Bound by

DEVEREUX

THE

ATLANTIS

Art. I. — The TJieory of the Picturesque.
By W. H. Scott, M.A.

pS'oTE. — This sketch of an interestnig theory was put into our hands
by the accompUshed author, on his leaving England last summer
for the visit of a few months to the Continent, from which he never
returned. It is here published, not only on the ground of its
intrinsic merit, in spite of its not having received his last correc-
tions, but also as a memorial of one very dear to his friends,
who has been prematurely taken away. — Ed.]

THE question is worth asking, and, to the best of our know-
ledge, has never has been so sufficiently answered as to
make any apology necessary for here pursuing and reconsider-
ing it, — What is the correct theory, the true philosophical account,
and scientific analysis of that special variety or modification of
the Beautiful, which is brought home to the perception of
every one under the name of the " Picturesque " ? What is the
secret of the fascination residing in that singular combination of
apparently heterogeneous materials, of nature with art, of variety
with unity, of irregularity with proportion, of imperfection with
completeness, of disturbance with repose, which perhaps every
one will acknowledge to be comprehended in the idea which
the term conveys, and which, notwithstanding, when we come
to examine it, seems so difficult to interpret? The inquiry is
interesting in itself as a problem, and has the further recommen-
dation of having a practical bearing upon other investigations
which have been conducted from time to time, and which
III. 1

2 The Tlieory of the Picturesque.

directly or remotely involve in tliemselves the decision of this
primary one. Thus there is the old question: Is the notion of
the Picturesque ancient, or only modem ? In other words : Is
the term the representative of a principle which must always
have been acknowledged, as being based on some ultimate and
immutable fact of the human mind ; or, hke the words, which,
to use the saying of a philosophical writer,^ *' have their star",
is it but the name and S3rmbol of an idea, which runs its course,
which has had its ascertainable origin, its gradual evolution, its
historical rise and culmination in the intellectual sky ? There is
the question, again, of the bearing of the Picturesque on the
theory of the fine arts: Does it touch upon poetry? Does it
concern architecture? Or, again, is it "classic", or "romantic",
or both? And does it tend to maintain or to destroy, when
duly examined, the specious but deceptive (as we believe) and
indefinite theory thence named? We might go on, it is pos-
sible, to suggest other intellectual problems similar to these, with
each of which it might conceivably have points of connection ;
but we have said enough, as it is, to show the suggestiveness of
our subject.

We begin then by taking for granted, what in fact we have
abeady impHed in our first words, that the Picturesque is com-
prehended under the beautiful, and is one form of it. What
then is the Beautiful? Here there is no answer forthcoming
which can be called authoritative. The professed treatises on
the subject can hardly be said, any of them, to be held in high
estimation ; and as in general they are neither deep nor accurate,
it would be a waste of time to discuss what we cannot acquiesce
in. ^ Hence \ve are thrown in some measure, for the determi-
nation of this preliminary point, on our own resources ; and in
the execution of this task, so far as is necessary for the inquiry
before us, we hope not to be shallow whilst we attempt to be
comprehensive.

We reject then,^ we say, once for all, and without the ceremony
of a minute examination, all such theories as that of Alison, who
would make the Beautiful simply consist in association ; all such
theories as that of Burke, who would be content to identify the
beautiful with the merely agreeable (the icaXov with the r]^v),
who would call sweetness, for example, beautiful to the taste,
in the same sense in which a flower, a picture, or the window of
a Gothic cathedral, is beautiful to the sight ; all such theories as
that of Dugald Stewart, which goes fai' towards identifying the

Guizot, " Civilisation in Europe'', cli.

Tlie Theory of the Picturesque. 3

beautiful with the useful or the appropriate, and would explain
it on the theory of an adaptation of means to ends ; all such
theories as that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who held the beautiful
to consist in a mean between two extremes ; so that the Greek
nose, for example, would be beautiful, as being the due medium
between that of the Roman and the Negro ; who, in short, inter-
preted the beautiful simply on a theory of habit, even to the
extent of believing that if that which we now are accustomed to
call ugliness had predominated in the world, we should feel in it
the same pleasure which we now do in the beautiful; — nor,
finally, can we accept as sufficient even the theory which has
the singular recommendation of being at once the earliest and the
latest propounded on this subject, that of the Greek school of
philosophy — of St. Augustine, of Coleridge, and of the Pere
Andre, — we mean the doctrine that beauty is unity, or, to ex-
press it as is occasionally done, is " plurality in unity", or the
combination of the many into one, so as to form a whole. Our
objection to this definition is the vagueness of the word unity,
which may signify anything or nothing, as we choose to take it.
As an instance of what we mean, we may borrow the illustration
proposed, if we remember right, by Plotinus, that of the triangle.
The triangle, he says, is the first-born of beauty, as being the
most elementary combination possible of the " many" to form
*' one". Now it is obvious to ask, if the connection of tliree lines
into a definite figure is a creation of the beautiful, as being the
union into a whole of three parts, what are we to say to the
figure resulting from the union of three lines of unequal length ?
The scalene triangle, which is the figure in question, is certainly
not beautiful, though it realises the definition, or seems to do
so ; and consequently the definition itself is either obscure or not
true.

Setting aside, then, these several accounts of the Beautiful, as
inexact or inadequate, and looking round for a more complete
definition, if such is to be obtained, let us observe for a moment
how much is popularly comprehended in the idea of the beauti-
ful. If it be difficult of definition, this might seem certainly to
be owing, on taking our first view of it, to the number and va-
riety of the manifestations in which it is presented. Thus it is
exhibited not in space only, but in time, not in rest only, but in
motion; — in space and in rest, as in the forms of the visible
creation, both animate and inanimate ; in time and in motion, as
in all that is called " graceful". It is realised again, not only in
the phenomena of sight, and here in the two several manifes-
tations of form and colour, but in the phenomena of soimd also,
and here in the two manifestations of melody and harmonv.

1 B

4 The Theory of the Picturesque.

Affain, not in the world of sense only, but in tlie world wliich
is supersensuous. It is common to speak of moral and intellectual
beauty, as well as physical. There is the beauty of prose and of
poetry ; there is the beauty of virtue ; there is the beauty of the
Divine Attributes. In short, hardly anytliing is there, in heaven
or in earth, in mind or in matter, which cannot become, under
certain conditions, what, in the ordinary language of men, is
called beautiful ; and how, it may be asked, are we to chain into
a definition a spirit ever restlessly investing itself in forms so
different ?

We reply, that a careful consideration of these and the like
instances of the beautiful, usually and popularly so called, will
authorise us to distinguish between the "Beautiful", in the strict
sense of the term, and the "Poetical"; and, proceeding on this
distinction, we shall venture to include all that is properly called
beautiful under the definition of harmony^ and to refer the beau-
tiful, improperly so called, or what we now name the poetical,
to the head of association. We are not saying, it will be ob-
served, that the Beautiful and Poetical never meet and intermingle
in the same subject ; nothing, on the contrary, is more common :
but we say that the two are always distinguishable in idea, and
may be separate in fact. Harmony, then, is the philosophy of
the Beautiful, and association its poetry. Such is our funda-
mental position, and the necessary explanation of each shall now
follow.

