Library Of The World's Best Literature, Ancient And Modern, Vol. 2

ve; we asked again,

king must be that no g

H IBN

hief-maker: Transl

sy tongue has sunde

thy houses, 'Amr, 'A

arest art a wind o

rian hills, and wrinkle

and mild to strange

shore showers and fills

uth, I know--no f

kith and kin, the m

h tongue, when rule

men where thou dwell

A

his tribe, the 'mir. From the 'D

shall keep the wa

the steps of a

return, too; w

f things--and all

he Book of Knowl

evealed lies all

His gifts of goo

palms full freigh

h fruit, their heads

ng, the tallest e

en avails the

n and grace to l

he wrought to wi

of Him who

his shade, the b

and steadfast, rig

ood in life? Yea

seeing bring

en to me; and th

ime abide Ti'a

Bad?' the migh

that towers alof

arching all nigh

, as each hies for

their course: the u

as maidens encir

whenas their lu

he ropes that bin

d naught is left

of al-A'raf, bu

f tents and penf

nt, and spoiled by

r ancients gone,

folk whose war-m

m in every breach

bestride them, tr

heir kin when chan

the ties of bloo

peace, and prai

earth her way--

s foregoing are t

AIR

t of Antara': Transl

eauties first en

pearls and ruby

ar than honey

erchant opes

uch an odor f

e, harbinger o

ouched meadow,

reshly on the

ll its pure u

the fragrant

silver in th

it with perpe

e the sportiv

opers singing o

forelegs, like

nd to use the

TH OF '

MANNER OF

id, son of as-Simmah, of Jusha

'rid, and the men

ck Mother: yea, ye a

k--even now, two thou

and spear, their capt

earken not, I followe

ools, and that I walk

one of the Ghaz?y

e; and if the Ghaz

ede, one day, at

n, they saw my cou

es cried, "The horseme

allah, the man whom

: the spears had rid

tched web deftly plies

stands with fear in

ager mouth, and thinks-

him till the riders

lack blood flowed

o gives his life for

e is short, that Death

bdallah be dead, a

of hand, and no h

ns well girt, his le

n of limb, a climber

ill-luck; one min

k to-day would live

r's pain though meat

hirt that those whom

and on him, and Fami

adlier what little

ith Youth, until, whe

his brow, to lightne

othes my soul that

dged him aught of min

ANFARà

rom the 'Mufaddaliyat': T

set her face to

n she sped, she left

ly shaped--no warning

welt, hard-by, her cam

she dwelt, from morn

d her tale, and flee

gone! and leaves h

n for her; and now

shamefaced--no maid

ehind--she walked for

d, as though they looke

t or right--her answ

day dawns to carr

d--dear alms, when su

of blame, her tent s

tent is pitched in

im shame from her do

e of women, pure an

glad comes he home

her, "Say, where dids

here meet, and full

, a fairy shape, if s

at there, methought t

sprays, all fragr

lyah dale, its branc

ce with balm--no starv

AT TH

'Love Poems': Translatio

oes of a heart

that have smit

ed in the calm

gh to the light

as they gazed,

t and confusi

ht her, ne'er ha

and the hour,

d her as she

he temple and

rest, the lovel

ow-wandering he

ing with come

honor, the pee

: let us mar

h that he needs

gnal, my sist

, but he marked

amsel, and has

ht by the vale o

wn when in sil

orn may awake

cup of the ble

NVEIL

'Love Poems': Translatio

ohassib I beheld h

aside, but love forba

the windows of a gle

al worship? or was

that necklace! Naufel'

ely lineage, and the

he splendor, as the o'

ous hand the jealous

assed between us; but

all faces, hands the

r earth, and nurtur

thy beauty! Hope is f

D?WN OF A

Ghassan, written in time of the poet's politic

maimah--alone with

ong night and the we

th of gloom; methink

d lead his flock to t

hose griefs, that roa

ght all home: in legi

ith 'Amr, a favo

grace that carried

d is true--an oath

is hid save fair thou

thers were, who lie i

thers al-Saida,

ah's line, the lord

ght shall reach th

of help when men say

san's line unblemish

r of kin, their chie

hose might in battl

host to war, above t

s, pointing the pat

ld and tried, fast co

lood, as hounds to th

sit there, behind wh

askance, like elder

full well that those

ts shall come, will

stom known, a usage

id in rest on with

lay skilled, with lips f

all scarred, some bleed

ders where the battl

ce of Death like sta

e and take deep draug

white swords, thin and

orions burst by the

ws, cleft, fly shatter

s found, save only

, gained from smiti

ose blades, from the f

fierce that since ha

eave in twain the ha

beneath to fire, ere

--God gives the li

r sleeps, a bounty

own land, His chosen

ope is set on naught

oft and fine, and g

lands sweet the dawn

n they come home full

les, hang the mantl

their limbs, well-know

sleeved, green at the s

l as men who know no

il days as though t

ift to Ghassan, w

y paths were darkene

SA

of a wife and mother--a slave--from

ght--To-morrow at

eventide, mu

word lay helples

and struggles wit

left alone, in a

winds smite, toss

tling breeze, and stre

it--the end of h

either gains in th

he morning any r

GEA

Zimman Tribe: Trans

had we for

he men our

y bring tha

folk that on

Ill stood cle

rong was bo

as left but

m in the co

as stalks

lion wrat

we, dealing s

pomp and qu

man may be

em but to fl

oft may bri

s works not

TI

Kunaif of Nabhan: Tra

e-born men to bear

ime's wrong or help

an aught to bow him

d off hurt by humb

ant front the full

re still the fairest

e, when none outruns

d's decree nor was

ging Days have wrought

and woe, yet one thi

oft or weak the stoc

d our hearts to doi

heir weight, a han

all weight of man, t

ence fair our souls fr

e and sound, though

SA

the 'Hamásah': Tran

rings weepin

ath and Life

to envy th

ain and twain

r, heighten my

en the pang

hat days brin

f all days b

ow swiftly t

, the mome

t brief mome

y dragged

SS TO TH

From the 'Hamásah': T

while spears betwee

od full deep had drun

n I swear, and here

-sickness, or wrought

hen grant me grace

ss be, then none is

FO

From the 'Hamásah': Tr

der Sábhal's twin

pon troop, and the fo

things lie before yo

rs couched at ye; or i

this thing may fall t

ft on ground, and no

we quail before th

t of life--the goal

of battle; there cle

right hands which the sm

e of my blade, on th

are thereof, wherev

TA

bn Ma'zin. From the 'Hamásah

en she fled in am

of battle, "Why d

f Life thou shoulds

om appoints, thou

face the onset of

arth shall win

se the cloak of ol

ward who bows like a

eath is set for

proclaims through t

young and sound, d

th of days from all

an is left of de

ay--a worthless an

ACAB

bn Utbah. From the 'Hamásah

, peace! Cousins

m its grave the strif

from us, while ye

all forbear from ve

e, peace! lay no

while, as once ye

at we, we love y

ye not that ye h

round for the loathi

m the Lord that w

AL AFF

là of Tayyi. From the 'Hamása

ught me down--h

igh and great,

ent away my p

alth, honor

rned my joy to

e me laugh with

girls, the kat

t from door to

m, and wide, to

as no lack of br

ildren in our m

are they, walki

eze blow harsh

no" to slumber,

ESMAN'

ik, of the Kais Tribe: T

s war, that bows m

er blaze all glory

aliant heart to face pa

and firm, the nail-crown

rout, when men shrink f

ll the vile, the hireli

rts before them, and

or maidens veiled, not

oi

we leave, sons of

who will, no flinchin

stand firm before he

e her fear, his Doom s

o quitting of place,

hen the uplands and va

ghty now? the spears

THE Q

ion of G

ITLED "THE CREATOR

be spent in sighs for their sakes, on account of their obstinacy; for GOD well knoweth that which they do. It is God who sendeth the winds, and raiseth a cloud: and we drive the same unto a dead country, and thereby quicken the earth after it hath been dead; so shall the resurrection be. Whoever desireth excellence; unto GOD doth all excellence belong: unto him ascendeth the good speech; and the righteous work will he exalt. But as for them who devise wicked plots, they shall suffer a severe punishment; and the device of those men shall be rendered vain. GOD created you first of the dust, and afterwards of seed: and he hath made you man and wife. No female conceiveth, or bringeth forth, but with his knowledge. Nor is any thing added unto the age of him whose life is prolonged, neither is any thing diminished from his age, but the same is written in the book of God's decrees. Verily this is easy with GOD. The two seas are not to be held in comparison: this is fresh and sweet, pleasant to drink; but that is salt and bitter: yet out of each of them ye eat fish, and take ornaments for you to wear. Thou seest the ships also ploughing the waves thereof, that ye may seek to enrich yourselves by commerce, of the abundance of God: peradventure ye will be thankful. He causeth the night to succeed the day, and he causeth the day to succeed the night; and he obligeth the sun and the moon to perform their services: each of them runneth an appointed course. This is GOD, your LORD: hi

who outstrippeth others in good works, by the permission of GOD. This is the great excellence. They shall be introduced into gardens of perpetual abode; they shall be adorned therein with bracelets of gold, and pearls, and their clothing therein shall be of silk: and they shall say, Praise be unto GOD, who hath taken away sorrow from us! verily our LORD is ready to forgive the sinners, and to reward the obedient: who hath caused us to take up our rest in a dwelling of eternal stability, through his bounty, wherein no labor shall touch us, neither shall any weariness affect us. But for the unbelievers is prepared the fire of hell: it shall not be decreed them to die a second time; neither shall any part of the punishment thereof be made lighter unto them. Thus shall every infidel be rewarded. And they shall cry out aloud in hell, saying, LORD, take us hence, and we will work righteousness, and not what we have formerly wrought. But it shall be answered them, Did we not grant you lives of length sufficient, that whoever would be warned might be warned therein; and did not the preacher come unto you? Taste therefore the pains of hell. And the unjust shall have no protector. Verily GOD knoweth the secrets both of heaven and earth, for he knoweth the innermost parts of the breasts of men. It is he who hath made you to succeed in the earth. Whoever shall disbelieve, on him be his unbelief; and their unbelief shall only gain the unbelievers greater indignation in the sight of their LORD; and their unbelief shall only increase the perdition of the unbelievers. Say, what think ye o

LED "THE MERCIFUL.

ery day is he employed in some new work. Which, therefore, of your LORD'S benefits will ye ungratefully deny? We will surely attend to judge you, O men and genii, at the last day. Which, therefore, of your LORD'S benefits will ye ungratefully deny? O ye collective body of genii and men, if ye be able to pass out of the confines of heaven and earth, pass forth: ye shall not pass forth but by absolute power. Which, therefore, of your LORD'S benefits will ye ungratefully deny? A flame of fire without smoke, and a smoke without flame shall be sent down upon you; and ye shall not be able to defend yourselves therefrom. Which, therefore, of your LORD'S benefits will ye ungratefully deny? And when the heaven shall be rent in sunder, and shall become red as a rose, and shall melt like ointment: (Which, therefore, of your LORD'S benefits will ye ungratefully deny?) On that day neither man nor genius shall be asked concerning his sin. Which, therefore, of your LORD'S benefits will ye ungratefully deny? The wicked shall be known by their marks; and they shall be taken by the forelocks, and the feet, and shall be cast into hell. Which, therefore, of your LORD'S benefits will ye ungratefully deny? This is hell which the wicked deny as a falsehood: they shall pass to and fro between the same and hot boiling water. Which, therefore, of your LORD'S benefits will ye ungratefully deny? But for him who dreadeth the tribunal of his LORD are prepared two gardens: (Which, therefore, of your LORD'S benefits will ye ungratefully deny?) In each of them shall be two fountains flowing. Which, therefore, of your LORD'S benefits will ye ungratefully deny? In each of them shall there be of every fruit two kinds. Which, therefore

LED "THE RENDING IN SU

d shall turn unto his family with joy: but he who shall have his book given him behind his back shall invoke destruction to fall upon him, and he shall be sent into hell to be burned; because he rejoiced insolently amidst his family on earth. Verily he thought he should never return unto God: yea verily, but his LORD beheld him. Wherefore I swear by the redness of the sky after sunset, and by the night, and the animals which it driveth together, and by the moon when she

YER OF

-Hariri of Basra: Transl

se thee

cuity of language t

quence thou hast

prai

y which thou

which thou has

ay thee t

xpressions and fri

y Thee to

capacity and the dis

hee to exempt us

he admirer or conniv

hee to exempt u

e detractor or aspe

sk thy f

ties betray us i

k thy fo

dvance to the verg

thee free

uccor to lea

urning in uni

ge adorned w

pported by c

hat may exclud

purpose that may

reby we may atta

s by thy guidance un

thy help to express

uard us from er

om folly even

fe from the censure

he fatal effects

sort to any im

sition that woul

by any ill conse

ed to apology fo

ll for us th

ssession of this

s not from th

become the prey

to thee the h

bmission to thee, and

le supplication an

vast grace and co

OF HARETH

-Hariri of Barra: Transl

spect displayed bo

as like a magic

n evening conve

ad been nourished on

of conversatio

ess still prev

d at length disap

of night had thus

ut slumber re

or the low call of a

the knock of one

Who comes here thi

tranger r

who here ar

o be kept

hief ne'er

your breast

ismal nigh

etch to see

eveled hoa

st are spri

destitute

amed on hi

rm became t

eek thus d

faint as sle

here for

e meal an

irst of al

n to food a

rthy both

ve content

d your frie

he sweetness of his

rring what this

he door, and receiv

nt, "Hie! Hie! Brin

d, "By Him who broug

your hospitality, un

permit me to be an

lves necessity of ea

if he had been info

the same bow as

him by acceding

d him for his accom

vant had produce

as lighted up in

tentively, and lo

ssed my companion

of the guest who h

moon of the h

on of poetr

on of the eclipse

of eloquence h

joy infused i

ay from the corne

he slumber which th

the pleasantry which

ained intent on th

sired the removal of

tain us with one of t

t of one of thy w

ult of long journeys b

a state of hun

t as the heart of

dark night had se

et, to seek a lodgin

n on by the insti

tly called 'the par

of a house and impro

his abode, all

ive in plenty'

aid to one by

ighted, desti

d entrails on

asted food two

nds not where t

night her weary

nxious hope a

like a spring

s; a friend who

time thy staff

to me a boy in a sho

hospitable ri

and best, those

friendly conv

for those who

What can I do wit

s himself thus u

e, boy? for thy int

me is Zeid, and I

ah (who is such as

one of the nobles of

ealthily, and there

e distinct signs t

rred me from discov

wished to take his s

If only my purse

or me to undertake

dertook to contrib

urned thanks for

ely lavish in his

s expression of gr

had collected the

the deceiver look

ily, and then ind

who, d

e, hast

to be tru

ne'er had

ud und

l my meani

ss that

aid that

born were Bar

le is m

eption

are my gain

hemes I

cunning

ced the like

mai no

nders

at my wiles h

these I

don my

une at once

rdon th

ept my

let my guil

ve of me, and we

art the embers o

BIN ABD AL-AZI

ichard Burton, in 'Supplemental Nights to

on for them to the presence; so 'Adi answered, "'Tis well," and going in to Omar, said to him, "The poets are at thy door, and have been there days and days; yet hast thou not given them leave to enter, albeit their sayings abide, and their arrows from the mark never fly wide." Quoth Omar, "What have I to do with the poets?" And quoth 'Adi, "O Commander of the Faithful, the Prophet (Abha

thou best of

which brought to

righteous road

darkest wrong had

didst light th

proof live coal

ophet, my Mo

ard upon his

aight the path

s foul growth o'

hou in Joy

glory ever

y on the Prophet (Abhak!) is well known,

r ibn Rabí'ah, the Korashi;" whereupon the Caliph cried, "May Allah show him no fav

y-bed [the grave]

e better than H

her in this world; so that he might, after, repent and return to righteous de

s at the door." And quoth Omar, "'Tis h

conjoint we liv

t me a grave wi

nger deign to

her head is l

" And quoth 'Adi, "Kutthayir 'Azzah": whereupon Omar cr

aith and creed

ains of Hell i

ear what I fro

stration, fearf

d Omar, "Allah Almighty put him away, and estrange him from His mercy! Is it not he w

ge betwixt m

s with her--

d Omar said, "Tis he who glories in wickedness.... He shall not come in to me! Who is at the door other than he?

