There Is No Sin Coveting Things Are

In My Childhood There Was Every Year At My Old Home, Roxborough, Or, As It Is Called In Irish, Cregroostha, A Great Sheep-shearing That Lasted Many Days. On The Last Evening There Was Always A Dance For The Shearers And Their Helpers, And Two Pipers Used To Sit On Chairs Placed On A Corn-bin To Make Music For The Dance.

I Don't Know In The World Why Anyone Would Consent To Be A King, And Never To Be Left To Himself, But To Be Worried And Wearied And Interfered With From Dark To Daybreak And From Morning To The Fall Of Night.

I Hold That The Beginning Of Modern Irish Drama Was In The Winter Of 1898, At A School Feast At Coole, When Douglas Hyde And Miss Norma Borthwick Acted In Irish In A Punch And Judy Show; And The Delighted Children Went Back To Tell Their Parents What Grand Curses 'an Craoibhin' Had Put On The Baby And The Policeman.

Thomas Davis Was A Great Man Where Poetry Is Concerned, And A Better Than Thomas Moore. All Over Ireland His Poetry Is, And He Would Have Done Other Things But That He Died Young.

In Writing A Little Tragedy, 'the Gaol Gate,' I Made The Scenario In Three Lines, 'he Is An Informer; He Is Dead; He Is Hanged.' I Wrote That Play Very Quickly.