1. In saying that Beauty, in the proper sense of the word, is
harmony, we assert, what will certainly be admitted, that the
beautiful is made up of parts, and that the essence of the beauti-
ful lies in the mode of the combination of those parts. So much,
indeed, is implied, and truly, in the definition of the beautiful by
the old Greek pliilosophers, before given, — " Multeity in imity".
Were it otherwise, — were it possible, that is, for a single and in-
dividual object, as such and in strictness of speech, to be called
beautiful, there would be no distinction assignable between the
beautiful and the merely agreeable, — by the latter term being
meant the direct gratification of any one of the five senses ; and
the attempt to estabhsh any principle or law of the Beautiful
would then be as nugatory as to theorise upon the satisfaction re-
Bultm^ from the fragrance of the rose or the colour of crimson.*
Will It be objected that colour, simple and elementary as it is, is
yet beautiful ^ we reply that, on the contrary, we have in colour,
when carefully considered, a proof of our assertion, that beauty is

* This is well insisted on and brought out in the Essays on the Beautiful, by
tolendge, preserved in Cottle's " Kecoilections" of that writer.

The Tlieory of the Picturesque. 5

harmony ; for, though it is common indeed to hear the particular
colour crimson, or blue, or purple, and so on, called beautiful, yet
that this is an incorrect use of the term, and nothing more, must
be inferred from the circumstance, that so soon as any one colour
is set in juxta- position with another, as in a picture or church
window, it immediately becomes beautiful or not beautiful, ac-
cording as it harmonises or not with the accompanying colour.

So is it in colours ; so is it, as we shall presently see, in the case
of forms ; but, omitting these for the moment, let us next test the
definition in the instance of what is called grace. *' In beauty",
says Lord Bacon, in his essay on that subject, "favour" (or " form",
as we should now say) " is more than colour, and decent and gra-
cious motion is more than favour. This is the best part of beauty,
which a picture cannot express, nor the first sight of the life".
Grace, then, being beauty in motion, and time being the " mea-
sure of motion", and time and space being, as to their metaphy-
sical character, analogous, we shall be justified in using the word
" harmony" in its original and more extended signification (that
of apfiovta), in expressing by it, that is, not the mutual rela-
tions of objects in space only, or what in music is harmony pro-
perly so called, but the relations of sequence or succession in time
also, or what in music is called at the present day melody ; and
we think it reasonable to assert that, in this wider employment of
it, the term harmony can be applied to the beautiful, not only a3
we perceive it in space and in a state of repose, but also as it
comes before us under the conditions of time and motion, when
we distinguish it as the graceful. Thus the curved or undulating
line, to which the name of the " line of beauty and grace" has
especially been given, is one which we follow with the eye from
end to end. We might define it, — and the same definition would
suit the sequence of a musical air, — as " unity in progression".
And thus a flower and a tree, of which the outlines mainly con-
sist of flowing or curved lines, as the harebell or the willow, are
confessedly graceful. Thus the dance also is graceful ; and the
verse in Wordsworth, " She seemed as happy as a wave, that
dances on the sea", suggests the closeness of its analogy to the
flowing or undulating line. So, when Virgil describes birds
singing, and Lucretius the motion (" decent and gracious") of
the clouds in Heaven, they use language so similar that the one
might almost have been suspected of having copied the other.
*' JEthera mulcebant cantu" is the expression in Virgil applied to
the birds' music. " ^era mulcentes motu" is the singularly beau-
tiful and poetical expression applied in Lucretius to the clouds'
movement. He is speaking of the drifting of clouds over the
face of a clear sky ; and he sets before us in this admirable half

6 The Theory of the Picturesque.

line a sort of photograph of their gradual and graceful variations
of outline as the j move onwards : —

" Nee speciera mutare suam liquentia cessant,
Et quoiusqueinodi formaruru vertere in ora".'

We might multiply instances in point, were it necessary to do
so ; but we may suppose the position we are maintaining to be now
granted — namely, that grace, as being of the nature of a musical
movement, may be included, like beauty in repose, under the
head of harmony. We will, therefore, now proceed, in the last
place, to give an illustration of what we mean, when we say that
mvisible and supersensuous beauty is also harmony, and may thus
be comprehended under the same definition with all other beauty.
And it is ascending at once to the highest exemplification of
which the subject is capable, when we refer to the Omnipotent
Author Himself of all beauty. He who is the Almighty, the
All- wise, and the All-holy, is also, in the language of divines, the
All-beautiful. And theology completes the crown of His attri-
butes with this last, as intending to express by it the confluence
in Him, and harmonious connection among themselves, of all the
others. " Order and harmony", says Dr. Newman,* in a most
apposite passage, " are of His very essence. To be many and
distinct in His attributes, yet, after all, to be but one, — to be
sanctity, justice, truth, love, power, wisdom, to be at once each
of these as fully as if He were nothing but it, and if the rest
were not, — this impHes in the Divine Nature an infinitely sove-
reign and utterly incomprehensible order, which is an attribute
as wonderful as any, and the result of all the others". . . .
. . . " Such", he afterwards goes on to say, " is the unity and
consequent harmony and beauty of the Divine Nature". The
theological doctiine is, in fact, the interpretation of the dim
dream of heathen philosophy on the same subject. The past,
the present, and the future of the world's history, chanted by the
fates, and blending in sublime harmony with the music of the
spheres,— such is the Platonic adumbration in the splendid fable*
of the fulness of the beatific vision of the All-beautiful.

2. The above, then, are specimen instances out of many which
might be given in proof that Beauty in all its manifestations is of
the nature of harmony. We have now to say something on the
second of the two heads before mentioned, namely, the principle
of association, which we have called the poetry of the Beautiful,
as distinct from its philosophy. How mtimately, indeed, this

» Lucretius, IV., 136. ■• Occasional Sermons, p. 251. ^ RepubUc, suh.Jin.

The Theory of the Picturesque. 7

principle is connected in fact, though it is not to be identified in
theory, with the effect which a beautiful object produces upon
the mind, is sufficiently evident from such treatises as the once
popular one of Alison, already alluded to, whose resolution of
the Beautiful is simply and merely that it is the awakening in
the mind of a train of agreeable associations, and who would
never have been elevated into an oracle on a basis so insufficient,
were it not that every one must feel that he is right in the obser-
vations he makes, so far as this, that they are true but apparently
immaterial, his mistake being, that he substitutes an attribute, a
phenomenon, a separable accident of the Beautiful, for its real
essence. The same is the case with a popular writer of this day
— Mr. Ruskin. At bottom he is wholly an associationist as
regards his theory of the Beautiful no less than Alison, and in
page after page of his many volumes unfolds the poetry of his
subject with an exuberant eloquence, while in his attempts at a
philosophical analysis of it, he is meagre and inadequate, or rather
he is perpetually offering us poetry, which he calls philosophy.
Thus we sympathise, for example, with the poetical feeling which
makes him associate the form of the arch in pointed Gothic with
the shape of the leaves in one-half of the vegetable kingdom,
while at the same time we reject the philosophy which would
assert the fact of this correspondence to be a satisfactory reply to
the question. Why is the pointed arch beautiful in a Gothic cathe-
dral? We maintain, on the contrary, in direct opposition to
these writers, that association, so far from being identical with
the Beautiful, or a part of its essence,, stand in the sort of relation
to it that expression, as it is called, in the human face does to
regular features. Their beauty consists in their regularity ; it is
a matter of symmetry, proportion, and harmony ; it is something
objective and external; it is reducible to rule; it is independent
of the caprice or particular impression of our own mind. But,
on the other hand, we connect the "play" of a countenance with
the character, the thoughts, the emotions, the alternations and
variations of feeling in the inner man. Momentary and ever-
changing, it is like the sparkling of light on the surface of a sea
of which the depths have been agitated. Here, then, is a pro-
cess of association correctly so called; here is something unsys-
tematic, indefinite, irreducible to rule or measvire, incapable of
analysis, in a word, here is poetry. And, as it is certainly com-
mon on the one hand to hear of features being described as beau-
tiful because regular, yet as unpleasing, nevertheless, because
vacant ; and, on the other, as pleasing, because full of expression,
though not beautiful; and as the perfection of excellence is
admitted to be where both qualifications unite in one person, —

8 The Theory of the Picturesque.

we have here a perfect illustration both of the manner in which
harmony, viewed as the philosophy of the Beautiful, is complete
without association, and of the poetical grace independent of, and
beyond itself, which it may borrow from association.

