XXIII

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    It was the death of Parhat vinced me that the moment had e for work in Ireland, for I khat for a time the imaginat<s></s>ion of young men would turn from politics. There was a little Irish patriotic society of young people, clerks, shop?boys, shop?girls, a<samp></samp>nd the like, called the Southwark Irish Literary Society. It had ceased to meet because each member of the ittee had lectured so man<tt>９９lｉb?t>y times that the girls got the giggles whenever he stood up. I ihe ittee to my fathers house at Bedford Park and there proposed a ></tt> anisation. After a few months spent in founding, with the help of T. W. Rolleston, who came to that first meeting and had a knowledge of ittee bbr>.99ｌib?</abbr>work I lacked, the Irish Literary Society, which soon included every London Irish author and journalist, I went to Dublin and fouhere a similar society.

    W. B. Yeats.

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