'er fasted in

in public at

fair, save in

ah's plain in

raying, like

rds!" at the dawn

t the door other than he?" Said 'Adi, "Jarir Ibn

ing glances, had

lope, and ringle

e eyes, by night

ce! No time for vis

it Jarir." So 'Adi went forth and a

sent Mohamm

essor of Is

s justice all m

ad and stablis

I look to

ver transient

h before thine eyes, and say naught save th

loose the hair, i

there abides, feebl

who wast to them i

fledglings were, sans

broke the clouds their

grace to gain a rain

oreover, he gifted Jarir with the ornaments of his sword; and Jarir went forth to the other poets, who asked him, "What is behind the

E FRAN?O

86-

ARD S.

école Polytechnique in Paris after a brilliant examination, and held the first places throughout the course. In 1806 he was sent to Valencia in Spain, and to the neighbori

as witness to the trial and punishment of a pretended sorceress,--and this, as he says, in one of the principal towns of Spain, the seat of a celebrated university. Yet the worst criminals lived unmolested in the cathedrals, for the "right of asylum" was still in force. His geodetic observations were mysteries to the inhabitants, and his signals on the mountain top were believed to be part of the work of a French spy. Just at this time hostilities broke out between France and Spain, and the astronomer was obliged to flee disguised as a Majorcan peasant, carrying his pr

they stole away from the coast of Spain in a small boat with three sailors, and arrived at Algiers on the 3d of August. Here the French consul procured them two false passp

ive members of the family superseded by the Bakri as kings of the Jews; two Maroccan ostrich-feather merchants; Captain Krog f

of all, a former Spanish servant of Arago's--Pablo--was a sailor in the corsair's crew! At Rosas the pr

are

traveling

ence do y

here you certainly

rom what

ficer's hands, and I had entirely forgotten whether I was from Schwekat or from Leoben. Finally

the officer: 'you're a Spaniard, and a Spaniard fr

e gift of languages. I readily learn the dialects of the various countr

r word. Here is a soldier who

will even sing

mitated bleatings of the goat. I began at once, with an audacity which even n

ciada

zo boui

è bè

gaiva

vos ag

è bè

d to the officer that if he would bring to me a person who could speak French, he would find the same embarrassment in this case also. An emigré of the Bourbon r

: they prove nothing. I requi

answer which will satisfy you. I am

man: you are

change my answers till I found one to suit

h had listened to the interrogato

old servant Pablo. To supply his immediate wants he sold his watch; and by a series of misadventur

harbor of Bougie, an African port a hundred miles east of Algiers. Thence they made the perilous journey by land to their place

ty-three years) he was elected a member of the section of Astronomy of the Academy of Sciences, and from this time forth he led the peaceful life of a savant. He was the Director of the Paris Observatory for many

been published under the title 'Biographies of Distinguished Men,' and can be found in the larger libraries. The collected works contain biographies also of Ampère, Condoreet, Volta, Monge, Porson, Gay-Lussac, besides shorter sketches. They are masterpieces of style and of clear scientific exposition, and full of generous appreciation of others' work. They present in a lucid and popular form the achievements of scientific men whose works have

e, to publish a new and authoritative edition of the great astronomer's works. The translation is mainly that of the 'Biographies of Distinguished Men' cite

. Two of his brothers, Jacques and étienne, were dramatic authors of note. Another, Jean, was a distinguished general in the se

PL

onging to the class of small farmers, on the 28th of March, 1749; he died on the 5th of March, 1827. The first and second volumes of the 'Mécanique Céleste' [Mechanism of the Heavens] were published in 1799; the third volume appeared in 1802, the fourth in 1805;

d the attention of governments and peoples. The greatest captains, statesmen, philosophers, and orators of Greece and Rome found it a subject of delight. Yet astronomy worthy of the name is a modern science: it dates from the sixteenth century only. Three great, three brilliant phases have marked its progress. In 1543 the bold and firm hand of Copernicus

d pertinacity which the most tedious calculations could not tire,--Kepler conjectured that celestial movements must be connected with each other by simple laws; or, to use his own expression, by harmonic laws. These laws he undertook to discover. A thousand fruitless attempts--the errors of calculation inseparable from a colossal undertaking--did not hinder his resolute advance toward the goal his imagination descried. Twenty-two years he devoted to it, and

l areas in equal times; the third, that the squares of the times of revolution of the planets about the sun are proportional to the cubes of their mean distances from that body. The first two laws were discovered by Kepler in the course of a laborious examin

epler's discoveries had been announced. Traces of these great problems may be clearly perceived here and there among ancient and modern writers, from Lucretius and Plutarch down to Kepler, Bouillaud, and Borelli. It is to Newton, however, that we must award the merit of their solution. This great man, like several of his predecessors, imagined the celestial bodies to

lanets were not only attracted by the sun, but that they also attracted each other, he introduced into the heavens a cause of universal perturbation. Astronomers then saw at a glance that in no part of the universe would the Keplerian laws suffice for the exact representation of the phenomena of motion; that the simple regular movements with which the imaginations of the ancients were pleased to endow the heavenly bodies must experience numerous, considerable, perpetually changing perturbations. To discover a few of these perturbations, and to assign their n

inaccessible, and pointed out phenomena hitherto undetected. Finally--and it is this which constitutes their imperishable glory--they brought under the domain of a single principle, a single law, everythin

f the planets and satellites of our system, even the great Newton did not venture to investigate the general nature of their effects. In the midst of the labyrinth formed by increments and diminutions of velocity, variations in the forms of orbits, changes in distances and inclinations, which these forces must evidently produce, the most learned geometer would fail to discover a trustworthy guide. Forces so numerous, so variable in direction, so different in intensity, seemed to be incapable of

, the planes of their orbits undergo displacements by which their intersections with the plane of the terrestrial orbit are each year directed toward different stars. But in the midst of this apparant chaos, there is one element which remains constant, or is merely subject to small and periodic changes; namely, the major axis of each orbit, and consequently the time of revolution of each planet. This is the elem

ot other forces, combined with the attraction of gravitation, produce gradually increasing perturbations such as Newton and Euler feared? Known facts seemed to justify the apprehension. A comparison of ancient with modern observations revealed a continual acceleration in the mean motions of the moon and of Jupiter, and an equally striking diminution of the mean motion of Saturn. These variations led to a very important conclusion. In accordance with their presumed cause, to say that the velocity of a body increased from century to century was equivalent to asserting that the body continually approached the centre of motion; on the other hand, when the

planetary system. The Academy of Sciences called the attention of geometers of all countries to these menacing perturbations. Euler and Lagrange descended into the arena. Never did their mathematical genius shine with a brighter lustre. Still the question remained undecided, when from two obscure corners of the theories of analysis, Laplace, the author of the 'Mécanique Céleste,' brought the laws of these great phenomena clearly to light. The variations in

ely very small. In such a case, the slightest errors in the direction of visual lines exercise an enormous influence upon the results. In the beginning of the last century, Halley had remarked that certain interpositions of Venus between the earth and the sun--or to use the common term, the transits of the planet across the sun's disk--would furnish at each observing station an indirect means of fixing the position of the visual ray much superior in accuracy to the most perfect direct measures. Such was the object of the many scientific expeditions undertaken in 1761 and 1769, years in which the transits of Venus occurred. A comparison of obs

vation assigns the numerical value of these perturbations; theory, on the other hand, unfolds the general mathematical relation which connects them with the solar distance and with other known elements. The determination of the mean radius of the terrestrial orbit--of the distance of the sun--then becomes one of the most simple operations of algebra. Such

of the spheroidal figure of the earth. Such was the idea as it originally occurred to Laplace. By means of a minutely careful investigation, he discovered in its motion two well-defined perturbations, each depending on the spheroidal figure of the earth. When these were submitted to calculation, each led to the same value of the ellipticity. It must be recollected that the ellipticity thus derived from the motions of the moon is not the one corresponding to such or such a country, to the ellipticity observed in France, in England, in Italy, in Lapland, in North America, in India, or in the

he principle of universal gravitation; on the other, certain irregularities observed in the returns of the moon to the meridian. An observing geometer, who from his infancy had never quitted his study, and who had never viewed the heavens except through a narrow aperture directed north and south,--to whom nothing had ever been revealed respecting the bodies revolv

cable ardor, Laplace solved the celebrated problem of the longitude with a precision even greater than the utmost needs of the art of navigation demanded. The ship, the sport of the winds and tempests, no longer fears to lose its way in the

d powerful telescopes, which could not be employed on a tossing ship. Even the expectations of the serviceability of Galileo's methods for land calculations proved premature. The movements of the satellites of Jupiter are far less simple than the immortal Italian supposed them to be. The labors of three more generations of astronomers a

oneous idea of its structure. At the present day every one knows that Saturn consists of a globe about nine hundred times greater than the earth, and of a ring. This ring does not touch the ball of the planet, being everywhere removed from it to a distance of twenty thousand (English) miles. Observation indicates the breadth of the ring to be fifty-four thousand miles. The thickness certainly does not exceed two hundred and fifty miles. With the exception of a black streak which divides the ring throughout its whole contour into two parts of unequal breadth and of different brightness, this strange colossal bridge without foundations had never offered to the most experienced or skillful observers either spot or protuberance adapted for deciding whether it was immovable or endowed with a motion of rotation. Laplace considered it to be very improbable, if the ring was stationary, that its constituent parts should be capable of resisting by mere cohesion the continua

ow venture to predict in detail the time and height of the tides several years in advance. Between the phenomena of the ebb and flow, and the attractive forces of the sun and moon upon the fluid sheet which covers three fourths of the globe, an intimate and necessary connection exists; a connection from which Laplace deduced the value of the mass of our satellite the moon. Yet so late as the year 1631

has established its equilibrium, but upon the express condition (which, however, has been amply proved to exist) that the mean density of the fluid mass is less than the mean density of the earth. Everything else remaining the same, if w

racts in dimensions must inevitably turn upon its axis with greater and greater rapidity. The length of the day has been determined in all ages by the time of the earth's rotation; if the earth is cooling, the length of the day must be continually shortening. Now, there exists a means of ascertaining whether the length of the day has undergone any variation; this consists in examining, for each century, the arc of the celestial sphere described by the moon during the interval of time which the astronomers of the existing epoch call a day; in other words, the time required by the earth to effect a complete rotation on its axis, the velocity of the moon being in fact independent of the time of the earth's rotation. Let us now, following Laplace, take from the standard tables the smallest values, if you choose, of the expansions or contractions which solid bodies experience from changes of temperature; let us search the annal

ast, and in planes only slightly inclined to each other. The satellites revolve around their respective primaries in the same direction. Both planets and satellites, having a rotary motion, turn also upon their axes from west to east. Finally, the rotation of

s of so many bodies differing as they do in magnitude, in form, and in their distances from the centre of attraction. He imagined that he had discovered such a physical cause by making this triple supposition: a comet fell obliquely upon the sun; it pushed before it a torrent of fluid matter; th

condensation, and in consequence to rotate with greater and greater rapidity. If the nebulous matter extended originally in the plane of its equator, as far as the limit where the centrifugal force exactly counterbalanced the attraction of the nucleus, the molecules situate at this limit ought, during the process of condensation, to separate from the rest of the atmospheric matter an

, broke in its turn into several masses, which were obviously endowed with a movement of rotation coinciding in direction with the common movement of revolution, and which, in consequence of their fluidity, assumed

increasing in magnitude and mass, and an atmosphere offering, at its successive limits, phenomena entirely similar to those which the so

a series of distinct spheroidal planets, situate at considerable distances from one another, all revolving around the central sun, in the direction of the original movement of the nebula; how these planets ought also to have movements of rotati

the 'Mécanique Céleste.' The 'Système du Monde' and the 'Th

ant of mathematics may obtain competent knowledge of the methods to which physical astronomy owes its astonishing progress. Written with a noble simplicity of style, an exquisite exactness of expression, and a scrupulous accuracy, it is universally conceded to stand among the noblest monuments of French literature..

g the best form for statistical tables of population and mortality, teaches us to deduce from those numbers, so often misinterpreted, the most precise and useful conclusions. This it is which alone regulates with equity insurance premiums, pension funds, annuities, discounts, etc.

uthority of a thousand is not worth the humble reasoning of a single individual." Two centuries have passed over these words of Galileo without lessening their valu

ARB

67-

s. Many of these have been published in the collections of Swift, Gay, Pope, and others, and cannot be identified. The task of verifying t

to leave Scotland; and John, after finishing his university course at Aberdeen, and taking his medical degree at St. Andrews, went to London and taught mathematics. He soon attracted attention by a keen and satirical 'Examination of Dr. Woodward's Account of the Deluge,' published in 1697. By a fortunate cha

ARB

, hard-drinking, blunt-spoken, rather stupid and decidedly gullible, but honest and straightforward character one of the stock types of the world. The book appeared as four separate pamphlets: the first being entitled 'Law is a Bottomless Pit, Exemplified in the Case of Lord Strutt, John Bull, Nicholas Frog, and Lewis Baboon, Who Spent All They Had in a Law Suit'; the second, 'John Bull in His Senses'; the third, 'John Bull Still i

nts; and I put the journals of all transactions into a strong box to be opened at a fitting occasion, after the manner of the historiographers of some Eastern monarchs.... And now, that posterity may not be ignorant in what age so excellent a history was written (which would otherwise, no doubt, be the subject of its inquiries), I think it proper to inform the learned of future times that i

e South," the King of Spain; "Humphrey Hocus," the Duke of Marlborough; and "Sir Roger Bold," the Earl of Oxford. The lawsuit was the War of the Spanish Succession; John Bull's first wife was the lat