Thus music, to take another instance, independently of those
fixed laws of material harmony or melody by which it is beauti-
ful, awakens also in the mind, there is no doubt, certain dreamy
and subtle chords of imaginative association and feeling, which
make it eminently poetical. Light, on the other hand, according
to the same view, would be beautiful, not strictly and philoso-
phically — for, of course, there cannot be harmonious relations
where there are no parts, — but still poetically in the highest
degree, for what have we in light but a pure, immaterial, immu-
table, life-like, inconceivably swift, all-encompassing, dazzlmg
emanation from a world above — "a^thereum sensum, atque aurai
simplicis ignem", — which is fraught with associations of all that
is divinest and most perfect ?

And, lastly, to test the definition in the instance of literary
description or word-painting : — That the Beautiful here also may
have the poetical superadded, and may be elevated even to the
grandest sublimity by the power of association, can hardly be
evidenced more completely than in the following description,*
the divine original of which, in St. John's prophecy, will be re-
membered by every one : —

" And who is he, yon rast and awful form,
Girt with the whirlwind, sandal'd with the storm j
A western cloud around his limbs is spread ;
His crown a rainbow, and a sun his head :
To highest heaven he lifts his kingly hand,
And treads at once the ocean and the land;
And hark his voice amid the thunder's roar,
His dreadful voice, that time shall be no more".

Here is certainly a picture so complete, so definite, so radiant,
so harmonious in form and colour, so simply beautiful, that were
it realised on canvas it would command admiration as a master-
piece of angehc grace and celestial dignity. But the point to be
msisted on is, that in addition to the form and the colour which
made it beautiful as a picture, there is a combination of sublime
symbols which make it wonderfully poetical. The cloud, the
rainbow, and the thunder, stand for the attributes of mercy and
judgment characteristic of the Omnipotent King whom the angel
personifies ; and since half the efiect of the representation depends

• Hebcr's Palestine ; Comp. Apoc. x.

p

TJie Theory of the Picturesque.

on these symbols, that effect is so far to be ascribed, not, we say,
to the picture, but to the high associations indirectly awakened
by the picture.

So much in preparation for the inquiry which is our immediate
concern, into the nature of the Picturesque.

We have been occupied thus far in distinguishing between the
two principles of harmony and association in their relation to
the Beautiful; and we have determined the essence of the
Beautiful to consist in harmony, and association to be connected
with it only as an addition ah extra, and as rendering it poetical.
This distinction, then, we shall now employ, to disembarrass our
inquiry of the ambiguity which would otherwise beset it, owing
to the fact of the Picturesque being accidentally encompassed with
so much that is romantic and imaginative. For, as it so happens
that it is the not unfrequent concomitant of decay or ruin, the
temptation has been great among theorists on this subject, to
make associations of decay and ruin, an element in its definition ;
in other words, make the principle of it consist in the eccentric, the
abnormal, and the distorted ; and thus by a curious inversion, to
discover in it, a deflection from the true type of the beautiful rather
than a fulfilment of it. Here we are reminded once more of Mr.
Ruskin's mode of philosophising on these matters. He also finds
the key to the Picturesque, as may be supposed, in a theory of
association ; though in fact he advances it in a form somewhat
different from that just alluded to. He defines it to be " parasi-
tical sublimity", and, in explanation of his meaning, gives the
instance of a Swiss chalet, with the large and irregularly shaped
stones, set, as usual, upon its roof, to secure it from the violence
of the weather. These stones, he says, are the source of its
picturesqueness, and are such, not in themselves, and as they
stand on the cottage roof, but by virtue of an intellectual process
in the mind of the beholder, who first associates them in
thought with the adjoining mountain from which they are taken,
and then mentally invests them with the sublimity attaching
to that mountain. It is enough, however, to have noticed
this theory, and those akin to it, in a passing sentence ; and we
are exempted by all that has already been said, from further
dwelling on it. Association and romance may add poetical
interest, no doubt, to the picturesque object; but if they may
reasonably be excluded from any part in the theory of the
Beautiful, so also may they safely be rejected from that of pic-
turesque iDcauty.

The Picturesque, then, as its very name indicates, must be re-
ferred for its ultimate explanation to the art of the painter. It

10 Tlie Tlieory of the Picturesque.

must be realised, that is in one or both of the two elements of
form and colour. So much, if the principle of association be set
aside, as just said, may be taken for granted. Moreover, it being
impossible to have colour in a pictorial composition apart from
form, whilst of course it is possible to have form without colour,
as in an engraving, a photograph, or at any rate in a mere out-
line, we shall be simplifying our subject as well as adhering to
the essential and disregarding the non-essential, in setting aside
the consideration of colour, and confining our attention entirely
to that of form. If the picturesque, then, be reducible to the
general head of the beautiful in form, and if the beautiful in
form be reducible, like the beautiful in colour and the beauty of
motion, to the head of harmony, we can hardly go astray in pro-
nouncing the essence of the picturesque to be dependent, directly
or indirectly, on what is called symmetry ; inasmuch as harmony
in the arrangement of Hues is symmetry.

What, then, is the symmetry which distinguishes picturesque
beauty from beauty in general? Here it will be convenient
to recur to the illustration of the beautiful already alluded to, as
having been proposed by the ancient philosophers, — the triangle.
There are three forms of the triangle r the scalene, of which the
sides are none of them equal to each other; the isosceles, of
which two are equal and one is unequal ; the equilateral, of which
all three are equal. The scalene, then, is wholly unsymmetrical ;
the isosceles, imperfectly symmetrical ; and the equilateral, per-
fectly. The scalene also is certainly not beautiful ; whereas the
isosceles and the equilateral both satisfy the eye, and by reason
of their regularity, and, though dissimilar to each other, can
neither of them submit to be set aside as not beautiful. There
is a difference, however, between the two, and that an impor-
tant one.

The equilateral triangle, in consequence of the very perfection
of the symmetrical harmony of its component parts, has the cha-
racter of formality. So it is with flowers ; they are beautiful,
abstractedly from their colours, with a geometrical beauty ; their
effect, generally speaking, being produced by the systematic dis-
position of their petals, which are the repetition of each other,
round a common centre. So it is, in like manner, with the ca-
lidoscope ; that instrmnent, by the mere power of a symmetri-
cal multiplication, converting a chaos of disorder into magical
beauty ; still into beauty of a limited range only, as being, by
the necessity of the case, always formal. The isosceles triangle,
on the other hand, is saved from being formal at the expense of
being less completely symmetrical ; and its third side, which is
irregular or unsymmetrical, as compared with the other two, is of

The Tlieory of the Picturesque. 11

the nature of a discord in music, as employed by a great master.
It tempers a harmony which would otherwise be too perfect to
be quite symmetrical.

Here, then, we get a glimpse of the true reply to the question
above put, viz.. What is the symmetry which distinguishes pic-
turesque beauty from ordinary beauty? for the most cursory
consideration of all that is generally included under the name
picturesque, will lead us to see that its chief characteristic is a
certain irregularity ; formal it assuredly is not, whatever else it
is. We will accordingly distribute all beauty into formal, on the
one hand, and picturesque, on the other. And, speaking broadly
and generally, we have the types of these two divisions of the
beautiful in the two triangles just mentioned : viz., of the formal
in the equilateral, and of the informal, or picturesque, in the
isosceles.

