gone, and we are amongst vast heights lit by inscrutable beacons.

I have seen such cities before, and I have told of them in _The Book
of Wonder_.

Here in New York a poet met a welcome.

** BEYOND THE FIELDS WE KNOW **

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

Beyond the fields we know, in the Lands of Dream, lies the Valley of
the Yann where the mighty river of that name, rising in the Hills of
Hap, idleing its way by massive dream-evoking amethyst cliffs,
orchid-laden forests, and ancient mysterious cities, comes to the Gates
of Yann and passes to the sea.

Some years since a poet visiting that land voyaged down the Yann on a
trading bark named the _Bird of the River_ and returning safe to
Ireland, set down in a tale that is called _Idle Days on the Yann_,
the wonders of that voyage. Now the tale being one of marvellous
beauty, found its way into a volume we call _A Dreamer's Tales_ where
it may be found to this day with other wondrous tales of that same
poet.

As the days went by the lure of the river and pleasant memories of his
shipmates bore in with a constant urge on the soul of the poet that he
might once more journey Beyond the Fields We Know and come to the
floor of Yann; and one day it fell out that turning into Go-by Street
that leads up from the Embankment toward the Strand and which you and
I always do go by and perhaps never see in passing, he found the door
which one enters on the way to the Land of Dream.

Twice of late has Lord Dunsany entered that door in Go-by Street and
returned to the Valley of the Yann and each time come back with a
tale; one, of his search for the _Bird of the River,_ the other of the
mighty hunter who avenged the destruction of Perdondaris, where on his
earlier voyage the captain tied up his ship and traded within the
city. That all may be clear to those who read these new tales and to
whom no report has previously come Beyond the Fields We Know the
publishers reprint in this volume _Idle Days on the Yann_.

IDLE DAYS ON THE YANN

So I came down through the wood to the bank of Yann and found, as had
been prophesied, the ship _Bird of the River_ about to loose her
cable.

The captain sate cross-legged upon the white deck with his scimitar
lying beside him in its jewelled scabbard, and the sailors toiled to
spread the nimble sails to bring the ship into the central stream of
Yann, and all the while sang ancient soothing songs. And the wind of
the evening desc