-resistant Jacobitism of the Nonjurors, which it is so hard for us now to distinguish from abject slavishness; though like the principles of the casuists, one must not confound theory with practice. It seems the loyalty of a mujik or a Fiji dressed in cultivated modern clothes, not that of a conceivable cultivated modern community as a whole; but it would be very Philistine to pour wholesale contempt on a creed held by so many large minds and souls. It was of course produced by the experience of what the reverse tenets had brought on,--a long civil war, years of military despotism, and immense social and moral disorganization. In 'John Bull

every art and science, but injudiciously in each." The chronicle of this club was found in 'The Memoirs of the Extraordinary Life, Works, and Discoveries of Martinus Scriblerus,' which is thought to have been written entirely by Arbuthnot, and which describes the education of a learned pedant's son. Its humor may be appreciated

And to say the truth, Pope, who first thought of the Hint, has no Genius at all to it, in my mind; Gay is too young; Parnell has some ide

en the universal dictum; and Pope honored him by publishing a dialogue in the 'Prologue to the Satires,' known first a

friends, and all of them were indebted to him for kindnesses freely rendered. He was on terms of intimacy with Bolingbroke and Oxford, Chesterfield, Peterborough, and Pulteney; and among the ladies with whom he mixed were Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, Lady Betty Germain, Mrs. Howard, Lady Masham, and Mrs. Martha Blount. He was, too, the trus

of Lord Chesterfi

tes of his scattered papers of hints, which would have furnished good matter for folios. Not being in the least jealous of his fame as an author, he would neither take the time nor the trouble of separating the best from the worst; he worked out the whole mine, which afterward, in the hands of skillful refiners, produced

er, think much of the 'Scriblerus' papers, and said they were forgotten because "no man would be the wiser, better, or merrier for remembering them"; which is hard measure for the wit and divertingness of some of the travesties. Cowper, reviewing Johnson'

apacity, Dr. Arbuthnot saw his life flow smoothly to its close. He died in London on February 27th, 1735, at the age

S OF JOHN BULL, NI

tory of John

ly if they pretended to govern him. If you flattered him, you might lead him like a child. John's temper depended very much upon the air; his spirits rose and fell with the weather-glass. John was quick and understood his business very well; but no man alive was more careless in looking into his accounts, or more cheated by partner

o save his pocket, never lost a farthing by careless servants or bad debtors. He did not care much for any sort of diversion, except tricks of High Ge

on. He kept always good clerks, he loved money, was smooth-tongued, gave good words, and seldom lost his temper. He was not worse than an infidel, for he provided plentifully

N AND HIS SISTER PEG, AND WHAT R

tory of John

o hire them out at journey-work to her neighbors. Yet in these, her poor circumstances, she still preserved the air and mien of a gentlewoman--a certain decent pride that extorted respect from the haughtiest of her neighbors. When she came in to any full assembly, she would not yield the pas to the best of them. If one asked her, "Are you not related to John Bull?" "Yes," says she, "he has the honor to be my brother." So Peg's affairs went till all the relations cried out shame upon John for his barbarou

ke a thorough settlement without her consent. There was indeed a malicious story went about, as if John's last wife had fallen in love with Jack as he was eating custard on horseback; that she persuaded John to take his sister into the house the better to

up and down drinking, roaring, and quarreling, through all the country markets, making foolish bargains in his cups, which he repents when he is sober; like a thriftless wretch, spending the goods and gear that his forefathers won with the sweat of their brows; light come, light go; he cares not a farthing. But why should I stand surety for his contracts? The little I have is free, and I can call it my own--hame's hame, let it be never so hamely. I ken well enough, he could never abide me, and when he has his ends he'll e'en use me as he did before. I'm sure I shall be treat

d, and Peg taken into the house upon certain articles [the Act of Toleration is referred to]; one of which was that she might have the freedom of Jack's conversation, and mi

ENTS OF MART

s of Martinu

ree-shows, where he was brought acquainted with all the princes of Europe. In short, the old gentleman so contrived it to make everything contribute to the improvement of his knowledge, even to his very dress. He invented for him a geographical suit of clothes, which might give him some hints of that science, and likewise some knowledge of the commerce of different nations. He had a French hat with an African feather, Holland shirts, Flanders lace, English clothes lined with Indian silk, his gloves were Italian, and his shoes were Spanish: he was made to observe thi

s. But in the midst of all these improvements a stop was put to his learning the alphabet, nor would he let him proceed to the letter D, till he could truly and distinctly pronounce C in the ancient mann

cording to Homer. But what most conduced to his easy attainment of this language was his love of gingerbread: which his father observing, caused to be stamped with the letters of the Greek alphabet; and the child the very first day eat as far as Iota. By his particular application

t this time he composed (in imitation of it) 'A Thousand and One Arabian Tales,' and also the 'Persian Tales,' which have been since translated into several languages, and

ONAUTIC

lias. Pelias was the usurper of his nephew's throne; and for Jason, on his coming to man's estate, he devised the perilous adventure of fetching the golden fleece of the Speaking Ram which many years before had carried Phrixus to ?a, or Colchis. Fifty of the most distinguished Grecian heroes came to Jas

ked. Cyzicus himself fell by the hand of Jason. They next touched at the country of the Bebrycians, where the hero Pollux overcame the king in a boxing-match and bound him to a tree; and thence to Salmydessus, to consult the soothsayer Phineus. In gratitude for their freeing him from the Harpies, who, as often as his table was set, descended out of the clouds upon his food and defiled it, the prophet directed them safe to Colchis. The heroes rowing with might, th

eeth. Here the heavenly powers came to the hero's aid, and Hera and Athena prayed Aphrodite to send the shaft of Cupid upon Medea, the youthful daughter of the king. Thus it came about that Medea conceived a great passion for the young hero, and with the magic which she knew she made for him a salve.

er father followed in pursuit, in the madness of her love for Jason she slew her brother whom she had with her, and strewed the fragments of his body upon the wave. The king stopped to recover them and give them burial, and thus the Argonauts escaped. But the anger of the gods at this horrible murde

ion is indissoluble by any analysis yet found. The theme has touched the imagination of poets from the time of Apollonius Rhodius, who wrote the 'Argonautica' and went to Alexandria B.C. 194 to take care of the great library there, to William Morris, who published his 'Life and Death of Jason' in 1867. Mr. Mo

TORY OF

ife and Dea

Si

seafarer

all your il

pon the la

e brought t

fashion o

d waste, fair

nd kings from

ince hither y

n this bea

heads the s

ehold a gl

all ye be k

ph

more, a l

of the Go

labor wit

each the la

chance faint

of this o

em down unt

cross the

e longed-for

a god could

ang your he

o slower an

Si

hanced to re

desires we

troubles h

n victory

t now, when

th us a l

e washing

ll be your w

l smile to

troublous ch

ling bitt

time brings

ph

me murmur i

t we have do

ends our car

t fear on us

Si

ill ye stop

esire to

live 'mid ca

st fear make

ph

May-time no

against t

singing in

heads the May

Si

come, and it

igh make you

with swift

e satiate

ph

uly bring f

th green tr

me damsel's

e shadows ch

Si

ight July

fear and f

of every l

urely sha

ph

n August co

he golden

eapers thou

ll think the

Si

on thy short

ne heart f

d toil, and

of those d

ph

u climb the

ctober a

purple eart

t to the ma

Si

beginnest

remembrance

e shining cu

helpless

ph

eless shal

ld night an

nd tale and

as merry

Si

o-night, to

ars o'erflow

ll all these

-morrow com

ph

e world is

e fair love,

t 'twixt the

sh love-beg

the world i

t year befor

art think of

self with

Si

he world i

ng love un

sires fond

ays from ti

e world is

day is so

unmoved by

straight hou

ceased awhile

rgo fell off

the water sh

land a fitful

with the many

swell it out and

st side of the

waves again

Si

pleasure sh

mid days of

d sinking he

rselves that

eath ever c

er of a pe

ess land wh

by the cha

ph

fair town n

of the wa

talked-of thi

how the king

d hands, a

f a desper

r surely th

narrow st

Si

souls and

aw nigh to

we are fa

we shall b

ur hearts woul

n the earth-

nd such l

ewith your e

ers of t

rs over la

ph

lightning 't

d snow upo

aps of threa

looks up

he doomed vic

deadly sle

with them,

threescore

r, suffer

green earth

Si

bold with

as happy dre

once heavy

r palace

s 'neath th

'erhead a

h the woods o

ns fairer t

of the Ph

ehold; and

ea-born fruit

s and unchan

May-time kno

lared house b

ye shall n

floors of p

feet as our

e glimmering

s garlande

o fair, sha

forget the

earth and

ph

t valley of

the summer str

shadow, an

morn to e

ack ivy cree

-armed, red-t

tering the

o'er her thi

hollow o

g song the

e stream, a

the happy sh

irst of su

, on the d

n woolen ra

limbs and sw

e calm green

about the sw

and would

ere landed f

Si

rise with y

e shimmering

there our ch

hrough the m

t sit upon

on the trou

hind, where

y brought cha

hite arms abo

ing somewha

oiced erewh

hile old st

od, float rou

r eyes with

e sing unto

sing, with

about these

neath the g

ell-sailor o

ong, from se

an echoi

t love the

ph

e-covered hi

one, have

clad maide

ng rose-trel

querulous pip

ray shadow

ning at the

y or pale

e those who 't

swift of

ey are some

rough brown

ross their

off their d

stars, the m

wan, the d

ir bodies f

once, for m

world grew

he bitter s

those that

dens and su

ced, half-re

r glorious e

s eager hea

at I were wi

oon is gath

from the ho

ws gleam;

us o'er a

Si

land where n

is rash o

ise there

rom wild l

r birth and d

sire of un

u there, no

ch never dr

lovely lan

member wh

will, forg

he kingdom

hardened t

for vain fa

t peace fo

fulfilled of

nwavering G

time can t

after your

rgotten, ye

e counted

h us, alo

h us, dwe

trembling

ph

weary of t

change thi

and dull h

ndeed to g

to die, and

f ye ne'er

r memory fre

thought of

thrilling pl

dream!

all happ

e thought

bones the s

dead, how

sh joys that

n fount of j

ung and glo

ss, shall I

the flower-s

e gentle ra

working sno

birds, the w

t maketh bl

our toil a

ous and co

Si

e go, and

from us,

threescore

an unnam

he wretche

upon your

nt heaviness

think you o

r, grown old,

sing acro

ome back, co

, O fearf

ph

gain, ah,

w plunges thr

l all your t

forget,

ICO A

74-

OSCA

oiardo before him and Tasso after him, he lived and wrote; and it was to the family of Este that he dedicated that poem in which are seen, as in a mirror, the gay life, the intellectual brilliancy, and the sensuous love for beauty which mark the age. At seventeen he began the study of the law, which he soon ab

comedies are much better than the early ones, which are but little more than translations from Plautus and Terence. In general, however, the efforts of Ariosto in this direction are far less important than the 'Orlando' or the 'Satires.' At the first appearance of his plays they were enormous

not born to be a statesman, nor a courtier, nor a man of affairs; and his life as ambassador of Cardinal Ippolito, and as captain of Garafagno, was not at all to his liking. His one longing through all the busy years of his life was for a quiet home, where he could live in liberty and enjoy the comforts of cultured leisure. A love of independence was a marked trait of his character, and it m

ake the form of little dissertations, introduced at the beginning of a canto, or scattered through the body of the poem. These reflections are f

al Ippolito, every one was reading the 'Orlando Innamorato,' and the young poet soon fell under the charm of these stories; so that when the inward impulse which all great poets feel toward the work of creation came to him, he took the material already at hand and continued the story of 'Orlando.' With a certain skill and inventiveness, Boiardo had mingled together the epic cycles of Arthur and Char

nation we find that this confusion is only apparent. The poet himself is never confused, but with sure hand he manipulates the many-colored threads which are wrought into the fabric of the poem. The war between the Saracens and the Christians is a sort of background or stage; a rallying point for the characters. In reality it attracts but slightly our attention or interest. Again, Orla

osophical reformer, that he appears to mankind, but as the supreme artist. Ariosto represents in its highest development that love for form, that perfection of style, which is characteristic of the

e of thought, the interest never flags. What seems the arbitrary breaking off of a story before its close is really the art of the poet; for he knows, were each episode to be told by itself, we should have only a string of novelle, and not the picture he des

ideals of chivalry, nor did the poet himself; hence there is an air of unreality about the poem. The figures that pass before us, although they have certain characteristics of their own, are not real beings, but those that dwell in a land of fancy. As the poet tells these stories of a bygone age, a smile of iron

y pity or terror. No lofty principles are inculcated. Even the pathetic scenes, such as the death of Zerbino

charm about the 'Orlando,' and he who sits down to read it with serious purpose will soon find himself under the spell of an attraction which comes from unflagging interest and from perfection of style a

s, and retouched from beginning to end. He died not long afterward, in 1533, and was bur

IP OF MEDORO

Furioso,' Ca

ong the Payn

bscure in Pt

story, an

ove, is worth

oridane were

rtune pleased t

dinello wi

im to France ha

me and strong

life a follow

e, suffused wit

n youth, a pl

at emprize, 'mi

airer or more

ad of gold, and

angel lighted

posted on a r

rd the encampmen

equal interv

on heaven wit

, the stripling

oose, but of h

Dardinel;

nored on the

o his mate, cri

l thee what

, my lord u

worthy food fo

still to me h

in his hon

mine, for fav

make a feebl

not lack sepu

seek him out a

may will that

camp lies hushed

eath be writt

he deed be ab

ortune foil

h Fame, my loving

oridane a chi

h love, and suc

ake the youth hi

assing dear: b

steadfast purpo

comforted n

sposed to me

e his master

t would bend him,

o," was Clori

rious act myse

famous deat

ing is left m

thee, Medoro

rms is better,

of grief, should

ved, disposing

elief, depart t

d palisade, an

, who watch wi

little fear th

ires extinguis

s and arms th

immersed in s

ridano stopt

lost are op

whom my master'

ht not I to

t any one th

re about, with

y, amid the h

to make thee

d his talk cut

earned Alpheus

r before sought

, magic, an

now in art foun

und that it

n that he his

on the bosom

Saracen wi

weasand with t

he near that

wretches time

n his story

f their names

oncalier nex

ly sleeps betw

idious blade, t

round King Cha

arlike palad

ide that each

me the Paynims

swords, the impi

ssible, in s

ght on one who d

ight escape well

ves they think

at he deems t

owing him) w

eld, 'mid bow a

spear, in pool

r, the king and

n the rider a

endor glistened

owned Almontes'