For the more complete illustration of the distinction here
drawn, let us now place ourselves in imagination in the presence
of any particular masterpiece we please of classical architecture,
only supposing it to be as perfect as on the day when it was ori-
ginally set up by Pericles at Athens, or by Augustus at Rome.
It may be the front of the Parthenon, or the portico of the Pan-
theon, or the Maison Carree of Nismes, or that successful imita-
tion of the antique, the Madeleine at Paris. Anyhow we shall
have before us a range of columns, Doric, Ionic, or Corinthian,
as the case may be ; perfect in their parts, their heights, their
proportions, their inter-columniations ; above these the horizon-
tal entablature, adorned with its appropriate decorations accord-
ing to the style of the architecture ; and above this again, and
crowning the whole, the pediment, with its obtuse-angled tri-
angle, forming at once the termination of the roof of the temple
and the frame of a series of exquisite representations in sculpture
arranged within it. Now, such a creation as this is emphatically
and by universal consent beautiful ; — as beautiful in its particular
department as anything that can be named ; yet assuredly it is
no subject for the painter. He might do his best indeed, were
he compelled to design it, in the way of adapting it to a picture,
whether by taking it at an angle, or by setting it on the summit
of some iTigged and commanding rock, as the Parthenon on the
Acropolis ; or by relieving it with the undulating hues of trees
and clouds ; or by breaking up its uniformity, in casting upon it
broad lights and irregular shadows ; but were he to draw the
front of the building as we have described it, and apart from
such accessories or details as we have just been imagining, he
would produce, not a picture, but an architectural elevation.
The result, in fact, though perfectly beautiful in its own way,

12 The Theory of the Picturesque.

would be irremediably formal ; and where is the spell that shall
evoke a manifestation of the picturesque from materials so un-
promising ?

In the " Bridal of Triermain", we read of a knight, who,
weary of continually watching before a pile of rocks, which re-
mained nothing but rocks, though a magical castle was said to be
concealed within them, at length flung his battle-axe at the chiFs
which rose above him, and splintered off a fragment of the mass
in so doing, when the charm being thus broken, the enchanted
fortress immediately burst upon his view in all its reality. Now
we may try a somewhat similar experiment in the present in-
stance with equal success. For the castle-rocks of St. John,
which the knight struck, let us substitute the faqade of the classic
temple just imagined, and let the blow of the battle-axe be repre-
sented by some partial disturbance of the severe regularity of the
outlines which bound the structure ; let the pediment be some-
what broken away ; let one or two of the pillars be displaced or
broken off short at different elevations ; let the continuity of their
fluting be disturbed, let them be eaten into by the weather, and
overhung and tufted in places with creepers or wild flowers ; let
the monotony of their marble be diversified with moss and lichen ;
and let the ground at their foot be broken and heaped up in hil-
locks : and behold a nobler creation of the beautiful than we had
before; dum moritur resurgit; from the prison of the formal has
come out the beauty of the informal, for in the ruin we have the
subject of the pencil, the delight of the artist, the material for
the sketch book, in short, the very embodiment of the pictu-
resque in all its perfection.

We repeat that we have here gi^n what every one must
admit to be a specimen of the picturesque, true, adequate, a.nd
complete, omnibus numeris, and the principle of the picturesque
may now be easily deduced from the consideration of it. It is,
in fact, a disturbed symmetry; and where it is realised most
completely, will be found to be a pretty accurate equilibrium of
the symmetrical and the unsymmetrical, neither absolutely pre-
ponderating to the disadvantage of the other. Hence, while the
modes in which it admits of being exhibited are very various,
the essence of every such exhibition will be always tliis, all that
is possible in regularity short of formal arrangement, and all that
is possible in freedom short of no arrangement at all or mere dis-
order. There must be an interpenetration, so to express it, of
the formal by the informal ; there must be at once correspondence
and diversity, harmony and contrast. This, and this only, is the
picturesque ; and of this the isosceles triangle, as before said, is
the simplest manifestation.

The Theory of the Picturesque. 13

Should any one yet hesitate to acquiesce in this definition, under
the feehng that after all it may be still association which is the
charm of the ruin, and not the form of it, let him return again to
the supposed temple, and consider what would be the effect of an
entire abolition of those proportions which he is so little disposed
to identify with its picturesqueness. That in its formal or com-
plete state, the piece of architecture in question is unpicturesque,
has been made evident already ; now, on the other hand, that an
utter absence of form, or simple disorder and confiision, is unpic-
turesque also, may be proved to demonstration, by pursuing to
its limits that stgne process of demolition by means of which we
rendered the temple picturesque in the first instance. Carry on,
in fact, the supposed disintegration of the building little by little,
and you will find, that at a certain stage of the proceeding you
reach a critical turning point, beyond which every step in ad-
vance ceases to be a creation of the picturesque, and becomes the
corruption of it ; till at length, when column, pediment, and en-
tablature fie in shapeless confusion on the ground, corruption
has become absolute dissolution, and the picturesque has vanished.
It has come, it has been seen in its perfection, it has passed away
and has been destroyed by the identical process by which it has
been erected ; as if the conditions of its existence were those of
the White Lady in the romance, who then first became visible
when the fortunes of the " house", with whose destiny her own
was interwoven, had fallen into decfine ; whose zone gradually
dwindled as the ruin proceeded, and who was fated to perish
altogether at the moment of its consummation.

The picturesque, then, is, in its essence, a due combination of
the formal and the informal, and it is important to observe that
this is the definition, the most natural and antecedently pro-
bable in a philosophical point of view, of any which could be
given ; for the discernment of likeness and unlikeness, which are
only other names for that system of symmetry and inten-uption,
of correspondence and contrast, which we recognize in the pic-
turesque, is an elementary power and necessity in the human
mind : hence it is a principle of universal application ; latissime
patet. " The perception", it has been said,^ " of similitude in
dissimilitude is the great spring of the activity of our minds, and
their chief feeder. . . . It is the life of our ordinary conversa-
tion ; and upon the accuracy with which similitude in dissimili-
tude, and dissimilitude in similitude are perceived, depend our
taste and our moral feelings". Thus it is the secret, for example,

Wordsworth — Preface to Poems ; and compare Coleridge's Kemains.

14 TJie Tlieory of the Picturesque.

as others have pointed out, of the reason why we prefer the mar-
ble statue to the more perfect imitation of the human form which
may be made in wax-work. Thus in poetry, again, it is the ulti-
mate principle of the entire scheme of metre, versification, and
rhyme, and of the system of parallelisms, which constitutes the
versification of the Hebrews ; of metre, for it is here the simili-
tude and dissimilitude of time or measure ; of rhyme, for it is here
the similitude and dissimilitude of recurring sound ; of parallelism,
for it is here the similitude and dissimilitude of mental concep-
tions. It is the main principle, in short, of the charm residing in
all imitation of whatever kind.

