writings, except to say that he wrote them slowly, many times
over. His talk was always about vivid, picturesque, wild life. He
took greater joy in what some frantic soul from Joyce's country
said when the policeman hit him than in anything of his own. He
found no vivid life in England. He disliked England. I think he
only knew London. Afterwards he stayed for a couple of weeks in
Devonshire. London is a place where money can be made and spent.
Devonshire is a place where elderly ladies invite retired naval
officers to tea. England lies further to the north. He was never
in any part of England where the country life is vigorous and
picturesque. He believed England to be all suburb, like the "six
counties overhung with smoke." Soon after our first meeting I was
present at his first success. His two early plays, _Riders to the
Sea_ and _The Shadow of the Glen_, were read aloud to about a
dozen friends at the rooms of one who was always most generously
helpful to writers not yet sure of their road. A lady read the
plays very beautifully. Afterwards we all applauded. Synge learned
his _metier_ that night. Until then, all his work had been
tentative and in the air. After that, he went forward, knowing
what he could do.

For two or three months I met Synge almost daily. Presently he
went back to Ireland (I believe to Aran) and I to "loathed
Devonshire." I met him again, later in the year. During the next
few years, though he was not often in town, I met him fairly often
whenever the Irish players came to London. Once I met him for a
few days together in Dublin. He was to have stayed with me both in
London and in Ireland; but on both occasions his health gave way,
and the visit was never paid. I remember sitting up talking with
him through the whole of one winter night (in 1904.) Later, when