ro mourned hi

d the quarterin

athed in many

l from either

and moan, that

s melancholy

ce supprest--n

y one the noi

his life tak

d burden he wou

ing heard shoul

se which has br

ing upon their s

themselves di

eps, they hastene

rished burden

ching was the

ven the stars, fr

ino, he whose

e of need by sle

ors all night,

o the camp a

m some horseme

ar the two c

some spoil or

ne, toward th

es us," cried y

the load we

lish thought (mi

ving men, to s

burden, ween

same by it, u

oy, who loved h

to the weight

rying with al

lose behind h

now his dange

hs, instead of

ath, amid the

f, pursued the

hemes were mar

ight upon his s

new not, and m

f again in she

ant was his mat

ade with lighter

loridane adv

boy no longer

arked the abs

f his heart wa

I so negligen

far beside my

o, should with

I deserted t

n the wood h

the maze wit

ence he lately

, of death ret

ead of steeds th

hreat of foema

o by his voi

oot, 'mid many

emen who the y

and bids his

like a top the

as he can: a

beech, ash, he

rished load his

ngth, the burd

, and stalked

cky cavern t

e warfare Alpi

ngs about he

ingled sound of

claws, and blood

ate and wrath t

r, and bids fro

fspring watch,

o to aid him

oro willingl

ot for death th

than one shoul

sharpest arr

ects it with

eapon bores a S

warrior dead

l the others

hence was shot th

unched another

e might by th

made of this

stioned who ha

d--transfixed th

estion short i

ain of those

eous sight his

at he springs

ou of this shal

in his locks

drags him to

s that beauteo

the boy, and

pling turns, wi

, sir knight," e

assing crue

th my honored

ace I suppl

ove of life, b

nger, space of

e to give my

ds must feed th

eon, let their

mbs; so that

ose of good Al

s suit, with g

move a mounta

s mood, to ki

d pity he al

churlish horse

erence for his

lifting, wou

ppliant in his

the cruel a

red, the rather

the blow the

as he was

their chief, wh

wood, inspired

ft the one and

scarce alive,

ghty space lay

ife-blood from

erished, but th

it chanced, w

VING O

ndo Furios

ived a damsel

mean and rusti

ence and of b

nners, sagel

ft unsung so

hardly recog

her (if kno

ghter of Cata

when she h

ello had from

bborn pride and

orn this ample w

d as cheap eac

the best by

she to remem

lando or Ki

ery other de

aldo she had

ok so low she

ce dishonored) g

this, such arr

damsel's pride

edoro lay he

, with bow and

elica the str

eath in that d

g, that there u

for his own

w pity in he

its entry in

aughty heart, onc

he his piteous

back to me

nd had learn

ars such studi

ise and fame

rloom, sires t

id of books,

f to work with

should healthi

an herb had c

ither, on a p

r dittany or

aught with vir

od forth-wellin

h perilous and

ar, and having

seek Medoro

he upon a sw

eback passing t

e lowing herd,

sing for two

er conducted,

uth was ebbing

ground about

wasted with th

ights upon

ustic comrade

ixt two stones t

and the healin

he foment the s

e hips, his wa

virtue was th

ife-blood, and hi

infused suc

unt the horse th

ro would not

th had seen hi

monarch, buri

owed whither p

tay with him

rteous shepherd

damsel quit

d the youth) ti

t she felt, wh

ched and bleedin

mien and mann

e her heart wit

de her heart,

by little warm

elt between two

in, in the gr

hildren; in sho

shed had build

isly wound the

ealed by the

iefer space,

oro's, suffere

her love known. They solemnize their marriage,

res, where, with

ubbling fountain

k, if yielding

traight at work

hout, in thous

ny places gr

Angelica

phers quaint

ed they had pro

ow, the dams

o revisit

crown Medoro'

her wrist a

ems, in witne

er by Count

damsel for lon

to the palad

stly is and wr

elica so mu

re esteemed w

uffered, in th

y what privi

o the whale ex

ospitable r

sessing wher

couple's ho

in their cabi

lodged, with s

om her arm th

m keep it fo

e, the lovers

fertile France f

NESS OF

ndo Furios

thless woods, wh

charger had p

two days, with

ithout tiding

ed a rill of

nk of which

ith native hues

er with fair

ervor made th

d as well as

ndo well ben

ince, opprest wit

r repose the

the abode of

ojourn more ac

y day, than to

und, he there

ved, upon th

e writing

on as he had m

ce of those de

times, atten

hepherd's cot h

lady, sovere

nots, amid the

s, their ciphered

etters are s

n his bleeding h

redit in a th

credits in h

rce persuade hi

ica than hi

w these charac

ave so many r

this Medoro

igured in the

ch like phant

th, did sad

hope, though

elf-illusions

d aye rekindle

nch the ill su

tious bird, by

or lime; which

angled pinion

is but more se

s thither, wh

se of arch the c

orse the sorrow

trance of the

s, which seemed

young Medoro's

pleasure he h

he in verses

gue, I deem, mig

se; and such in

en herbage, rill

th cool shade, t

any wooed with

gelica, the

n, within my

enient harbo

oro, can bu

, forever sin

ving lord d

cavalier, a

fortune hithe

ative,--to th

ock, and grass, a

e to you the

ay the choir of

n his flock may

s writ the b

ndo like the

n many langua

ech; which ofte

d shame had s

roved the S

oast not of i

by the presen

four, and six, th

that wretch p

er sense than

he thing more

le, within his

hand his hear

yes close faste

od, not differin

lost all feel

to that o'er

, believe the

ks, which does

from his foreh

allen upon his

grief-barred ea

ears, or utter

, the impetuou

o quickly issu

n, imprisone

arrow and whose

one turns up t

h, so hastes th

rait encounte

rks a passage,

himself retur

the thing mig

so he hoped, de

lady would wit

eight of jealo

reason, as sh

osoe'er the thi

ited passing

hope he sought

e deal his spi

faithful Brig

's retreat hi

arrior had pu

rom a roof he

dog and kine,

rd in quest o

it, and left

t attendant;

doffed the gold

ff, to clean,

mestead where t

nd was here su

, with other

ll of sorrow,

d the count h

one who spake

swain, who to

w his guest so t

h he was wont

ers--to each l

hich many l

t reserve, 'ga

lica's persu

m had carried

unded with an

e she healed t

exercised th

eart the lady

m small spark s

over, restle

he of mightiest

he East, nor o

issant love, had

sort of a poo

, to them in p

h, in reward

nded in tha

t parting,

ith, such dead

ouse, that swain

reak, or till t

goes before a

ndo takes his

pest greenwood

red that he i

to his grief in

ars, never fr

found he peace

town, in fore

pen air on h

t himself, ho

his eyes cou

s for so many

mes, amid his m

not what I s

s, is dead and

most ungratefu

sness inflicte

the flesh, I

ell, tormented,

n its shadow

all such as t

t the forest r

ak of daily lig

py fortune t

ription young

ngs inscribed

fury so, in h

atred, frenzy,

re, but bared hi

he writing; and

, in tiny fr

sapling and tha

and Angelic

t they to sheph

ll never furnis

ountain, late so

estous wrath w

rage, so fierc

d remained the w

tfulness, his

s, I trow, had w

is, nor bill,

Orlando's pe

ess gave high

pine uproot

ers, with a

l-wort-stem, o

otted oak, a

ountain ash, an

wler, ere he s

re the champai

h, and nettle s

sturdy trees a

ains, who hear

ocks beneath the

there, across

ther, all, th

ched such poin

this bound,

tory will

by my tediou

TOPH

448-

AUL

'Plutus,' was produced in 388, and there is no evidence that he long survived this date. Little is known of his life beyond the allusions, in the Parabases of the 'Acharnian

any one who deserved to be branded with infamy. This old political Comedy was succeeded in the calmer times that followed the Peloponnesian War by the so-called Middle Comedy (390-320) of Alexis, Antiphanes, Strattis, and some minor men; which insensibly passed into the New Comedy (320-250) of Menander and Philemon, known to us in the reproductions of Terence. And this new comedy, which portrayed types of private life instead of satirizing noted persons by name, and which, as Aristotle says, produced laughter by innuendo rather than by scurrility, was preferred to the "terrible graces" of her elder sister by the gentle and refined

TOPH

man; or the restoration of the eyesight of the proverbially blind god of Wealth. The attention of the audience is at once enlisted for the semblance of a plot by which the scheme is put into execution. The design once effected, the remainder of the play is given over to a series of loosely connected scenes, ascending to a climax of absurdity, in which the consequences of the original happy thought are followed out with a Swiftian veri

ts remain. The impolitic representation in the latter of the Athenian allies as branded Babylonian slaves was th

lays are the

ysia with wife and child, soothing, by an eloquent plea pronounced in tattered tragic vestments borrowed from Euripides, the anger of the chorus of choleric Acharnian charcoal burners, exasperated at the repeated devastation of their deme by the Spartans. He then opens a market, to which a jolly Boeotian brings the long-lost, thrice-desired Copaic eel; while a starveling Megarian, to the huge delight of the Athenian groundlings, sells his little daughters, disguised as pig

ttery the rascally Paphlagonian steward, Cleon, and supplant him in the favor of their testy bean-fed old master, Demos (or People). At the close, Demos recovers his wits and his youth, and is revealed sitting enthroned in his glo

r and the ludicrous failure of his father, who at first matriculates in his stead, consents. He listens to the pleas of the just and unjust argument in behalf of the old and new education, and becomes himself such a proficient that he demonstrates, in flawless reasoning, that Euripides is a better poet than Aeschylus, and that a boy is justified in beating his father for affirming the contrary. Strepsiades thereupon, cured of his folly, undertakes a subtle investigation into the timbers of the roof of the Reflectory, with a view to smoking out the corrupters of

t of condemnation. The old man is inconsolable at the first escape of a victim from his clutches; but finally, renouncing his folly, takes lessons from his exquisite of a son in the manners and deportment of a fine gentleman. He then attends a dinner party, where he betters his instructions with comic exaggeration and returns home in high feather, singing tipsy catches and ass

his farm, in parody of the Bellerophon of Euripides, ascends to heaven on a dung-beetle. He there hauls Peace from the bottom of the well into which she had been cast by Ares, an

uckoo-Burgh in the air between the gods and men, starve out the gods with a "Melian famine," and rule the world themselves. The gods, their supplies of incense cut off, are forced to treat, and Peisthet?rus receives in marriage Basileia (Sovereignty), the daughter of Zeus. The mise

tragedian, learning that the women in council assembled are debating on the punishment due to his misogyny, implores the effeminate poet Agathon to intercede for him. That failing, he dispatches his kinsman Mnesilochus, disguised with singed beard and woman's robes, a sight to shake the mi

honor rooted in dishonor stood." After many surprising adventures by the way, and in the outer precincts of the underworld, accompanied by his Sancho Panza, Xanthias, he arrives at the court of Pluto just in time to be chosen arbitrator of the great contest between Aeschylus and Euripides for the tragic throne in Hades. The comparisons and parodies of

sions of the schools before they found definite expression in Plato's 'Republic.' The ladies of Athens rise betimes, purloin their husbands' hats

rks the transition to the Middle Comedy, there being no parabasis, and little of the exuberant verve of the older pieces. The blind god

e thirty-two lost plays, of which a few not very interesting f

ipides in Professor Jebb's lectures on Greek poetry. The soberer view seems to be that while predominantly a comic artist, obeying the instincts of his genius, he did frequently make his comedy the vehicle of an earnest conservative polemic against the new spirit of the age in Literature, Philosophy, and Politics. He pursued Euripides with relentless ridicule because his dramati

in filing a contentious tongue on barren logomachies. That Socrates in fact discussed only ethical problems, and disclaimed all sympathy with speculations about things above our heads, made no difference: he was the best human embodiment of a hateful educational error. And similarly the assault upon Cleon, the "pun-pelleting

etched, and genuine touches of human nature lend verisimilitude to their most improbable actions. One or two traditional comic types appear for the first time, apparently, on his stage: the alternately cringing and familiar slave or valet of comedy, in his Xanthias and Karion; a

vivida vis animi can hardly be reproduced in a translation, and disappears altogether in an attempt at an abstract enumeration of the poet's inexhaustible devices for comic effect. He himself repeatedly boasts of the fertility of his invention, and claims to have discarded the coarse farce of his predecessors for something more worthy of the refined intelligence of his clever audience. Yet it must be acknowledged that much even of his wit is the mere filth-throwing of a naughty boy; or at best the underbred jocularity of the "funny column," the topical song, or the minstrel show. Th

re perhaps the most remarkable testimony extant to the intelligence of an Athenian audience. Did they infallibly catch th

hs Copaic alde

e intolerable pathos of Admetus's fa

even i

h me, embalmed a

at the dazzling plume and nodding crest" of the swashbuckler Lamachus, of Philocleon, clinging to his ass's belly like Odysseus escaping under the ram from the Cyclops's cave; of the baby in the Thesmophoriazus? seized as a Euripidean hostage, and turning out a wine bottle in swaddling-clothes; of light-foot Iris in the r?le

ons and Euthukleses, must have grinned when they heard them, like a pair of augurs. If we conceive five or six Shakespearean comedies filled from end to end with ancient Pis

sworn, the mind

ife, thy sire

life and death

analogies to bear it out. The very plots of his plays are realized metaphors or embodied conceits. And the same concrete vividness of imagination is displayed in single scenes and episodes. The Better and the Worse Reason plead the causes of the old and new education in person. Cleon and Brasidas are the pestles with which War proposes to bray Greece in a mortar; the tr

the air fairly reeks with the smell of leather and the tanyard. The 'Birds' transport us to a world of trillings and pipings, and beaks and feath

r was first worked in these comedies. All these excellences are summed up in the incomparable wealth and flexibility of his vocabulary. He has a Shakespearean mastery of the technicalities of every art and mystery, an appalling command of billingsgate and of the language of the cuisine, and would tire Falstaff and Prince Hal with base comparisons. And not content with the existing res

rse he easily strikes every note, from that of the urbane, unaffected, colloquial Attic, to parody of high or subtle tragic diction hardly distinguishable from its model. He can adapt his metres to the expression of every shade of feeling. He has short, snapping, fiery trochees, like sparks from their own holm oak, to represent the choler of the Acharnians; eager, joyous glyconics to bundle up a sycophant and hustle him off the stage, or for the young knights of Athens celebrating Phormio's sea fights, and chanting, ho

wild of his own 'Mousa lochmaia' (the muse of the coppice). The chorus of the Myst? in the 'Frogs,' the rustic idyl of the 'Peace,' the songs of the girls in the 'Lysistrata,' the call of the nightingale

al reader are doubtless the text edited by Bergk (2 vols., 1867), and the translations

OF THE PELO

rnians': Frere

?OP

ed, most excel

m a beggar

udience upon

comedy;

in all the rul

guish betwixt

ak are bold, bu

st cannot ac

the city bef

s the Len?

eet, all by o

e arrived as y

or allies: bu

ple, clean a

denizens as a

t the Spartans

Neptune, the T

n their houses wi

osses--losses,

le; vines cut d

ds (for only fr

lame the Sparta

urs, some peopl

rom among us

eople (pray,

d the Peopl

le, mere prete

ts,--went layin

confiscation

from Megara; p

cks of salt, and

be merchandi

seized, and sol

ht pass, as pet

d, some dought

carry away

, Sim?tha. Th

liation, se

pets, hurried

asia's house

the beginnin

owing to these

, like an Ol

hunder and his

rm and light

the neighborh

s, drawn up lik

was enacted

rians should

e where commerc

re--like "old Car

e, by land and

ians, being al

Spartans to

hose laws: the l

he stealing of

ged and prayed

d: and so the

ET'S A

rnians': Frere

has nev

it prop

n you wi

iasti

wn super

abused a

tacked

e of th

ppeal in his

e humor and te

followi

y, th

empted or

cand

any

y imperial

ver h

n vari

have merited ho

still to stick

e fooled with rh

late each

half of y

plead their c

phrase, and a

owns" and "At

ous Athens"