This law, then, of our condition, that we should be incessantly
comparing and contrasting, contrasting and comparing, and find-
ing pleasure in the recognition of the like in the midst of the un-
like, being identical, in fact, with the law which constitutes the
picturesque, we may naturally expect a principle so universal to
admit, even in the particular province of the picturesque, of ex-
tensive apphcation ; and, in truth, it is hardly too much to say
that, according to the variety of the employment of it, is the
success, the beauty, and the perfection, so far as form is con-
cerned, of a pictorial composition. Thus, an object may be
picturesque, for example, in jtself, according to the definition of
the picturesque above given ; or, on the other hand, it may be
picturesque only or mainly when in juxta-position with a second
object, partly resembhng the first, and partly differing ; it being
just this union of resemblance and diiference which constitutes
the picturesque. Or, again, each of the two objects may be pro-
perly picturesque in itself, or taken separately ; and the two may
also create the picturesque when taken conjointly. An oak, for
example, if well grown, is a picturesque tree. Its stem is just a
sufficient departure from a straight line to save it from being
formal, and its foHage groups into masses corresponding one to
another in character, yet not rigorously uniform, — repeating
one another with variations, and perpetually suggesting a sym-
metry which they stop short of completing. If a tree, then, such
as this, be introduced into a picture alongside of a piece af archi-
tectural ruin of the kind before mentioned, the one, to use the
common expression, will set off the other, in a manner and to a
degree in which neither one tree would set ofif another tree, nor
one ruin another ruin ; or, in other words, owing to the character
of their outlines, there will be at once a certain difference in the
opposed masses, and a certain correspondence, and the picturesque
will be the result.

^ It would be easy to continue these illustrations almost indefi-
nitely. What, for example, is the secret of that picturesqueness

The Theory of the Picturesque. 15

of tlie Swiss chalet, which Mr. Ruskin mistakenly attributes to
" parasitical sublimity"? It is simply, that the rough masses of
irrco-ular stone with which the roof is studded, interrupt what
would otherwise be the over-formality and regularity of the lines
of the building. Why is it, again, that the painter, who has a
picturesque object to copy, avoids giving it a place in the exact
centre of his paper ? It is the fear lest, by consequently dividing
his paper into equal parts, he should give an air of formality to
his drawing, which would destroy its picturesqueness. Or, again,
what makes him prefer taking his building, be it castle or cottage,
at an angle, in preference to a front view of it ? It is obviously
the feeling that the slanting lines thus produced by the necessity
of the perspective, tend to mitigate that decided formality which
would be the consequence of a front view. Or, again, why is
he so fond of balancing the two sides of his picture ? Why will
he put a small tree on the left hand over against a large one on
the right, a large rock on the right to balance a small one on the
left, unless always with the intention of producing a certain cor-
respondence without formality ? In the case of a historical pic-
ture, as distinct from landscape, the introduction of the same
principle of arrangement is more remarkable still, for there, if
any where, the dignity or the interest attaching to the exhi-
bition of human action or passion, to expression in countenance
and feature, and to animation in form, might seem enough in
itself for the highest purposes of the artist, without the addi-
tion of the particular element we are here treating of Yet it
presents itself, in fact, in what are called the " forms of com-
position" employed by the great masters. In other words, some
regular figure, whether the triangle, the circle, the oval, the
figure of eight, the St. Andrew's cross, or any other, is made the
basis of the composition or grouping of the different personages
which are the subject of the picture ; not, however, in such a
manner that the employment of the figure in question becomes
prominently conspicuous; but here is again that peculiar inter-
mingling of the formal and the informal which constitutes the
picturesque. The severe regularity of the figure is just so far
discernible as to give harmony and repose to the irregular life
and action out of which it is created, and is so far indiscernible
as only to regulate a freedom which it would otherwise imprison.^
We have now pursued, we think, the philosophy of the sub-
ject pretty nearly to its limits, and if correctly, how false must
be the supposition of those who would limit the perception of the

* Compare, again, the Lectures on the Beautiful, by Coleridge, in Cottle's
"Recollections".

16 The Theory of the Picturesque.

Picturesque to modem times, and deny it any place in the minds
and the feeHngs of those ancients of Greece and Rome, who have
generally been looked up to in matters of intellect and taste as
unapproachable models. To trace up the picturesque to an ele-
mentary principle of the intellect is virtually- to assert the impos-
sibility of its being thus limited. Who in point of fact can
imagine, we will not say an Apelles, a Praxiteles, or a Phidias,
not the author of the Belvidere Apollo, or the Medicean Venus,
not that Homer, who could so vividly paint the scudding of a
storm, or the moonUght upon the crags, or the wave gathering
in the distance, and coming in, and bursting on the shore, — not
any one of the great authors in poetry whose names are famous,
but even any ordinary contemporary of theirs, with common
taste and refinement, looking at a regular landscape composition
of the present day by Claude or Turner, and not appreciating its
beauty ; or surveying, we will say, without pleasure the broken
arches, the ivy-mantled columns, and the half-shattered tracery
of the windows of Tintem Abbey; or wandering "siccis oculis"
along the Rhine, with no feeling for the charm of the confoiTnation
of those piles of mediaeval masonry on its banks, so regular at once
and so irregular ; so symmetrical, yet so relieved from formality
in their fantastic accumulation of turret, or battlement, or pinnacle,
on side or summit, that they have all the picturesqueness of the
ruin without being such ? As reasonably might we raise a doubt
whether he had an eye for the regular proportions of the square
or circle. Moreover, the evidence of facts confirms the ante-
cedent probability; for, whatever stress may be laid (extrava-
gantly enough, as we think, yet it is sometimes done) on the
particular case of the formality of the gardens of Alicinous,
described in Homer, or on the absence, if so be, of any elaborate
landscape composition in the ancient poets, nothing is more cer-
tain than that passages can be produced, which, even apart from
antecedent probabilities, and much more, admitting them, may
fairly be considered to show as keen an appreciation of the pic-
turesque, in the fullest sense of the word, in those writers, as is
to be found in any passage of poetry in modern times. There
are two instances out of many, which occur in Virgil, the one
poet who, from his passionate admiration of the country and all
belonging to it, is naturally the author we first turn to in a ques-
tion of this kind. First, his notice of the view unfolding before
the eyes of the shepherd, as the road turns :

" Janique sepulchrum
Incipit apparere Bianoris";—

How few are the word**, yet how perfectly picturesque is the

Hie Theory of the Picturesque. 1 7

scene wliich they combine to flash upon us. " Incipit apparere" :
— It is a landscape, tlie leading feature of wKicli is a sepulchre,
hoary with all its associations of the ancient past (like the tomb,
we may suppose, of Cecilia Metella in the Appian Way, now exist-
ing) ; and it is a sepulchre, moreover, half seen, as it gradually
emerges from the trees at the road-side ; hence its regular out-
lines are partly hidden, and so relieved of their formality, by the
foliage of those trees, whilst enough of them is shown at the
same time to form a contrast with the lines of that foliage and of
the landscape, and with the bend of the pathway which forms
the foreground. The picture, in short, is drawn by the poet
precisely as it would be certainly drawn by the professed painter.
The second, and if possible more complete picture, of which we
are thinking, is that of the reclining shepherd watcliing, from
imder the leafy arch of the cavern in which he is resting, his
goats hanging from the thicket- tufted sides of the distant rock: —

" Non ego vos posthac viridi projectus in antro
Dumosa pendere procul de rupe videbo".

If any one will seriously maintain that the grouping of the
numerous features of the scene here described is other than
strictly picturesque, or could have been conceived or described
by any one not naturally possessing a keen sense of the pictu-
resque, we are at a loss to understand how poetry can be appealed
to at all for determining the question ; least of all, the poetry of
those ancients, whose singular glory and prerogative, as com-
pared with the moderns, is their indirectness ; who utter what is
poetical mthout the appearance of the incumbering self-con-
sciousness that they are so doing, and whose genius in conse-
quence would have been especially disposed to abhor deliberate
scene-painting, or any manufacturing of a landscape in such a
manner as to betray the manufacture.

