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Now, Seumas, it's your turn; you jump over me and then over your sister, and then you run on and bend down again and I jump." "This is a fine game, sir," said Seumas. "It is, a vic vig, keep in your head," said the Leprecaun. "That's a good jump, you couldn't beat that jump, Seumas."
The influence of Synge is strong in the second book of verses, called The Hill of Vision, particularly noticeable in such a poem as The Brute. Curiously enough, Songs from the Clay is more exalted in tone than The Hill of Vision. The air is clearer and purer. But the author of The Crock of Gold and The Demi-Gods appears again in The Adventures of Seumas Beg.
Let him who doubts it read Through the Turf Smoke or Donegal Fairy Stories. If Shan Bullock walks the same fields as Seumas MacManus, he does so with a different air and with a more definite purpose. Sometimes he turns to the squireens, small farmers, or small country gentry, and lays bare the hardness and narrowness that are a part of their life.
I do not know whether it is an effect of the war or not, but during 1917, even more than during 1916, American magazines have been almost absolutely devoid of humor. Save for Irvin S. Cobb, on whom the mantle of Mark Twain has surely fallen, and for Seumas O'Brien, whom Mr. Dooley must envy, I have found American fiction to be sufficiently solemn and imperturbable.
I remember reading Seumas O'Sulivan's first manuscripts with mingled pleasure and horror, for his lines often ran anyhow, and scansion seemed to him an unknown art, but I feel humbly now that he can get a subtle quality into his music which I could not hope to acquire.
Earth has no steady beauty as the calm-eyed immortals have, but their image glimmers on the waves of time, and out of what instantly vanishes we can build up something within us which may yet grow into a calm-eyed immortality of loveliness, we becoming gradually what we dream of. I have heard people complain of the frailty of these verses of Seumas O'Sullivan.
"The cheese that is made from goat's milk is rather strong, and it is good to be eaten by people who live in the open air, but not by those who live in houses, for such people do not have any appetite. They are poor creatures whom I do not like." "I like eating," said Seumas. "So do I," said Pan. "All good people like eating.
The Leprecaun gave a back very close to the tree. Seumas ran and jumped and slid down a hole at the side of the tree. Then Brigid ran and jumped and slid down the same hole. "Dear me!" said Brigid, and she flashed out of sight. The Leprecaun cracked his fingers and rubbed one leg against the other, and then he also dived into the hole and disappeared from view.
"Everything," said she, "belongs to the wayfarer," and she crossed into the field and milked the cow into a vessel which she had. "I wonder," said Seumas, "who owns that cow." "Maybe," said Brigid Beg, "nobody owns her at all." "The cow owns herself," said the Thin Woman, "for nobody can own a thing that is alive.
"Anyway," he said, brushing his hand across his eyes, "she paid in part the debt Giovanni owed his God." "Yes?" said the monk softly. "I wonder, Signor! For I am Giovanni." From The Illustrated Sunday Magazine Copyright, 1915, by The Illustrated Sunday Magazine. Copyright, 1916, by Seumas O'Brien.
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