Athens" is

ever, a su

meat or a be

refore

fident

ve courage an

y served you

openl

yle an

mocracy ru

d its practi

l arts, the k

n all your

hall we see

ith tribute

anxious al

protector, th

say, that has

strong, to d

foreign clim

r instance la

the case of t

nd cross-

n envoys.

e rival Sta

seas? He ask

see them mor

e two conte

bused by this

ch a bold, so pr

use would ren

d able; and br

prosper and c

he Laced?m

an insigni

say, "for a pl

make all jea

eir privy de

gain this m

influence on

g a hold on

the isle

re needs to b

tention, and know

our island, and

for h

actice

patriot

e hones

e now

uffoonery

ttering, or base

puffing, or ac

king or

enly s

ace and

es and s

s endeavor on

to think, he will

ain and aga

not, nor f

and rheto

ence, his

igns, his ras

abuse on m

right, in

attend me, a

friend, I ne

de

humbl

his

neakin

slavish, po

AL OF TH

ghts': Frere'

author had wi

-day, for a speec

have granted so

of ours, as the

dulgence denie

and vigor, the s

counters the pes

d seaman, int

ght, in the fa

he gentle rep

is friends, for

profession, emb

storms and p

tate that for r

so long and de

he achievements

ttempt of a d

ceived was capr

e courting her,

ut reason, from

d shift, and tu

iends with unkin

scorn as exha

fate, who was

t of comedy ca

e stage, in the f

he Chorus his

all sort, that we

vagaries unhe

wings, and a tho

ome fancies his

as spent, did yo

delight that he

placed, and expel

his wit were gro

r a sample, the

inus so splen

d blood, and enla

rrent tore down

ew, with the groun

o boot, wrenched

l foes, who pre

bolished, dispers

adlong, with a

is tunes, and his

d sung by the o

nd carousals, w

hibribe" and "The

asons and buil

nes that all tong

ecay you have

stops and his

ttered, a broken

sight among ru

faded, and what

s palate are parc

meet him alone

worn, tatter

forlorn, in his

uccess should exe

at large at the

the great at the

very day and pre

pparel, trium

e next, always te

nous temper tor

good sense, withou

ittle hoard, pr

te treat, eco

issing, with crow

ear he pursu

rse, till he fin

s held him in l

friends, with a

n in regular

the helm, and t

practice has f

e weather, and

point of the se

command of a sh

sons li

judgme

did no

ignora

oubleso

bother, and

him a

irst set

ll pu

heart

ess to t

him

ng an

g and

s bald

LOUD

ds': Andrew La

TES S

e Clouds renowned, and

l on the sacred cres

ith the Nereid Choir

den urns are dipped

you dwell b

of Mimas, a

and accept our gift

LOUDS

uds from the

f streams from

et, let us r

eaming and

the tree-clad

arth where the

that murmur

g sea with his

glitters the E

bright r

ur shadows of

ss shapes to g

f the heaven, on

Ocean

Maidens that b

e on Palla

y of Cecrops

land of the

es unspoken s

f the gods that

f mortals that

s tall and the

of the gods are

mortals, the cha

mirth at the c

l voices that

g feet of the

HORUS O

ds': Swinburn

nature in darkness, and lik

at are molded of mire, unend

comfortless mortals, as vis

hat are deathless, and date

ageless for aye, us, all o

having heard of us all things

inning of gods, and of streams

, in my name bid Prodicus

first, and the blackness of da

r heaven; when in depths of th

e black-plumed Night, was a w

s revolving again sweet L

rth of his back, like wh

haos, whose wings are of dar

he race of us first, and upra

race of the gods, until al

d with communion of natur

and the race of the gods everl

f all things blest. And tha

igns. We have wings, and with

k that forswore love once,

d desired them subdued by th

flamingo, a goose, or a cock

efall men come from us bird

e known to them spring, and t

rts clanging for Afric in s

hang up his rudder again f

estes the thief, lest he stri

kite reappearing announce

shearing your sheep of their s

t-coat, and provide something lig

Delphi unto you. Dodon

t auguries of birds, even such

ade, or of earning your brea

e charge of a bird that bel

reckon; you sneeze, and the si

--sounds, too, and lackeys and

the manifest godhead that

DAY ON

ace': Frere'

ee the new-sown corn

g from the soil that only

ains are falling, in

bor calling, cheers yo

uch as this, let us

be doing? You're the k

n to prosper your ende

meeting, with some f

's your lout, hoeing

ll him out, this weat

nts of meal, and do so

ir it in, and let us h

y house,--any one t

gs pudding, two gherkin

f them in all, if the

and tearing round the

them to us,--take th

garlands, sprigs in fl

the way to Chari

to-day, since heaven is

HA

Translation in t

t, when field

rry cricket

rk with c

e-tree's t

the fruit

roe to Mo

s, too, to

cious figs

iot witho

, nectareou

rateful voi

son! bles

TO THE NI

rds ': Frere

e! a

ore, my ge

r tiny t

tuneful e

le or

r airy r

listen a

ditty tha

ad la

ire e

ss Itys t

e the

rise

oar a

lofty pa

y Apollo si

ode, with hi

d to the hea

gods shall j

estial s

G OF CLOUD-

rds ': Frere

out of breath, and spe

s he? Where? Where

president Pe

us [coolly]

breath]--Your fort

ell! tha

mazing, astonis

eagenes an

and gasconade

ease, both of t

st upon the b

is own ne

You sur

ht (for I made the

y a hundr

eaven an

uch a mass! who co

; no creature el

klayers, work

es, alone, by the

urprise, as a

say, complete

ody of thirty

sitive, there

Africa in their c

e-curlews and

e and finished.

oo, were busy in

rtar, while t

was wanted, br

er and

get]--But who s

ou get to

-To ca

arrion crows and

, which he endea

after all, to

you mana

Oh, cap

here were the ge

mortar, and wh

into the hods

eir fla

ke, as a vent f

ted it,

andily done th

ssure you, it was

s there were, clam

egs, like brickla

andy, with their

en, it's no use en

aste, we've all

me! But about th

carpenters? A

kers, of course: a

he gates, drivi

hatchet-beaks,

s they made, hamm

ual peal, p

s, hard at work

ork is finished

lts, and bars

their posts; p

in the barbic

for lighting; a

'll step out, j

s. You'll settl

S OF

phoriazus?': Col

ays abusing

ible plag

re the root

it again

quarrels, an

ief, be w

en, why do y

l the plagu

ou take such

us so saf

ever easy

we chanc

ht to be tha

lague is ou

p fussing a

my Plagu

peeps out of

he eyes

then they al

e looks

F MYST?

ogs': Frere'

outing and

! Iacch

! Iacch

aster, there they

t as he told us w

n praise of Bacch

nd so they are; bu

em out a little

US [

cchus! Ho

t the wo

e a

e a

wanton

revel up

ystic ho

frolic vot

psy shout

ng the Th

orth, aler

acred ol

uous dance

m the vulg

gies that

votarie

stic chor

revealed-

virgin, daughte

roasted griskin

watch for a chance of

US [

fiery to

s approac

planet of

with the

dark so

flash upo

ain is bla

overflown

ast his y

ares of m

to the li

chus! marc

hand towar

ted humb

chus--move

ep peace--and le

y solemnity

nlightened by ta

notions are d

atrical c

ied by

trained by the

orgies, poet

uffooning and je

designs of oppre

ition and stri

short, to the Sta

a fort, or in

harbors of h

signments of ca

at Thorycion

lly dirty colle

eject and sev

renching the fees

rds, in revenge

ampoons of this

suing their p

flouted and scof

dmonished and

n them

n them

monish--we war

orm to

re and

us again with

sign'd to th

measure an

I-C

arch! le

orth m

in ord

hustling

may

shouting

flouting,

and

had a b

t brave and

ref

er

voices and

the go

ra

of p

ave the cou

gainst the tr

he s

I-C

aise in a di

he goddess, the

ing he

ther b

e sober, submis

I-C

holy pa

d to mark

nevolen

Chorus an

for the p

gs to sin

termixed w

t without

with the

e prize of

I-C

and with a dif

of mirth a

tive Bacchus,

rth and join

I-C

he customary patron

h witho

ted ann

ceremonious

processi

y footste

us, light, cel

at thy

hy faith

iful a

worn and

in old an

kins torn

fferers i

e us at

throughou

within

ome lov

we romped

ed and d

ir bosom

we might

, I was al

to mirth

to join

I will if

EURIPIDES'

'The

e by the f

warble tw

ver the tu

r down in i

ers in c

nning your

choing rou

s of the wh

ght-footed d

of the dark-

urse of the

lustering t

own dull car

e a child again j

see how that las

deration I leave t

OGUES OF

'The

and especially his regular c?sura after the fifth syllable of a line. The burlesque tag used by Aristophanes to demon

ve, I'll not stop t

if the gods are pr

with a little flask

h a flask of s

e one. For you buil

into the metre,-

r smelling-salts

ou'll show

-I wil

us--Pr

declai

road-bruited

hildren voya

os cam

ost his sme

ief have the smelling

er prologue to h

r.

sus-armed and

hlights on Pa

g and

ost his sme

ut again by the

e's a prologue that

rtal man is

uth hath lacked

wly lo

ost his sme

-Eurip

Well,

Best tak

alts, methinks,

care? I'll fix

other, and steer clear

r.

ing from the

of A

ost his sme

, buy those smelling-

t of all you

t? I buy

ou'll be ad

t. I've lots of prol

'em

Tantalid to

peedy

ost his sme

re again, you see.

us. You can re

ck

. I've not

rom broa

lost his sm

ay the whole v

ad fields reape

ring fir

ost his sme

acrificing? Wh

d him. Let him try

ord of sooth d

e'll say Zeus lost hi

alts fit your pr

n and turn your

ri

STO

. 38

MAS DA

. Losing both his parents while a mere boy, he was taken charge of by a relative, Proxenus Atarneus, and sent, at the age of seventeen, to Athens to study. Here he entered the school of Plato, where he remained twenty years, as pupil and as teacher. During this time he made the acquaintance of the leading contemporary thinkers, read omnivorously, amassed an amount of knowledge that seems almost fabulous, schooled himself in systematic thought, and (being well off) collected a library, perhaps the first considerable private library in the wor

uction in the Nymph?um, which he had arranged in imitation of Plato's garden school. Alexander remained with him three years, and was then called by his father to assume important State duties. Whether Aristotle's instruction continued after that is uncertain; but the two men remained fast friends

alled the Peripatetic. Here he developed a manifold activity. He pursued all kinds of studies, logical, rhetorical, physical, metaphysical, ethical, political, and aesthetic, gave public (exoteric) and private (esoteric) instruction, and composed the bulk of the treatises which have made

s before, and base upon it--as having the form of the paean, sacred to Apollo--a charge of impiety. Aristotle, recognizing the utter flimsiness of the charge, and being unwilling, as he said, to allow the Athenians to sin a second time against philosophy, retired beyond their reach to his villa at Chalcis in Euboea, where he died of stomach disease the year after (322). In the later years of his life, the friendship between him and his illustrious p

o place by his side." Nor was his moral character inferior to his intellect. No one can read his 'Ethics,' or his will (the text of which is extant), without feeling the nobleness, simplicity, purity,

any attempt at style. The rest are distinguished by brevity, terseness, and scientific precision. No other man ever enriched philosophic language with so many original expressions. We know, from the testimony of

e of logic, to distinguish Being from Seeming, and to see that while the latter was dependent on the thinking subject, the former could not be anything material. This result was reached by both the materialistic and spiritualistic sch

gods. Thus Socrates discovered the principle of human liberty, a principle necessarily hostile to the ancient State, which absorbed the man in the citizen. Socrates was accordingly put to death as an atheist; and then Plato, with good intentions but prejudiced insight, set to work to restore the old tyranny of the State. This he did by placing truth, or reality (which Socrates had found in complete thought, internal to the mind), outside of both thought and nature, and mak

e realized in other intelligences, or thought-centres, such as the human mind. In other words, according to Aristotle, truth is actual in the world and potential in all minds, whi

tre, and round about it nine concentric spheres carrying the planets and stars, he concludes that there must be at one end something purely actual and therefore unchanging,--that is, pure form or energy; and at the other, something purely potential and therefore changing,--that is, pure matter or latency. The pure actuality is at the circumference, pure matter at the centre. Matter, however, never exists without some form. Thus, nature is an eternal circular process between the actual and the potential. The supreme Intelligence, God, being pure energy, changelessly thinks himself, and through

changes, he works up through the mineral, vegetable, and animal worlds, to man, and thence through the spheral intelligences to the supreme, divine intelligence, on which the Whole depends. Man stands on the dividing line between the temporal and the eternal; belonging with his animal part to the former, with his intelligence (which "enters from without") to the latter. He is an intelligence, of the same nature as the sphere-movers, but individuated by mutable matter in the form of a body, matt

, Metaphysics, Ethics, Politics, and Aesthetics, are still highly esteemed and extensively studied. At the same time, by failing to overcome the dualism and supernaturalism of Plato, by adopting the popular notions about spheres and sphere-movers, by separating intelligence from sense, by conceiving

entire works of Aristotle were turned into Syriac; among them several spurious ones of Neo-Platonic origin, notably the famous 'Liber de Causis' and the 'Theology of Aristotle.' Thus a Neo-Platonic Aristotle came to rule Eastern learning. On the rise of Islam, this Aristotle was borrowed by the Muslims, and became ruler of their schools at Bagdad, Basra, and other places,--schools which produced many remarkable men. On the decay of these, he passed in the twelfth century into the schools of Spain, and here ruled supreme

vering the whole field of science

y, bring the work into the metaphysical sphere; 'On Interpretation,' dealing with the proposition; 'Former Analytics,' theory of the syllogism; 'Later Analytics,' theory

ter of science. These may be subdivided into three c

eight supplementary tracts on actions of the soul as combined with the body; viz., 'On Sense and Sensibles,' 'On Memory and Reminiscence,' 'On Sleep and Waking,' 'On Dreams,' 'On Divination from Dreams,' 'On Length and Shortness of Life,' 'On Life and Death,' 'On Respiration,' 'Meteorologics,'

forms of the same work; 'Politics,' 'Constitutions' (originally one hundred and fifty-eight in number; now represented o

agmentary 'Poetics.' To these may be adde

f his works, as arranged in the Alexandrian Library (apparently), is given by Diogenes La?rtius in his 'Life of Aristotle' (printed in the Berlin and Paris editions of 'Aristotle'); a list in which it is not easy t

; 'On the Generation of Animals,' Aubert and Wimmer; 'Psychology,' Trendelenburg, Torstrik, Wallace (with English translation); 'Nicomachean Ethics,' Grant, Ramsauer, Susemihl; 'Politics,' Stahr, Susemihl; 'Constitution of Athens,' Kenyon, Sandys; 'Poetics,' Susemihl, Vahlen, Butcher (with English translation). There are few good English translations of Aristotle's works; but among these may be mentioned Peter's 'Nicomachean Ethics,' Jowett's and Welldon's 'Politics,' and Poste's 'Cons