However, we may suppose our objector to be still unsatisfied,
and his difficulty to proceed from a comparison which we may
conceive him to institute between the classical temple and its
proper correlative in modern times, the Gothic cathedral. He
may point to the spires and to the towers, to the innumerable
pinnacles, the flying buttresses, the pointed arches, the traceried
windows, the quaint carvings, the deep porches, and the cluster-
ing columns, of Amiens or Strasburg, of Cologne or Milan, and
pronounce the Gothic to be decidedly on the whole, a pictures-
que architecture, — picturesque according to the strict definition
we have ourselves given, and commending itself in point of fact,
to the artist, as something ready made to his hand if he wants a
subject, without the absolute need of alterations for that purpose,
III. 2

18 Tlie Theory of the Picturesque.

sucli as we found to be necessary in the case of the Greek
temple. If the Gothic architecture, then, he may argue, is pic-
turesque, and the classic unpicturesque, here is manifestly a
phenomenon, which, notwithstanding all that we have hitherto
said, has still to be accounted for ; nay, which may safely be
asserted to betoken some radical diiference after all in the intel-
lectual constitution of the originators of the two architectures ;
for here he may naturally remind himself of the German distinc-
tion between the classic and the romantic, the inventors of which
have ever specially appealed to the broad differences character-
istic of the two architectures in question, as substantiating the
distinction ; and, though we are not sufficiently at home in the
literature of the " romantic" controversy to know whether it has
been done, we suppose that notliing would be more plausible at
first sight than to press the picturesque into the controversy on
the romantic side. But a little consideration will show that the
difficulty is not so serious that we need be diiven to any unsatis-
factory theory of this kind in order to escape it.

It may seem a contradiction, then, to say it, but the tratli is
that the Greek architecture, which we have been considering as
formal, owes the whole of its beauty nevertheless to the pictu-
resque principle. But our meaning will be understood, if the
conclusion be remembered which was di'awn when discussing the
ruin ; we then saw that the perfectly picturesque was as nearly
as possible the equilibriun of the formal and the informal. For,
this being the case, it will of course follow that every variety of
gradation is possible from the formal onwards to the informal,
till we reaUze that equiHbrium. Thus, if the ruin, to return to
our illustration, be but partially carried out, the result will be
something formal in the main, but with a tendency to the pic-
turesque ; if carried further, yet not sufficiently far, it Avill then
be picturesque in the main, but with a tendency to the formal.
Just in the same way, then, as the Greek temple, when decay first
begins to operate upon it, is a degree more picturesque than it
was, when quite perfect, so, we say, is the perfect temple itself
a degree more picturesque than it would be, were it quite formal ;
or, in other words, in so far as it is not the perfection of for-
mahty, so far is it picturesque. Now it is certainly not the
perfection of formahty, for, were it such, then the pediment,
being a triangle, should be equilateral, which it is not (for,
the base of it being larger in every case than the two sides, it
IS an obtuse-angled isosceles) ; and the rest of the fa9ade, that
IS, the parallelogram on which the pedunent rests, should in like
manner be a square, which it is not, the leading fines of the
Greek aichitecture being horizontal, or, in other words, the

Tlie Theory of the Picturesque. 19

width of the parallelogram being, as a general rule, greater than
the height of it. In like manner, a more perfect formality
would be obtained by the substitution of four-sided for round
cohunns, or again of columns absolutely round like a ruler,
instead of tapering upwards, as they do in the best architecture
towards the capitals. Now as to the pediment, the isosceles tri-
angle of which it consists was adopted by us above, as the very
symbol of picturesque beauty, on the ground of its being the
simplest possible exliibition in Hnes of a disturbed symmetry;
and as to the parallelogram supporting tliis pediment, it will
b^ easy to point out that it is precisely the same sort of ex-
hibition of the picturesque in four lines which the isosceles is
in three. What is it that we admire in a fine specimen of
this part of the fa9ade — for example, in the portico (to take
the first instance presenting itself) of the Pantheon at Rome,
which is an oblong parallelogram of the kind here referred to ?
We say of it that its proportions are admirable. Let us ask,
then, exactly what is meant by this word proportion. Now
we have seen it stated, that it is a common thing for an
architect who would have a room in a house which he is plan-
ning, well proportioned, to secure his object by the following
empirical rule: — He draws any square
ABCD, as in the diagram annexed;
produces the two sides AB and CD
indefinitely to E and F; draws the di-
agonal BC ; from CF cuts off CG equal
to this diagonal; through G draws GH
parallel to AC, and in the parallelo-
gram ACGH has produced a figure, the
proportions of which satisfy the eye and
answer his purpose; whereas any per-
ceptible departure from this form, whe-
ther by protracting or reducing the length
of the parallelogram here drawn, will, so
far as the effect is concerned, distinctly
injure it. What, then, is the explanation
of what we call in this particular case a
good proportion? The word proportion might tempt us at
first sight to imagine that there is some discernible harmony or
correspondence, properly so called, between the longer and the
shorter of the four sides of the parallelogram, as there manifestly
is between the two pairs of sides opposite to each other. Yet
not only is there no such correspondence at all, but even the
charm of the effect is actually due to there being none, as a mathe-
matician will at once see on considering the figure ; for it being a

2 B

20 Tlie Tlieory of the Picturesque.

raatliematical truth that the diagonal of a square is incommen-
suiate with the side of it, it follows that the longer side of the
parallelogram (CG) being equal by construction to the diagonal
CB of the square of AC, is also incommensurate with the shorter
side, which is AC.

Now the above is the analysis of the entire front of the Pan-
theon below the pediment, and there remains a parallelogram
of the kind just described, which itself is divided by pillars
into a series of intercolumniations, consisting of minor parallello-
grams of the same character, at right-angles to the main one.
The comment, then, suggesting itself on the observation of these
facts is the following : — Here is exactly, it would seem, the same
sort of effect produced by the four lines forming the sides of the
parallelogram, which is produced by the three sides forming the
sides of the isosceles triangle, which is the pediment above
the parallelogram. Both the one and the other is an example of
" disturbed symmetry". The parallelogram, that is, exhibits, as
does the triangle, the combination of a certain correspondence
with a certain discordance ; the correspondence being displayed
in the accurate equahty of the sides parallel to each other, and
the discordance in the disparity of the two sides touching
each other, which in fact are mathematically incommensurate, as
just said. On the other hand, had the parallelogi'am of the
facade been so lengthened that the two longer of its sides should
have been exactly the double of the two shorter, a harmony or
common measure would have been then created between the two,
but at the same time the " proportions", so admirable at present,
would have been destroyed by the process.

Remaining true, therefore, as it does, that the Greek architec-
ture, speaking broadly and generally, is decidedly of the formal
kind, and non-picturesque in consequence of so being, still it
would not be what it is, were it not for the picturesque principle.
It is formal because the preponderating effect is on the side of
formality. Thus the parallelogram just considered is absolutely
formal so far as this, that it is composed wholly of straight lines, is
divided into its component parallelograms by straight Hues, that
these lines are all of them arranged on a system of paralleHsm,
that all which are parallel are also equal, and that the angles con-
tained in the figure are all right angles. In all this, we say, the
symmetry is so complete, and the effect thereof so formal, that
the disturbance of this sjrmmetry in the particular instance of the
disproportion between the two sides touching each other in every
parallelogram, is insufficient to establish the balance on the pic-
turesque side.

