No More Learning

--W. B. Y. , _March, 1908. _

[J] This essay was written immediately after the opening of the Abbey
Theatre, though it was not printed, through an accident, until the art
of the Abbey has become an art of peasant comedy. It tells of things
we have never had the time to begin. We still dream of them. --W. B. Y. ,
_March, 1908_.

[K] I have heard musicians excuse themselves by claiming that they put
the words there for the sake of the singer; but if that be so, why
should not the singer sing something she may wish to have by rote?
Nobody will hear the words; and the local time-table, or, so much suet
and so many raisins, and so much spice and so much sugar, and whether
it is to be put in a quick or a slow oven, would run very nicely with a
little management.

[L] _The Arrow_, a briefer chronicle than _Samhain_, was distributed
with the programme for a few months.




APPENDIX I


_THE HOUR-GLASS.
_

This play is founded upon the following story, recorded by Lady Wilde
in _Ancient Legends of Ireland_, 1887, vol. i. , pp. 60-67:--

THE PRIEST'S SOUL.

IN former days there were great schools in Ireland where every sort
of learning was taught to the people, and even the poorest had more
knowledge at that time than many a gentleman has now. But as to the
priests, their learning was above all, so that the fame of Ireland went
over the whole world, and many kings from foreign lands used to send
their sons all the way to Ireland to be brought up in the Irish schools.

Now, at this time there was a little boy learning at one of them
who was a wonder to every one for his cleverness. His parents were
only labouring people, and of course very poor; but young as he was,
and poor as he was, no king's or lord's son could come up to him in
learning. Even the masters were put to shame; for when they were trying
to teach him he would tell them something they had never heard of
before, and show them their ignorance. One of his great triumphs was
in argument, and he would go on till he proved to you that black was
white, and then when you gave in, for no one could beat him in talk,
he would turn round and show you that white was black, or may be that
there was no colour at all in the world. When he grew up his poor
father and mother were so proud of him that they resolved to make him a
priest, which they did at last, though they nearly starved themselves
to get the money. Well, such another learned man was not in Ireland,
and he was as great in argument as ever, so that no one could stand
before him. Even the Bishops tried to talk to him, but he showed them
at once they knew nothing at all.

Now, there were no schoolmasters in those times, but it was the priests
taught the people; and as this man was the cleverest in Ireland all the
foreign kings sent their sons to him as long as he had house-room to
give them. So he grew very proud, and began to forget how low he had
been, and, worst of all, even to forget God, who had made him what he
was. And the pride of arguing got hold of him, so that from one thing
to another he went on to prove that there was no Purgatory, and then no
Hell, and then no Heaven, and then no God; and at last that men had no
souls, but were no more than a dog or a cow, and when they died there
was an end of them.