URE OF

Soul,' Book i

ually is the same thing as to perceive sensibly, it will either be to suffer something from the intelligible, or something else of this kind. It is necessary, however, that it should be impassive, but capable of receiving form; and in capacity a thing of this kind, but not this; and also, that as the sensitive power

old, and would have a certain organ in the same manner as the sensitive power. Now, however, there is no organ of it. In a proper manner, therefore, do they speak, who say that the soul is the place of forms; except that this is not true of the whole soul, but of that which is intellective; nor is it forms in entelecheia, but in capacity. But that the impassivity of the sensitive and intellective power is not similar, is evident

not after the same manner as before it learnt or discovered; and it is then itself able to understand itself. By the sensitive power, therefore, it distinguishes the hot and the cold, and those things of which flesh is a certain reason; but by another power, e

hings, if it is not intelligible according to another thing, but the intelligible is one certain thing in species; or it will have something mingled, which will make it to be intelligible in the same manner as other things. Or shall we say that to suffer subsists according to something common? On which account, it was before observed that intellect is in capacity, in a certain respect, intelligibles, but is no one of them in entelechei

things as a certain habit, such for instance as light. For in a certain respect, light also causes colors which are in capacity to be colors in energy. And this intellect is separate, unmingled, and impassive, since it is in its essence energy; for the efficient is always more honorable than the patient, and the principle than matter. Science, also, in energy is the same as the thing [which is scientifically known]. But science which is in capacity is

E BETWEEN HISTOR

MATTER SHOULD B

'Poetics,

which have happened, and the other of such as might have happened. Hence, poetry is more philosophic, and more deserving of attention, than history. For poetry speaks more of universals, but history of particulars. But universal consists, indeed, in relating or performing certain things which happen to a man of a certain description, either probably or necessarily [to which the aim of poetry is directed in giving names]; but particular consists in narrating what [for example] Alcibiades did, or what he suffered. In comedy, therefore, this

itional fables, which are the subjects of tragedy. For it is ridiculous to make this the object of search, because even known subjects are known but to a few, though at the same time they delight all men. From these things, therefore, it is evident that a poet ought rather to be the author of fables than of metres, inasmu

ities, they are frequently compelled to distort the connection of the parts. But tragedy is not only an imitation of a perfect action, but also of actions which are terrible and piteous, and actions principally become such (and in a greater degree when they happen contrary to opinion) on account of each other. For thus they will possess more of the marvelous than if they happened from ch

HILO

ero's 'Nature

ould quit their dark abode to come to us, where they should immediately behold the earth, the seas, the heavens; should consider the vast extent of the clouds and force of the winds; should see the sun and observe his grandeur and beauty, and perceive that day is occasioned by the diffusion of his light through the sky; and when night has obscured the earth

ESS

physics,' Book

r highest) part. Also, if we consider the natural order of the categories, essence stands at the head of the list; then comes quality; then quantity. It is true that the other categories, such

the objects of their investigations. The thinkers of the present day, to be sure, are rather inclined to consider universals as essence. For genera are universals, and these they hold to be principles a

ther its elements are one or many. The third, differing from the other two, is immutable and is maintained by certain persons to be separable. Some make two divisions of it, whereas others class together, as of one nature, idea

UNITY O

Politics

ch polity usually preserve the polity, and establish it from the beginning. Thus, appropriate democratic manners preserve and establish a democracy, and oligarchic an oligarchy. Always, however, the best manners are the cause of the best polity. Further still, in al

at particular discipline which appears to him to be proper. But it is necessary that the studies of the public should be common. At the same time, also, no one ought to think that any citizen belongs to him in particular, but that all the citizens belong to the city; for each individual is a part of the city. The care and attention, how

TO

thou bringest

life's best,

ess, for thy

licate in th

f pain the ste

for our s

ing, dearer

-eyed sleep, do

thee the se

, and Leda's t

deeds, to spread

h the lo

hilleus wen

ortal, crowned wi

e thou ar

the ligh

ro hath died

tal praise shal

d his deeds are

ngs d

mory's dau

ospitable Ze

firm as fate in

on of J.

AR

19-

till 1887, when he asked to be relieved from his official duties. During this period he had been also the first librarian of the Reykjavik branch of the Icelandic Literary Society; a teacher and the custodian of the library at the Latin School, which in the mean time had been moved from Bessastad to Reykjavik; secretary of the bishop, Helgi Thordersen, an

son went to work single-handed to make an exhaustive collection of the folk-tales of the country, which by traveling and correspondence he drew from every nook and corner of Iceland. No effort was spared to make the collection complete, and many years were spent in this undertaking. The results were in every way valuable. No more important collection of folk-tales exists in the literature of any nation, and the work has becom

f the national spirit, and a better knowledge of life and environment in Iceland than from any other source. In these stories there is much to say of elves and trolls, of ghosts and "fetches," of outlaws and the devil. Magic plays an important part, and there

celandic Legends': Translat

ME

fisherman; and of all the farms about, not one was

to pull up again, as if there were something very heavy at the end of it. Imagine his astonishment when he found that what he had caught

e bottom of the s

what he had been doing whe

l of my mother's chimney-pot, to suit it

l serve me awhile first." So without more words he d

y, barking and fawning on him, and wagging his tail. But his master's temper being none

ith him over the fields, and stumbling over a hillock which lay in his w

e him, and embraced him affectionately, and he received her salutat

e laughed three times, and I am curious to k

take me to the same place in the sea wherefrom you caught me, and

use you cursed the mound over which you stumbled, which is full of golden ducats. And the third time, because you received with pleasure your wife's

mely, the faithfulness of my dog and the faithlessness of my wife. But the third I w

n ducats, as the merman had told him. After this the farmer took the merman down to the boat, and

oring me to my mother, if only you have skill enough to take possess

merman into the sea, a

approached them. So he took a stick and ran after them, possessed with the fancy that if he could burst the bladder which he saw on the nose of each of them, they would belon

useful gift it was, for better cow was never seen nor milked in all the

aught any more mermen. As for his wife, nothing f

HERMAN

e had to cross a morass. It happened once that on his way home after nightfall, he came to a place where a man had lost his horse in the b

t I cannot pay you for this service as you ought to be paid. I will promise you, however, this much: that you shall never go to sea without catching fish, nor ever, if you will take my advice, return with e

e years afterward, never putting to sea till he had first seen his neighbor pas

r fishers hurrying down to the sea to make the best of so good a time. But though he waited hour after hour in the hope of seeing his neighbor pass, the man of Hvammsgil ne

shing. The next night he had a strange dream, in which his neighbor from Hvammsgil came to him and said, "Although you did not yesterday follow my advice, I yet so far felt kindly toward you that I hind

AGIC

ountry. In the mountains he was suddenly overtaken by a thick mist and sleet-storm, and lost his way. Fear

bread and meat as it could devour. This the dog swallowed greedily, and ran off again into the mist. At first the man wondered much to see a dog in such a wild place, where he

reward you as you deserve. Here is a scythe which I place beneath your pillow; it is the only gift I can make you, but despise it not. It will surely prove useful to you, as it ca

ast of all his own horse. But on lifting his saddle from the ground, he found beneath it a small scythe blade, which seemed well worn and was rusty. On seeing this, he at once recalled to mind hi

aid, however, that one old woman in the district, generally thought by her neighbors to be skilled in magic and very rich, always began her hay-cutting a week later than anybody else, and though sh

ed to ask this old woman for employment,

a day laborer. She accepted his offer, and told him that he migh

ore grass in the whole week than I

man had given him in his dream; for it cut well, and never wanted sharpening, though he worked with it for

lades, and wondered beyond measure what the old lady could want with all these. It was the fifth day--the Friday--an

you away without paying you. When therefore you see yourself worsted, go into the forge, take as many scythe-handles as you think proper, fit their blades

the morning the laborer, getting up

g five rakes with her, and said to the man, "A

t, that though the one she held in her hand raked in great quantities of hay, the othe

pon the grass which was yet standing. Then all the scythes set to work of their own accord, and cut down the grass so quickly that the rakes could not keep pace with them. And so they went on all the rest of the d

now more than myself; so much the better for yo

mount of hay. In the autumn she sent him away, well laden with money, to his own home in the south. The next summer, and mo

n, a good fisherman, and an able workman in whatever he might put his hand to. He always cut his own hay, never using any scythe

man never did. So the neighbor promised, and taking it with him, bound it to a handle and began to work with it. But, sweep as he would, and strain as he would (and sweep and strain he did right lustily), not a single blade of grass fell. Wroth at this, the man tried to sharpen it, but with no avail. Then he took it into his forge, intending to temper it, for, thought he, what harm could that possibly

olly in lending what was not hers to lend. But his wrath was soon over, and he

VANT AND TH

t to church, was found dead when the family returned home. As soon as the report of this was spread abroad, the farmer had the greatest difficulty in procuring servants who would consent to watch alone in the house on that night; unti

e new man-servant, were preparing for church, the farmer said t

e unwise in you to leave your house unprotected; and besides,

he house this night; for whenever we have returned from church on this night, we h

se fears beneath his notice; so the farmer and the rest of th

st he thought that the best thing to do was, first of all to light up the family room; and then to find some place in which to hide himself. As soon as he had lighted all the candles, he moved two planks out o

f, when two fierce and strange-looking men

id, "I smell a

other, "there is n

beds. They took it up, and having dashed it on the ground till every bone in its body was broken, hurled

which they had also brought with them. They feasted noisily, and spent the remainder of the night in drinking and dancing. Two of them were appointed to keep guard, in order to give the company due

his place of concealment into the room, and clashing the two planks together with

ry clothes they had taken off for ease in dancing. In the hurry of flight many were wounded and trodden under foot, while the rest ran into the darkness, the man-servant aft

an knew them to

the wounded ones, and, making a great heap of them all, burned them. When he had finished this ta

The farmer praised him for a brave fellow, and congratulated him on having escaped with his l

it the water-elves ev

CROS

tain cross-roads, from the centre of which you ca

cies of every description, gold, silver, and precious stones, meats and wines, of which they beg you to accept; but you must neither move a limb nor accept a single thing they offer you. If you get so far as this without speaking, elf-women come to you in the likeness of your mother, your sister, or any o

leave you, and with you all the wealth they ha

r accept of their offers, you w

one of them offered him a large lump of mutton-suet, and begged him to take a bite of it. Fusi, who had up to this time gallantly resisted all such offe

MORITZ

69-

ever son for the ministry, the one vocation open to him which meant honor and advancement. The young man studied theology at Greifswald and Jena, but later turned his attention exclusively to history and literature. His early life is delightfully described in his 'Stories and Recollections o

ST

oppressions of Napoleon. In consequence he was obliged to flee to Sweden. After three years he returned under an assumed name, and again took up his work at Greifswald. In 1812, after the occupation of Pomerania by the French, his fierce denunciations again forced him to flee, this time to Russia, the only refuge open to him. There he joined Baron von Stein, who eagerly made use of

oundary'; 'The Soldier's Catechism'; and 'The Militia and the General Levy.' After the disasters of the French in Russia, he returned to Germany, unceasingly

himself of it by producing several historical treatises and his interesting 'Reminiscences of My Public Life.' One of the first acts of Frederick William IV., after his accession, was to restore Arndt to his professorship at Bonn. He took a lively interest in the events of 1848, and belonged to the deputation that offered the im

ius. He was not even a deep scholar. His only great work is his war-songs and patriotic ballads. Germany honors his manly charac

869); the latter in 1878 edited 'Arndt's Letters to a Friend.' J.R. Seeley's 'Life and Adv

E GERMAN'S

e German's

a, or the Sw

he grape glow

ls skim the B

! mor

e German's

e German's

r the Styr

the Master's

ark where f

! mor

e German's

e German's

? Pomerani

nd drifts al

e Danube's

! mor

e German's

e German's

r me that m

rland? or Ty

people plea

! mor

e German's

e German's

r me that m

a surely i

n fame an

! mor

e German's

e German's

name of that

and which p

e Emperor an

! mor

e German's

e German's

last that

sounds the G

hymns to Go

is th

n, that thy

e German's

like oak the

hines clearly

heart aff

is th

n, this thy

e German's

hall foreign

e foes whose

noble soul

is th

y shall be

y that lan

t, God, and

earts, in dee

t truly as

is th

y shall be

OF THE FI

om the trumpets? Hu

l[2] rides in th

mettlesome wa

his glittering s

he Germans: ju

joyful: they're

Bl

mes how his pier

ind him his sno

his age, like a

he battle-field'

he Germans: ju

joyful: they're

his country in

o heaven upli

brand, with a h

he trade that the P

he Germans: ju

joyful: they're

kept. When the

ay youth to the

dance for the Fr

nd clean with a

he Germans: ju

joyful: they're

meadow, he kept

Frenchmen there yie

an headlong for

re sleeping who

he Germans: ju

joyful: they're

Katzbach, his o

moment the Fr

hmen; fly to th

eeches, catch whal

he Germans: ju

joyful: they're

he Elbe, how he c

r town barred the F

the field they a

em the hero ran

he Germans: ju

joyful: they're

glorious fight

ench might strove

stiff lay the f

ld Blücher a fie

he Germans: ju

joyful: they're

g trumpets! Hussar

al, ride like the

er Rhine, in you

ur country, righ

he Germans: ju

joyful; they're

IOTI

ve iron, pu

should be

e sabre, swo

ight han

e gave him

h, and free-

ht fearless

hrough lif

ill we what

st truth,

fellow-cre

t's pay

fall by str

s for sin

nherit Ge

of Germ

, bright

n love,

land, thou b

r to th

ch knave and

and rav

l to the b

shall be

flash forth,

and flam

Germans,

the hol

lift upward

shall upw

man, let e

avery

let sound,

and fife

r sabres, m

with bloo

and with Fren

ous day

Germans so

ur great

et wave, wh

and ban

e purpose,

a hero'

brave rank

ners wav

us freedo

m's death

N AR

83

ol at Birmingham; and, a few years subsequent, principal of the Government Sanskrit College at Poona, in India. In 1856 he published 'Griselda, a Tragedy'; and after his return to London in 1861, translations from the Greek of Herodotus and the Sanskrit of the Indian classic 'Hitopade?a,' the latter under the name of 'The Boo

the White Elephant. Two years after its appearance he published 'Mahabharata,' 'Indian Idylls,' and in 1883, 'Pearls of the Faith; or, Islam's Rosary Being the Ninety-nine Beautiful Names of Allah, with Comments in Verse from Various Oriental Sources.' In 1886 the Sultan conferred on him the Imperial Order of Osmanli, and in 1888 he was created Knight Commander of the Indian Empire by Queen Victoria. 'Sa'di in the Garden; or, The Book of Love' (1888), a poem turning on a part of the 'B?stani' of the Persian poet Sa'di, brought Sir Edwin the Order of the Lion and Sun from the Shah of Persia. I

the very spirit of the East. In numerous cantos, proceeding from episode to episode of its mystical hero's career, its effect is that of a loftily ethical, picturesque, and fascinating biography, in highly polished verse. The metre selected is a graceful and dignified one, especially associated with 'Paradise Lost' and other of the foremost classics of English verse. Sir Edwin says of the poem in his preface, "I have sought, by the medium of an imaginary Buddhis