The Greeks and Romans, then, undoubtedlv understood and

TJie TJieory of the Picturesque. 21

appreciated the picturesque principle, since tliey used it to give
tlie crowning perfection to a formal architecture ; and tlie Gothic
architect, in point of fact, did nothing more than develope this
particular element, already germinant in the classic, in like man-
ner as he developed the simple colonnade and area of the Roman
basilica into the multiplicity of pillars and redundance of aisle
and cloister of his own cathedral. This will be perceived, how-
ever, more distinctly, if we consider for a moment the leading
facts of the history of the formation of this architecture.

"Domus Jacob de populo barbaro"; the " Gospel palaces"
came originally, there is no doubt, from Egypt : for from Egypt
it was that their beginnings, the colonnade and the columnar
temple, such as are to be seen amid the ruins of Thebes at the
present day, were introduced into Greece ; from Greece, where
they underwent great modifications, they were transplanted to
Rome, and there further modified j and the final alterations which
they received afterwards from the architects of the north pro-
duced Gothic. It is also notorious that the main element in that
vitality by which the hall of Ozjniiandyas developed in the
progress of centuries into Cologne Cathedral, was the Roman
addition of the semicircular arch to the Greek column.

Now, this addition was one especially calculated to assist the
development of the new architecture in the picturesque direc-
tion. First, the place of the arch was above the intercolumnar
parallelogram, which became, in consequence, to a certain
amount less formal — that is, more picturesque, than it was pre-
viously. And further, as it so happened that this addition gave
it an extension of form upwards, there followed, in due course,
both the general substitution of the upward or vertical line for
the horizontal, as the dominant one in the new architecture,
whence the after-development of tower, pinnacle, and spire ; and
there followed, in particular, that sharpening of the arch itself,
hitherto semicircular, which was the culminating and crowning
efiect of Gothic development.

If we ask ourselves, then, the question, Why is the pointed
arch so superior, as all acknowledge it to be, in this particular
architecture, to any other variety of it ; why is it the most espe-
cially Gothic of Gothic features ; why is it so perfectly in keep-
ing with the rest of the building ? we shall find that what we
have called the principle of the Picturesque will supply the an-
swer. The excellence of the pointed arch lies in its ministering
to the expression of those two elements of sameness and diflTer-
ence which are the essence of the picturesque, and this, alike if
we consider it in relation to the rest of the architecture, or as
taken by itself. In relation to the rest of architecture, it is pic-

22 TJie Theory of the Picturesque.

turesque, because, wliile in its sharpness and verticalness it is in
harmony with the points, the pinnacles, the spires, and, in a word,
the upward convergence of the whole building, it tempers at the
same time, with a softening operation like that of the sun on
winter frost-work, the angular rigidity of these masses, by the
beautiful contrast of the flow of its own curves. Again, of
itself, and independently of its position, it is picturesque also ; for
while there is symmetry in the two curves composing it, — abso-
lute sjnnmetry, in so far as they are the counterparts of each
other, — there is also disturbance of symmetry in the fact that,
proceeding as they do, either of them, from a different centre,
they are each broken by the other at the point of collision. It
is the semicircle with its centre cut out, and the two sides ap-
proximated ; and accordingly, while in the semicircle we per-
ceive absolute uniformity and undisturbed harmony, the eye fol-
lowing its curve uninterruptedly from end to end, in the pointed
arch, on the contrary, the sweep of the compass leads us inevit-
ably away from the arch when we have followed half of it ;
whence we perceive it to be composed, not of one curve but of
two, and these both of them incomplete because antagonistic.

The pointed arch, then, being confessedly the special and re-
presentative feature in Gothic architecture, and being also as we
have now shown, the very smn and embodiment in itself of the
picturesque principle, we may securely, we think, assume that
the true key to the general analysis of the effect of that architec-
tural system in all its parts, is the principle in question ; the same
principle, as we have said, being the basis also of the combina-
nation of forms in the Greek system, but developed, owmg to
the invention of the arch, in a more abundant material, with
more variety, and to a certain extent, in greater perfection, in
the instance of the Gothic. To pursue it through all its ramifi-
cations as regards Gothic, would be a needless labour ; but we
have in mind more particularly at this moment those singular
and most characteristic creations of good Gothic which are
known as the "grotesques", those fantastic combinations' of
animal and human form, such as they are presented on the
outer wall of Durham Cathedral, or more conspiculously still in
the cloisters of Magdalen College, Oxford; and with the applica-
tion of the picturesque principle to the solution of these pheno-
mena, great perplexities as they confessedly are to all theorists,
and too important, as they may certainly be considered, to be
passed over in silence, we will draw to a conclusion.

The Grotesque, considered in its essence, may be laid down to
be the expression of the conflict of opposite or contradictory
principles m one subject, that subject being a living creature.

TJie Theory of the Picturesque 23

A grotesque face, for example, is one distorted in such a manner
from that composed symmetry, which is the ordmary expres-
sion of intellect and self-control, as to appear to be given
over to the domination of an inferior principle ; and it is under
the form of what is virtually a grotesque figure, that is, under
the form of a combination of man and animal into one, that
Plato in the Republic symbolises the union of the two antagonist
principles of reason and passion in human nature. If the theory,
then, of the Picturesque, which it is the object of this paper to
establish, be true, the Grotesque in this particular point of view
is akin to the Picturesque ; our very definition of the latter being,
if we may repeat again, " disturbed symmetry", or the balance of
the two principles of sameness and variation, regularity and irre-
gularity, proportion and disproportion, in the creation of form
and figure by the combination of lines.

The explanation, then, of the Grotesque, will be parallel to
that which has abeady been given of the pointing of the arch.
That is, whatever may have been, as a matter of history, the
origin of the introduction of the grotesque into Gothic architec-
ture, whether that potent auxiliary of all art, mere accident, as
probably was the case (the proverb tvxk] Tixvr]v ecrrcp^e jcat
Tv\r]v T^x^V being one of the truest), or whether the design, as
some say, of representing moral evil, or whether simply, as Mr.
Ruskin would have it, diseased imagination, — however this may
be, its assthetical justification, at any rate, or, in other words, the
ground of the prominence so especially given it in good Gothic,
was, that the architect who employed it felt it "to be in harmony,
for whatever reason, with the style of the architecture ; the truth
being, whether he understood it or not, that, much in the same
way as the finished elegance and repose of the sculpture enclosed
within the frame of the pediment of the Greek temple, expresses
the harmony and repose predominating in that architecture, so
does the abnormal and irregular life of the grotesque sculptures in
a Gothic cathedral, symbolise that wayward and restless departure
from rule and symmetry which belongs to the Gothic by reason
of its picturesque character.

[In connection with the subject of the preceding paper, the reader is referred to
one by Mr. Cope in the Camhridye Essays for 1856, who views, however, the sub-
ject differently. He quotes a passage from a beautiful chapter in the Cosmos, vol.
ii. p. 372 (Bohn's translation). Humboldt takes an intermediate view, quoting
Schiller, and referring in a note to an excellent paper of Edward Miiller,
" Uber sophokleischeNaturanschaiiung, und die tiefe Naturempfindunq derGrieclien'\
which supports Mr. Scott. The latter had seen Mr. Cope's article, and from
his knowledge of German Literature, must no doubt have been acquainted with
the writers referred to : he does not allude to them, possibly because the question
about the ancients only came incidentally into his discussion. — Ed. J

24

Art. II. — Views preliminary to the study of Political
Economy — By John O'Hagan, A.B.

THE object of political economy is wealth, meaning in a gene-
ral way all objects of human desire which are produced by
industry. The sources and the channels of national wealth ;
the causes which make a nation rich or poor ; the influences
which determine in one way or another the distribution of
wealth in society — all come within the province of Political
Economy. And when we remember how various these causes
and influences are, existing partly in the laws of external things,
but depending in great measure upon the constitution of man
himself, upon his natural wants and capacities, and not only so,
but upon morals, rchgion, customary and positive law — we must
conclude that the circle of studies within which Political Economy
ranges is far from narrow.

