Hyde has kept in the play, with
his passion, his exaggerations, his wheedling tongue, his roving heart,
that all but coax the girl from her mother and her sweetheart; but that
fail after all in their attack on the settled order of things, and leave
their owner homeless and restless, and angry and chiding, like the
stormy west wind outside the door.

'The Marriage' is founded on the story of Raftery at the poor wedding at
Cappaghtagle. It was acted in Galway, at the _Feis_, last summer. There
had been some delay or misunderstanding in the giving of parts; and on
the morning of the _Feis_, it was announced that the play would not be
given. But the disappointment was so great, that we all begged _An
Craoibhin_ to take the chief part himself, as he had done in 'The
Twisting of the Rope'; and when his kindness made him agree to this, we
went in search of the other players. They were all at work in shops or
stores, one wheeling sacks on a barrow; and it was a busy market-day,
and it was hard for them to get away for a rehearsal. But, for all that,
the play was given in the evening; in the very town where some still
remember Raftery, and where he and Death had their first talk together.

It will be hard to forget the blind poet, as he was represented on the
stage by the living poet, so full of kindly humour, of humorous malice,
of dignity under his poor clothing, or the wistful, ghostly sigh with
which he went out of the door at the end. 'Is fear marbh do bhi
ann'--'It is a dead man was in it.'

It has been acted in Dublin since then; and many places are asking for
the loan of the one manuscript in which it exists; but I am glad
Connacht had it first.

'The Lost Saint' was written last summer. _An Craoibhin_ was staying
with us at Coole; and one morning I went for a long drive to the sea,
leaving him with a bundle of blank paper before him. When I came back
at evening, I was told that Dr. Hyde had finished his play, and was out
shooting wild duck. The hymn, however, was not quite ready, and was put
into rhyme next day, while he was again watching for wild duck beside
Inchy marsh.

When he read it to us in the evening, we were all left with a feeling as
if some beautiful white blossom had suddenly fallen at our feet.

It was acted the other day at Ballaghaderreen; and, at the end, a very
little girl, who wanted to let the author know how much she had liked
his play, put out her hand, and put a piece of toffee into his.