UTH OF

e Light

rev

pt to all his

heir learning t

yet so wise; p

annered; mod

ted, though of

seman in the

ay chase of th

driver of

st scoured the

the boy would

pass free; woul

ce because the

breath; or if hi

se, or if some

houghts. And eve

mpassionatene

tree grows fro

shade afar;

child of sorrow

ames for things n

be felt. B

garden on a d

d swans passed

-places on Hi

e-notes down t

ds flew, by fo

a, cousin of

w, and loosed

wide wing of t

glide upon the

ll, the bitte

ood-gouts stainin

Prince Siddart

rested it i

es crossed, as L

h a touch the wil

fled vans, calme

to peace with

ntain leaves a

ft hand held, th

forth from the

d healing hone

ttle knew the

y into his wr

b, and winced t

tears to sooth

me who said, "My

fell among t

y you send it.

ddartha: "If th

the slayer m

ves; my cousin

which throbbed i

answered, "T

, is his who f

the clouds, but

e, fair cousin.

neck beside his

ke:--"Say no! t

riad things whi

ercy and love

w, by what wi

teach compa

chless world'

s accursed

e; but if the

it this matt

t their word."

n the busine

ht this thing

se an unknown

ught, the sav

living thing t

ay; the slayer s

sustains: give

ll found just; b

sage for hono

aw a hooded sn

t-times thus! So

s works

not

of grief than t

aled, went joyo

r day the Kin

ee the pleasaunc

uitful earth i

the reaper;

hine when the pi

hs and keeps the K

on with new leav

cries of plow-t

f wells and g

the rich red l

rong shoulders in

ws; the fat soil

aves back from t

feet upon the

urrow deep; a

f the rippli

n the glad eart

nd the spears

sowers who we

gle laughed wit

ickets rustled

, beetle, and

springtime. In

ashed; alone at

coppersmith; b

urple butterf

raced, the mynas

sisters chatter

-tiger hung a

alked among t

ed circles in

nted temple p

cooed from ever

ms beat for som

peace and plent

ed. But, looki

h grow upon thi

peasant sweate

ave to live; a

oxen through th

lvet flanks: the

d on ant, and

h; and how the

of that which

ing the bulbul,

utterflies; t

layer and in

pon death. So

st, savage, g

der, from the

lls his fellow

owman and his

listered with t

which makes all

rtha sighed. "Is

th they brought

eat the peasant'

vice! in the b

and strong! i' t

'en in wate

et me muse on

good Lord Bud

-tree, with a

ues sit, and

this deep di

ource and when

y filled him,

gs, such passio

tress his princ

nd, purged fr

elf, the boy a

st step of

SACRIFICE

e Light

d he

orrowful, s

e they are af

they dare not

with fierce pe

ods who grudge

hell by self-

oly madness

tter through the

f the field!"

r tender face

t, and grateful

these robes of

ld and purple

living, none

auty. O ye pa

e the sky and

laya and the

now ye that y

ender shoot to

n-songs from your

ell so merry i

rots, bee-birds,

e your life, n

better by for

lays ye--being

sed on blood, c

-tormen

he Mast

ount the dust o

black sheep wind

ngering nibble

rom the path, wh

ng. But always

ed, or slung his

d still moving

plets in the f

med one lamb, wh

in the front its

dam hither a

se this littl

Lord did mark

imping lamb u

wooly mother

goest I will

ood to ease one

tch the sorro

ns with the pri

f the herdsmen, "

locks adown un

ening that men f

e the peasants

crifice of go

eep, the which o

ight in worshi

Master, "I w

atiently, bea

rdsmen in the

we low bleati

ey came unto

eyed, young, w

nds--saluted,

he," she said,

me in the fi

ne and reared m

the blossoms,

ut his wrist, wh

ick forked tongue

playmate. But

le and still, I

ease to play, a

ips. And one sa

nd another, '

ld not lose my

hysic, which mig

yes; it was s

of the serpen

ate him, graci

his sport. And

holy man upo

asseth in th

Rishi if th

ails thy son.

ee, whose brow

ew the face-clo

ll what simples

sir! didst spurn

s and touch wit

face-cloth bac

ster, there is

im, if thou could

eek physicians

d. Therefore, I

d-seed, a to

not from any

ther, child, or

l if thou canst

thou spea

aster

derly. "Yea!

ami! But did

se

d, clasping

colder, asking

ungle and tow

ive me mustard

' and each wh

oor are piteo

, 'In my friend'

radventure

or child, or sl

at is this yo

ny and the

anks, I gave th

others, but th

ed, but we have

ed, but our goo

eed, but he tha

in-time and th

uld not find

mustard-seed a

t my child--who

th the wild vine

ce and kiss th

ind this seed a

ed, my baby

, and as the

u hast found,"

hat none finds,

thee. He tho

bosom yest

whole wide world

ll hearts share g

ur my blood if

win the secre

love our anguish

nd pastures to

asts are driven-

ecret: bury t

hey the city

d the Prince, w

na's distant s

n the street and

men kept watch. B

the lamb, the g

ople drew the

buyers and s

ues to gaze on

h lifted hamme

ke; the weaver

scroll, the mon

wries; from the

bull fed free;

ota while the

f our Lord mo

o beautifu

women gatheri

this that bring

nd peace-givi

e? whence hath h

Sakra or t

aid, "It is

ith the Rishis

paced, in med

s! for all my

ndering in the

leating blindly

e dumb beasts whi

old the King, "

t, bringing

t bid to crown

d in his hall

the white-robed

mantras, feedin

pon the midmos

s flickered brigh

rling as they

spices and t

ndra. Round

carlet streamlet

sand, but ever

leating victim

long-horned, its

at its stretched

st, who murmured,

nas cometh

ara: take y

ood, and pleas

asting 'mid the

sins be laid

ire consume t

w I st

dha sof

e, great King!" an

nds, none stayi

s. Then, cravin

all can take, b

creatures love a

ar and pleasa

eanest; yea,

, for pity ma

ak and noble f

lips of his

ords, showing h

the gods, i

to those; a

in, and what we

f the milk and

n the hands wh

e of what th

h, how that at

ast, and these

the spark which g

sacrifice ne

ssage of a s

shall one wash

dden gods, being

m, being evil

w of innocen

ht of that answ

s done amiss

r himself, rec

ithmetic of

ood for good a

ure, unto deeds,

are, implaca

ures fruits of

, breathing w

lordliness of

back their garmen

laughter, and th

lasped palms re

Lord went on,

if all living

ss of common

e; the golden gra

ch grow for all

and meats. Which

entleness so c

elves scattered t

ay the steel

land next day

riers, and in t

umn:--"Thus the

n slaughter fo

the meat, but

blood of life no

wledge grows, a

ometh to th

ct, and from t

spread between

ts which serve h

anks of Gunga

saintly pity a

ULNESS OF

t Journey,' in

e the long-armed

,--nay, not for

his face set

followed him,-

hly sands, the

th, the God, fi

h thunder of hi

d, "with me, Pri

ra answered,

kinsfolk, fall

yed, O Lord o

others come wit

hem is Swarga

ear and kind an

rtue Paradise mu

th us! Dost th

d:--"In heaven

the Queen--these

ve no longer

n! their mortal

r places; but t

own grace; Th

hy form, to the

nswered:--"O t

at was, and is

race! This hound

ved me: must I

e Indra, "thou

vine; thou ar

wer and gift

s of heaven are

with these? Leav

ra answered:-

eyed and wis

lted should

ose such glor

e one living

ndra spake:--"

rga such sha

a's wrath dest

, if dogs de

harmaraj; quit

seemly is not

d:--"Tis writte

equals in of

herefore, not f

ra, this poor

ny hope or f

awning for my

to die, un

as called stead

"Nay, the alta

asseth; angry

moke aside, and

and the merit

hound toucheth

nter heaven mu

quit thy bret

and the dear-

m and glorious

deeds, to ling

ira vanquishe

passion at the

this, who didst n

adí,

King yet

none can hurt o

htful ones, who

ootsteps, coul

rned,--therefor

profit, I had

sins, O Sakra,

making suppli

s to slay a

oiling Brahmans

injuring an

eem not direr

ming forth fr

meanest co

pake, brightly g

nd, and in its s

th and Justice,

ds which fell from

vely praise:--"

bring to harves

teousness; thou

on all which

n the Dwaita w

brothers, bring

r Nakula's life-

or Arjuna's,

to Kunti, to

rd! Because tho

, lest the poor

hee, lo! there

e thee, King!-

now to the

thy form. Ju

narch! thou shal

AND

they said to

eave her,--thy

er tresses of d

d of stone the

es that gaz

lids with a

touch they c

lips that had s

rows and be

veil and her

white feet her w

whitest no eye

osom they cros

hey said, "God

silence, and

and scents

and roses a

As a lady should

ir breath till th

o glance at its s

oved her too

stately, the

lamp, and t

--alone again

but she woul

in the old place

yet she woul

her the name sh

still she

ionate whis

ld lips and breas

oice, no lang

ear and still

nd to soul dis

ill listen wit

e secret of

infinite w

could let life

a greater m

calm o'er th

cle greater t

ams sank downw

ll back its

y say it does, p

e innermost he

so, what a w

dead! O dea

reath of my

deep as to

heaven, and yo

e pleasure in

o placid from

you, darling,

hot tears upon

ough the Angel o

my lips to ke

ask vainly, with

aths was the ch

angest and su

prises that dy

world! O mos

e, who will beli

eve that he h

soft voice, in t

wonder is

d love you, and

angel, who wa

hough dead, I h

ER

arls of

and He takes i

aise the Resto

ied at A

fort faithf

iends! it l

hite and c

, "Abdulla

t my feet

your fal

your cries

e and whis

that thing

tears and

ine, it

ds! what th

ast bed i

which I am

ent no mo

from whi

k my soul

nmate, not

not the ga

lcon, not

m from the sp

ends! be w

y every we

lift upo

rth a wis

mpty sea-

ch the pea

s broken, i

he all, the

arthen ja

ed, the wh

ure of His

h loved Him

rd be earth

old shines

id, Allah

race is u

rt no long

sakh is, wh

th, and death

"Paradis

happy de

rds" which be

one, "green bi

rious, swift

g, long dar

l, my fool

an whom ye

ken blis

oves you: lo

t which shi

ight ye

filled f

arging

life that

iends! Yet n

ye, too, s

e before

s time, a gra

e where I h

arvel why

w, by true

all, and th

e, if ye a

till must

t death, f

-is that f

ouls draw w

is of all l

llah's la

Allah's Th

m of trus

onward to

h illa A

torer! Sove

ied at A

se that mad

N AND

arls of

! call Him "C

tiful to sma

hat the servin

rone, ten myria

gs outstretched a

aster's heave

ught His high co

light to exec

rd of power fr

d some thither

e naught is t

mighty, if H

y creature, g

ity, which e

ye beholdeth

arch, and count

abe nearer the

allest child to

an rolls so

ve of all that

ritten; and

atching by the

e Voice Ineff

ndate uttered

pass where So

use, and sittet

ndid--whom I cr

our my servan

ut of Nisibi

eds with nostr

wiftness, priz

led, for Sol

alace, where

t with pride at

the snorting

rses, that Ou

ng in vain, O

re his sunset-

ople say, 'This

long-maned trop

mbrance of hi

aithful servan

n the slop

e-tree which

llow ant who

est, but so fa

ail, and she wi

n; but thou, make

her people

black

y Gabri

and prevented

little ant at

love is wid

hee, "The C

AFTE

arls of

ent, and He m

ain thy Lord,

! thou, who i

desert-sands of

ver death's blac

s shine: thou w

ce! O thou, th

ith in Him, an

load; under t

gleam: thou wil

fternoon! peace

ss except he

fellow to be

tient: then the

! best Re

ting our tr

TR

arls of

, Al-Kaiyum

isting" God wh

trumpet s

hat

d, slow-g

ll

e have lain i

eems as

afil call the

shall h

ide, this

r voices

except for

ike the noise

ea when

with a cla

, in the wild

their woe sha

hey wh

th Eternal,

the mountains

and a

ubsistent,

gainst that

'THE LIGH

Lord! Oh, Hi

ble script which

h little wit

ther! Guide! L

fuge in Thy

efuge in Th

efuge in Th

the lotus--r

af and mix me

e hum, the S

lips into the

rper's

R THE SEAS

om Kalidasa's

beaming, moons o

reaming, where f

endid, when the

e, like a tired

th summ

on blackness, la

sters; courts o

warble over gl

d the sandal, m

the time

one of the brig

inging which all

sparkle at the

asures in the

i" these

ide hips richly

ssoms, and with p

hair unbound, an

he palace maids

ent hea

ates. Through the

y and neat, and

p along, ech

ll men's hearts

service

andal-scented br

ls--weaving with

iadems--their

t and thigh, in

caught

y their robes--

dnight--and the

veil too ai

oftness; so, with

s her eag

winnowed from t

sts between those

and bird, and c

ngs amid the s

on. With l

nces, and coy sm

ances newly s

fire of Love's

the season w

est moons

lvered terrace

hts drunken, thos

row there shall

tched them, pale

still Nigh

e Day! The whirli

aven, until the s

shows for dazzli

ome and love, j

to res

hed, with muzzle

ms yearning, h

brassy sky, bank

mise. "There wil

eyond th

are, his hooded

trailing o'er

es to nighest

h the peacock's

ent foem

afowl, wholly

ning, droop wi

make to slay th

shelter under

spread

d, the kingly

t howling, orbs

eed the elepha

ongue, and hangs

hty for

lephants that

nd sucking with

he blazing day

finding water

rch--a wo

nout rooting th

grasses on the

grunting ill-c

eld them from th

ep as th

misery of his

e-darting ball--

d, crawls croaki

nake's coils, whe

shade; an

such heat, scor

ruel on his v

tongue, as the

coolness--all

his strange

tender-growin

lowing, hath no

ad, its fearful

elephants its

o a mir

roping from his

lips, horns lai

uth, and thirst-

from his mount

on in w

er channel. Ba

, where the cro

ape. The hot

ing to the bu

. And l

ls. Far o'er th

righted eye, be

rass: the fore

ers waned; its

atures

ew--blood-red an

ng new on the

ongue, fanned by

the palms, cane

d in o

h! The confla

n, roars from

ers through the

the curling gr

he riv

k! Dreadful th

cotton-tree--a

k from root an

ughs and leave

ssing--

erds, elephants,

of such fate

, burst for

tween fair isl

s they ma

t Beloved! may "

cret waters cool

f lotus beds, and

while Moonlight weav

Nights and Days of

e-palaces, with

HEW

22-

E EDWARD

t to Oxford in October, 1841. There, as also at school, he won scholarship and prize, and showed poetical talent. He was elected a fellow of Oriel in March, 1845. He taught for a short time at Rugby, but in 1847 became private secretary to Lord Lansdowne, who in 1851 appointed him school inspector. From that time he was engaged mainly in educational labors, as inspector and commissioner

