A young man came to see me at my lodgings t, and began to talk of tioned  ten many poems and painted many mystical designs since  last, but latterly ten nor painted, for   upon making rong, vigorous, and calm, and tional life of tist en doo me t voice of Celtic sadness, and of Celtic longing for infinite t seemed to me t  tle eagerly. “Do you see anytanding near the doorway,” he answered, or some such words.

    “Is it ts appear to us in t symbolic form?” I said; for I am ructed in t s of a person  and my breat is a spirit.

    It is some one who is dead or who has never lived.”

    [FN#1]  I e tence long ago. to me a part of all peoples  so pre-occupied ery of Race as I used to be, but leave tence and otences like it unc may be, not grown wiser.

    I asked  upon talking to s, or to persuade queer and conscience-stricken persons to deliver up troubles into , o talk over t le ligimes visions come to alks o old divers people true matters of t days and distant friends, and left trange teacle t among them.

    try ed me  told of oto uries, sometimes of people alked to, revealing to told e an article upon , and old in turn t I mig mention o be al day a bundle of e in t te or paint any more. I prepare myself for a cycle of otivities in some ots and branc is not nourn to burst into leaves and flowers.”

    to capture some  of obscure images.

    t ten embedded in ts o  are to oters of an unknoo tarnis t. At otimes ty of t ing as ted if ing  a foolisly illus