"No man at all can be living for ever, and we must be satisfied."

Here's a dispatch that at least fellow Tempest correspondent Martin Scriblerus would appreciate:

This morning I woke into that hypnapompic half-sense, in which pigeons simpering at the window sounded like sea gulls. As my mind filled itself with fragmentary pictures of seascapes, I began thinking about John Millington Synge's RIDERS TO THE SEA, perhaps the finest one-act play of the twentieth century. The play takes place on the Aran Islands and represents the multiple tragedies of a family losing all of their fishermen-kin to the sea. Noticed as I re-read it this afternoon that the play first premiered on THIS date in 1904, at Moleworth Hall in Dublin. What an odd, eerie coincidence! curley