as 'Essays in Criticism,' issued in 1865. Throughout his mature life he was a constant writer, and his collected works of all kinds now fill eleven volumes, exclusive of his letters. In 1857 he was elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford, and there began his career as a lecturer; and this method of public expression he employ

hieved distinction as a critic and as a poet; but although he was earlier in the field as a poet, he was recognized by the public at large first as a critic. The union of the two functions is not unusual in the history of literature; but where success has been attained in both, the critic has commonly sprung from the poet in the man, and his range and quality have been limited thereby. It was so with Dryden and Wordsworth

de warrant. The writer who exercises his critical function under it, however, is plainly a reformer at heart, and labors for the social welfare. He is not an analyst of the form of art for its own sake, or a contemplator of its substance of wisdom or beauty merely. He is not limited to literature or the other arts of expression, but the world

rpose, is it not clear that by "critic" and "criticism" Arnold intended to designate, or at least to convey, something peculiar to his own conception,--not strictly related to literature at all, it may be, but more closely tied to society in its general mental activity? In other words, Arnold was a critic of civilization more than of books, and aimed at illum

eas is most surprising, though the fact is somewhat cloaked by the lucidity of his thought, its logical vigor, and the manner of its presentation. He takes a text, either some formula of his own or some adopted phrase that he has made his own, and from that he starts out only to return to it again and again with ceaseless iteration. In his illustrations, for example, when he has pilloried some poor gentleman, otherwise unknown, for the astound

ll that he touches. He seems to have no more to say. It is probable that his acquaintance with literature was incommensurate with his reputation or apparent scope as a writer. As he has fewer ideas than any other author of his time of the same rank, so he discloses less knowledge of his own or foreign literatures. His occupations forbade wide acquisition; h

n says in his essay on the poetry of Arnold is so apposite here that it will be

he critic's mind is occupied with the form as distinguished from the substance of the Homeric poetry. Even when he concerns himself with the greatest modern poets,--with Shakespeare as in the preface to the earlier edition of his poems, or with Goethe in reiterated poetical criticisms, or when he again and again in his poems treats of Wordsworth,--it is always the style and superficial doctrine of their poetry, not the individual character and unique genius, which occupy him. He will tell you whether a poet is 'sane and clear,' or stormy and fervent; whether he is

says on Byron, Keats, Wordsworth, Milton, or Gray, to cause us to revise the judgment on this point. In fact, so

e work itself final, and endeavor simply to understand it,--form and matter,--and so to mediate between genius and our slower intelligence. He followed neither the psychological nor the aesthetic method. It need hardly be said that he was born too early to be able ever to conceive of l

made them feel that they were becoming cosmopolitan by knowing Joubert; or at home, he rallied them in opposition to the dullness of the period, to "barbarism" or other objectionable traits in the social classes: and he volleyed contempt upon the common multitudinous foe in general, and from time to time cheered them with some delectable examples of single combat. It cannot be concealed that there was much malicious pleasure in it all. He was not indisposed to high-bred cruelty. Like Lamb

th serenity and security unassailable, from within at least--this academic "clearness and purity without shadow or stain" had an overpowering charm to the college-bred and cultivated, who found the rare combination of information, taste, and aggressiveness in one of their own ilk. Above all,

best thrives even in its own sphere; and through him this temper becomes less individual than social, encompassing the whole of life. Few critics have been really less "disinterested," few have kept their eyes less steadily "upon the object": but that fact does not lessen the value of his precepts of disinterestedness and objectivity; nor is it necessary, in becoming "a child of light," to join in spirit the unhappy "remnant" of

gh his unproductiveness in later years has made it appear that he was less fluent and abundant in verse than he really was. The remarkable thing, as one turns to his poems, is the contrast in spirit that they afford to the es

not the human being, that he portrays. As a poet, he expresses the moods of the meditative spirit in view of nature and our mortal existence; and he represents life, not lyrically by its changeful moments, nor tragically by its conflict in great characters, but philosophically by a self-contained and unvarying monologue, deeper or less deep in feeling and with cadences of tone, but always with the same gra

later and stoical time, with the very virtues of patience, endurance, suffering, not in their Christian types, but as they now seem to a post-Christian imagination looking back to the imperial past. There is a difference, it is true, in Arnold's expression of the mood: he is as little Sophoclean as he is Homeric, as little Lucretian as he is Vergilian. The temperament is not the same, not a survival or a revival of the antique, but original and living. And yet the mood of the verse is felt at once to be a reincarnation of the deathless spirit of Hellas, that in other ages also has made beautiful and solemn for a time the shadowed places of the Christian world. If one does not realize this, he must miss the secret of the tranquillity, the

s of what that movement of mind is, and interested in the literary productions that reflect it. It might be fairly urged that I have less poetical sentiment than Tennyson, and less intellectual vigor and abundance than Browning; yet because I have, perhaps, more of a fusion of the two than either of them, and have more regularly applied that fusion to the main line of modern development, I am like

nd obtained an inspiration, and was seeking the goal of all his being. In the method of approach, too, as well as in the character of the experience, there was a profound difference between the two poets. Arnold sees with the outward rather than the inward eye. He is pictorial in a way that Wordsworth seldom is; he uses detail much more, and gives a group or a scene with the externality of a painter. The method resembles that of Tennyson rather than that of Wordsworth, and has more direct analogy with the Greek manner than with the mode

alks and all t

red and whit

t-flowers a

rd the cuckoo

ld, through the

lleying rain and

oice"! Or to take another notable example, which, like the Oxus passage, is a fine c

huntsman, c

im a fresh

r forest-kno

k round him,

ar rustles

unds snuff th

hounds keep

thy dogs in

and with

tasseled

cal art, with that accent of forethought which turns the beautiful into the aesthetic. This is a method which Wordsworth never used. Take one of his pictures, the 'Reaper' for example, and see the difference. The one is out-of-doors, the other is of the studio. The purpose of these illustrations is to

stic stress," and a near and intimate revelation to the soul of truths that were his greatest joy and support in existence. Arnold finds there no inhabitancy of God, no such streaming forth

, the mute t

hills about

that falls

rawled rocks,

lend their

r rather th

human life to nothingness,--it is in these ways that nature has value in Arnold's verse. Such a poet may describe natural scenes well, and obtain by means of them contrast to human conditions, and decorative beauty; but he does not penetrate nature or interpret what her significance is in the human spirit, as the more emot

d, salt, estr

eems ancient rather than modern, the feeling of a Greek

ling is moral, the predominant impression is of austerity; if it is intellectual, the predominant impression is of sadness. He was not in

e, let u

r! for the wo

us like a la

so beautif

ther joy, nor l

nor peace, nor

rt as the most remarkable of all his lyrics. From a poet so deeply impressed with this aspect of existence, and unable to find its remedy or its counterpart in the harmony of life, no joyful or hopeful word can be expected, and none is found. The second thing about life which he dwells on is its futility; though he bids one strive and work, and points to the example of the strong whom he has known, yet one feels that his voice rings more true when he writes of Obermann than in any other of the elegiac poems. In such verse as the 'Summer Night,' again, the genuineness of the moo

ookish atmosphere of the verse, in its vocabulary, its elegance of structure, its precise phrase and its curious allusions (involving footnotes), and in fact, throughout all its form and structure. So self-conscious is it that it becomes frankly prosaic at inconvenient times, and is more often on the level of eloquent and graceful rhetoric than of poetry. It is frequently liquid and melodious, bu

ion of private life he is shown to have been a man of exceptional constancy and plainness. The letters are mainly home letters; but a few friendships also yielded up their hoard, and thus the circle of private life is made complete. Every one must take delight in the mental association with Arnold in the scenes of his existence, thus daily

nd the humanity of his home, the gift that these letters bring may be appreciated. That gift is the man himself; but set in the atmosphere of home, with son-ship and fatherhood, sisters and brothers, with the bereavements of years fully accomplished, and those of babyhood and boyhood,--a sweet and wholesome English home,

GENCE A

says in

eristics, energy and honesty; and if we are judged favorably and positively, not invidiously and negatively, our chief characteristics are no doubt these: energy and honesty, not an open and clear mind, not a quick and flexible intelligence. Openness of mind and flexibility of intelligence were very signal characteristics of the Athenian people in ancient times; everybody will feel that. Openness of mind and flexibility of intelligence

te its probable special line of successful activity in the intellectual sphere, and, it is true, certain imperfections and failings to which in this sphere it will always be subject. Genius is mainly an affair of energy, and poetry is mainly an affair of genius; therefore a nation whose spirit is characterized by energy may well be eminent in poetry;--and we have Shakespeare. Again, the highest reach of science is, one may say, an inventive power, a faculty of divination, akin to the highest power exercised in poetry; therefore a nation whose spirit is characterized by energy may well be eminent in science;--and we have Newton.

n which they depend, will more or less suffer by this shortcoming. In poetry, however, they are after all secondary, and energy is the first thing; but in prose they are of first-rate importance. In its prose literature, therefore, and in the routine of intellectual work generally, a nation with no particular gifts for these will not be so successful. These are what, as I have said, can to a certain degree be learned and appropriated, while the free activity of genius cannot. Academies consecrate and maintain them, and therefore a nation with an eminent turn for them naturally establishes academies. So far as routine and autho

from the very same defects which impair his prose, and he cannot express himself with thorough success in it, but how much more powerful a personage does he appear in it, by dint of feeling and of originality and movement of ideas, than when he is writing prose! With a Frenchman of like stamp, it is just the reverse: set him to write poetry, he is limited, artificial, and impotent; set him to write prose, he is free, natural, and effective. The power of Fre

s the sequel to the literature of the French "great century," to this literature of intelligence, as by comparison with our Elizabethan literature we may call it; what did it lead up to? To the French literature of the eighteenth century, one of the most powerful and pervasive intellectual agencies that have ever existed,--the greatest European force of the eighteenth century. In science, again, we had Newton, a genius of the very highest order, a type of genius in science if ever there was one. On the continent, as a sort of counterpart to Newton, there was Leibnitz; a man, it seems to me (though on these matters I speak under correction), of much les

ESS AN

lture an

as curiosity; it is valued either out of sheer vanity and ignorance, or else as an engine of social and class distinction, separating its holder, like a badge or title, from other people who have not got it. No serious man would call this culture, or attach any

d in the word curiosity, thinking enough was said to stamp M. Sainte-Beuve with blame if it was said that he was impelled in his operations as a critic by curiosity, and omitting either to perceive that M. Sainte-Beuve himself, and many other people with him, would consider that this was praiseworthy and not blameworthy, or to point out why it ought really to be accounted worthy of blame and not of praise. For as there is a curiosity about intellectual matters which is futile, and merely a disease, so there is certainly a curiosity--a desire after the things of the mind simply for their own sakes and for the pleasure of seeing them as they are--which is, in an intelligent being, natural and

, the noble aspiration to leave the world better and happier than we found it,--motives eminently such as are called social,--come in as part of the grounds of culture, and the main and pre-eminent part. Culture is then properly described not as having its origin in curiosity, but as having its origin in the love of perfection; it is a study of perfection. It moves by the force, not merely or

turities of this, for a basis of action: what distinguishes culture is, that it is possessed by the scientific passion as well as by the passion of doing good; that it demands worthy notions of reason and the will of God, and does not readily suffer its own crude conceptions to substitute themselves for them. And knowing that no action or institut

a broad basis, must have sweetness and light for as many as possible. Again and again I have insisted how those are the happy moments of humanity, how those are the marking epochs of a people's life, how those are the flowering times for literature and art and all the creative power of genius, when there is a national glow of life and thought, when the whole of society is in the fullest measure permeated by thought, sensible to beauty, intelligent and alive. Only it must be real thought and real beauty; real sweetness and real light. Plenty of people will try to give the masses, as they call them, an intellectual food prepared and adapted in the way they think proper for the actual condition of the masses. The ordinary popular literature is an example of t

s emotion and enthusiasm which Abélard excited. Such were Lessing and Herder in Germany, at the end of the last century; and their services to Germany were in this way inestimably precious. Generations will pass, and literary monuments will accumulate, and works far more perfect than the works of Lessing and Herder will be produced in Germany; and yet the names of these two men will fill a German with a reverence and enthusiasm such as the names of the most gifted masters will hardly awaken. And why? Because they humanized knowledge; because they broadened the basis of life and intelligence; because they worked powerfully to diffuse sweetness and light, to make reason and the will of God p

c class, who of this passion, too, as of the passion for asserting one's personal liberty, are the great natural stronghold. The care of the Barbarians for the body, and for all manly exercises; the vigor, good looks, and fine complexion which they acquired and perpetuated in their families by these means,--all this may be observed still in our aristocratic class. The chivalry of the Barbarians, with its characteristics of high spirit, choice manners, and distinguished bearing,--what is this but the attractive commencement of the politeness of our aristocratic class? In some Barbarian noble, no doubt, one would have admired, if one could have been then alive to see it, the rudiments of our politest peer. Only, all this culture (to call it by that name) of the Barbarians was an exterior culture mainly. It consisted principally in outward gifts and graces, in looks, manners, accomplishments, prowess. The chief inward gifts which had part in it were the most exterior, so to speak, of inward gifts, those which come nearest to outward ones; they were courage, a high spirit, self-confidence. Far within, and unawakened, lay a whole range of powers o

s, name the former, in my own mind, The Barbarians. And when I go through the country, and see this and that beautiful an

FO

says in

nd to my own discredit only, and not to touch Oxford. Beautiful city! so venerable,

young barbarian

so prodigally, given thyself to sides and to heroes not mine, only never to the Philistines! home of lost causes, and forsaken beliefs, and unpopular names, and impossible loyalties! what example could ever so inspire us to keep down the Philistine in ourselves, what teacher could ever so save us from that bondage to which we are all prone, that bondage which Goethe, in his incomparable lines on the death of Schiller, makes it his friend's highest praise (and nobly did Schiller deserv

A F

k'st, in these ba

man, who, clear

Prospect, and

, and Smyrna ba

friendship I no

slave, who

when Vespasia

what most shamed

nks, whose eve

h tested up to

not make dull,

steadily, and

lory of the

et Colonus, a

H AN

nd peace, ind

shame, and r

hing can di

ess of that

lm like thi

g end of li

s boon rewar

s paid, has

heart of yo

firm, its ey

its hot bro

promise

grave, to w

has the h

o harbor i

liss youth d

t, for the

nerves and l

a bliss on th

rest, if n

l than this

voice wit

's crown, thou

haps which m

what our yo

LAT

ARGU

art; yet,

eart more c

keep the w

home for

ut thy love

h day, more tr

grave! I mig

soon, alas!

can bind i

may oft be

ur feelings e

o more;--Fare

d thou, thou

r yet with

moment di

mote and sp

place where p

hy solitu

e conscious t

felt, that

h her pure i

rsook the s

ver Endym

ne-grown La

te queen, had

thing is

n Heaven, f

t long had p

o prove, and

en, shalt be,

quite alo

thee are unm

louds and n

and triumph

nd others'

f love, of

men--for th

two human hea

ere through f

lation w

or knew, alt

thou, their

e sea of l

straits betwe

shoreless

millions l

feel the enc

r endless bou

moon their

swept by ba

glens, on s

ngales div

otes, from s

ounds and ch

longing l

farthest c

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