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I have desired, like every artist, to create a little world out of thebeautiful, pleasant, and significant things of this marred and clumsyworld, and to show in a vision something of the face of Ireland to anyof my own people who would look where I bid them. I have thereforewritten down accurately and candidly much that I have heard and seen,and, except by way of commentary, nothing that I have merely imagined. I have, however, been at no pains to separate my own beliefs from thoseof the peasantry, but have rather let my men and women, dhouls andfaeries, go their way unoffended or defended by any argument of mine. The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pullthem carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will canweave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I toohave woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it,and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me. Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she hasbuilt her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang outtheir garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloveddaughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a little.