.
Spreading the News, 150, 151.
Squireen, The, 7, 236, 271.
Stage Society, the, London, 53, 112, 252.
Stephens, James, 8.
Stevenson, Robert Louis, 49, 260, 272, 289.
Stokes, Whitley, 140.
Strand Theatre, the, London, 81.
Strike at Arlingford, The, 103, 104.
Studies, 200.
Sutherland, 272.
Swift, Jonathan, 13, 173, 196, 282.
Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 43, 49.
Symbolism, 65-67, 126, 176.
Synge, John Millington, 15, 22, 26, 31, 32, 47, 61, 114, 148, 149, 155, 160-197, 205, 206, 238, 239, 240, 242, 285. Aran Islands, 168, 187, 188, 191; Deirdre of the Sorrows, 163, 166-168, 181, 183, 192, 196, 197, 285; "In Kerry," 164; verse, 192-194; "Preludes," 193; Playboy of the Western World, 23, 26, 31, 32, 33, 75, 149, 163, 164, 166, 170, 171, 176, 178, 180, 182, 184, 196, 218, 228; Riders to the Sea, 149, 162, 178, 179, 181, 183, 195, 197; In the Shadow of the Glen, 32, 60, 77, 162, 168, 169, 175, 178, 181, 184, 190, 195, 218; The Tinker's Wedding, 111, 163, 171, 174, 180, 182, 190, 196; Well of the Saints, 23, 29, 164, 170, 175, 177, 178, 182, 190, 196, 218.
Tables of the Law, The, 41.
Tale of a Town, A, 75, 76, 78, 81, 87-90, 105, 112, 213.
Taliaferro, Mabel, 50.
Taylor, Thomas, 117.
Tempest, The, 45.
Tess of the D'Urbervilles, 7, 258.
Thackeray, W.M., 6, 101.
Theatre Francais, 17.
Theatre of Ireland, the, 35, 202.
Theatre Royal, Dublin, 30.
Thomas Muskerry, 199, 200, 206.
Thompson, Francis, 135.
Thoreau, Henry David, 290, 291.
Through the Turf Smoke, 7.
Time, 242.
Tinker's Wedding, The, 111, 163, 171, 174, 180, 182, 190, 196.
Tipperary, 171.
Travelling Man, A, 153.
Treasure of the Humble, The, 115.
Trench, Herbert, 11.
Trinity College, 32, 33.
Trollope, Anthony, 271.
Troth, The, 235, 237.
Turn of the Road, The, 216, 235, 238, 239.
Twenty-five, 32, 152.
Twilight People, The, 11.
Twisting of the Rope, The, 107.
Two Essays on the Remnant, 8.
Ulster, 215, 240, 245, 246.
Ulster Literary Theatre, the, 35, 239, 243.
Unicorn from the Stars, The, 27, 53-56.
Untilled Field, The, 101, 102, 111, 112.
Upanishads, 117.
Villon, Francois, 182.
Vistas, 251, 252, 253, 259, 260, 273.
Von Teuffel, Mrs., 261.
Wales, 2, 3, 4.
Walker, Mary, 20, 21, 22.
Wanderings of Oisin, The, 1, 39, 40, 41, 63, 64, 139.
Washer of the Ford, The, 263, 283.
Watts, George Frederic, 122.
Waverley, 272.
Weekes, Charles, 116.
Weir of Hermiston, 272.
Well of the Saints, The, 23, 29, 164, 170, 175, 177, 178, 182, 190, 196, 218.
Wessex, 7, 258.
West Britons, 32.
West Irish Folk-Tales, 9.
Wexford, 141, 152.
Wheel o' Fortune, The, 216.
Where the Forest Murmurs, 263, 285, 289, 290.
Where there is Nothing, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56.
White, Gilbert, 290.
White Cockade, The, 152.
Whitman, Walt, 39, 173, 193, 294.
Wicklow, 162, 166, 170, 177, 184, 190, 216.
Wild Duck, The, 80, 91.
Wild Earth, 200, 208.
Wild Goose, The, 101.
Wilde, Oscar, 13, 53, 245.
Wilde, Lady, 51.
William Sharp: A Memoir, 262, 279, 290.
Wind among the Reeds, The, 43, 54.
Winged Destiny, The, 263, 274, 293.
Wives in Exile, 261, 264.
Wolfe, Charles, 94.
Woman of no Importance, A, 245.
Wordsworth, 48, 94, 265.
Workhouse Ward, The, 152, 154.
Wycherly, Margaret, 51.
Yeats, J.B., Sr., 38, 119.
Yeats, J.B., Jr., 118, 119.
Yeats, W.B., 1, 5, 8, 10, 11, 13, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 22, 23, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 36, 37-71, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 81, 85, 88, 92, 94, 95, 97, 98, 102, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 112, 114, 115, 116, 117, 123, 139, 145, 146, 148, 155, 158, 162, 179, 199, 251, 252, 253, 255, 259, 269, 279, 285, 286. Cathleen ni Houlihan, 10, 17, 19, 31, 50-51, 53, 54, 55, 77; Celtic Twilight, 37, 41, 42, 54; Countess Cathleen, 18, 32, 43, 47, 48-49, 50, 51, 59, 64, 69, 78; Deirdre, 23, 27, 28, 44, 56, 61-63; Dhoya, 41, 286; Diarmid and Grania, 32, 106-110, 143; Discoveries, 42; The Golden Helmet, 27, 63; The Green Helmet, 63; The Hour-Glass, 10, 27, 28, 51-52, 54; Ideas of Good and Evil 42; The Island of Statues, 47; John Sherman and Dhoya, 41; The King's Threshold, 60, 69; The Land of Heart's Desire, 25, 43, 49-50, 51, 59; Mosada, 47; On Baile's Strand, 27, 28, 58, 59; A Pot of Broth, 22, 32, 51, 52, 54; The Secret Rose, 41, 54; In the Seven Woods, 43; The Shadowy Waters, 28, 56-58, 60; The Tables of the Law, 41; "The Valley of the Black Pig," 50, 65, 66, 67; Wanderings of Oisin, 1, 39, 40, 41, 63, 64, 139; Where there is Nothing, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56; The Wind among the Reeds, 43.
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