There is, however, a limitation of the subject, which writers
upon Political Economy are desirous to impress upon their
readers. Not only have causes residing in the moral and intel-
lectual condition of men an effect upon tlieir state of social
wealth, and as such, come legitimately within the scrutiny of
the economist, but, on the other hand, the condition of a people
or an era in regard to wealth, may have a retroactive effect upon
their thoughts and tendencies, and so upon their morals and
happiness. Into this latter class of inquiries. Political Eco-
nomists, as such, decline to enter. With the uses of wealth in
relation to the higher faculties and destinies of men, they say
their subject has simply nothing to do. Now as no one is bold
enough to assert that wealth constitutes the supreme good of men
or nations, and as few even maintain (though some do) that it
invariably conduces to that good ; as few deny that wealth may
exist in excess or under circumstances leading to evil. Political
Economists are naturally asked, why they exclude that class of
considerations, wliich, if their studies are to have any value at
all, must form their goal and test.

To this they answer: We do so for the sake of method.
Every science has a right to circumscribe itself Every writer is
entitled to make his theme as limited as he pleases, so as he takes
care that his conclusions are made no wider than his premises.
We do not undervalue, they say, the importance of investigat-
ing the relation between wealth and morality or happiness ; all

Vieics preliminary to the study of Political Economy. '2b

we insist on is, that such is not our subject. As a treatise on sKip-
buildincr oniits the topic of maritime-power; as a legal text-
book treats of what the law is, not what it ought to be, leaving
the latter tp the department of jurisprudence; as a writer on
agriculture is excused from discussing the corn -laws ; so, they
say, we claim to be permitted to follow our own class of
researches, without being involved in inquiries which, however
important, are to us irrelevant; we draw our conclusions
within our own precincts as carefully as we can: to apply them
belongs to a wider science — to that which, embracing the whole
nature and circumstances of man, his wants, passions, and capaci-
ties, determines what social arrangements are on the whole good
for him or evil.

All this sounds extremely fair, and is in indeed in point of
theoretical reasoning unanswerable. What is commonly said in
reply is, that PoHtical Economists are inconsistent with their
own professions ; that so far from being neutral on the question of
the intrinsic good of wealth, they are in general zealous advo-
cates on the one side ; that they manifest a desire for the increase
of wealth to an extent perfectly unlimited, and penetrate their
readers with like opinions.

If Political Economists have sinned in this way, and we are
far from acquitting them, it is, we say, the fault of the men, not
of the subject, except in so far as it is common to Political
Economy with all other studies to create a prepossession in its own
favour, and to exalt insensibly in the mind of the student the
value of the things with which it deals. It is natural to ex-
aggerate the importance of that to which we devote time and
effort. — It has been said indeed with truth and point, that it would
be absurd to infer that a writer on tactics means to recommend
perpetual war ; yet, no doubt, a person much given to military
studies, is likely to acquire a taste and desire for military opera-
tions for their own sake, which would unduly bias him in decid-
ing between war and peace. The same observation is prover-
bial with respect to professional influences. And in the case of
wealth especially, which represents almost all natm-al objects of
desire, we can very well understand that it may require no
small degree of reflection and vigilance to guard against this
tendency.

But, apart from all this. Political Economy has been made to
answer for much more than its own sins. In itself it has nothing
to say to hmnan actions in their moral aspect ; yet, as its reason-
ings are mostly based upon that attention of each party to his
own interest, which, in fact, takes place in all matters of barter
and exchange, it has been, to a large extent, looked upon as of

26 Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy.

kindred with the school of moral philosophy which makes self-
interest the legitimate mainspring of all human actions.

Again, the period since Political Economy began to claim
public attention, has been an era, on the one hand, of a develop-
ment of wealth, and a devotion of human energies to its acqui-
sition, without precedent in history, and on the other, of the
gi-owth of large and grievous social evils. How far these facts
stand in the relation of cause and consequence, it would be prema-
ture in this place to inquire ; but many who beheve that they do,
and who feel keenly the extent of the evils, are apt to turn round
upon Political Economy, as if it were a code professing to justify
and let loose an unbounded cupidity — as if it were, in fact, as it
has been termed, the " Gospel of Selfishness". This, we repeat,
is unjust. We are not interested in defending individual writers,
some of whom have gone out of their way to enunciate doctrines
highly false and mischievous; but in the science itself, in its
axioms or principles, so far as they have been wrought out, there
is nothing whatever to prevent him who holds them from being
at the same time a zealous foe of the selfish school in ethics, or
the utilitarian school in politics ; nothing to interfere with any
conviction which he may otherwise form as to the evils of exces-
sive wealth, or of the reign of a material and mercantile spirit in
society.

It is not, under these circumstances, surprising that we should
seek to preface what we may have hereafter to say upon the spe-
cific subjects of Political Economy with some inquiries of a more
fundamental character — inquiries as to the bearing of man's con-
dition, in respect to the production and distribution of wealth,
upon his true good ; how far the actual arrangements of society
in respect to wealth are susceptible of reconstruction ; and again,
what is to be hoped from progress.

We feel convinced that our notions in general upon this class of
subjects are very floating and indeterminate, and that we are, with
respect to them, greatly under the dominion of imagination. Let a
pictm*e be drawn of the pastoral and patriarchal life, or of a pri-
mitive people whose robust and simple manners riches have not
yet come to transform, and we feel ourselves naturally attracted
towards a state of society which the instinct and tradition of
mankind have made typical of the golden age. But again, if we
turn and contemplate the enterprise, acquisitions, and achieve-
ments of some highly prosperous and opulent nation, we yield the
homage of an involuntary respect. We condemn now the pros-
perity which entails corruption, now the penury which forbids
refinement. In one mood we appeal to history, that wealth gives
birth to luxury, which is followed by vice, effeminacy, and

Views prelimwary to the study of Political Economy. 27

national decay; and again, we remember that industry is the
parent of wealth, and ask ourselves, is evil the inevitable off-
spring of good ? Is the world so strangely framed — is human
existence bound by such a fatal chain of paradox, that our very
virtues do little else than accumulate the seeds and materials of
vice?

No doubt the questions thus opened are difficult and momen-
tous to a degree impossible to overstate. If we enter upon them
at all, and ask our readers to accompany us, we must sohcit from
them much indulgence. We may, on the one hand, be found
insisting upon principles so plain that they might appear to admit
of being simply assumed and passed over; and, on the other,
discussing topics of a nature seemingly too exalted for the poH-
tical economist. But we would ask, in the former case, our
readers to believe that, if we dwell upon what may seem truisms,
it is because we conceive their denial to be involved in some more
specious error ; and, in the latter, to remember that, without refe-
rence to the nature and destiny of man, no philosophy of his
social existence is possible.

In the first place, then, and as the basis of all, let us recall the
simple axiom, that society, whatever be its attributes of wealth or
power, exists solely for the sake of men, the individuals. This
fundamental idea — the only one which common sense can under-
stand or accept, the basis of all disquisitions upon politics or
natural law — is yet one likely to be overlooked or implicitly
rejected in epochs in which society, in the aggregate, has ob-
tained a high degree of outward aggrandizement, and is certainly
discordant with much that meets us in the present day. A
fashion of thought has gro^vn up which loves rather to contem-
plate and rest in the collective action of mankind. An old and
natural metaphor, by which we speak of the life that resides in a
state or an institution, has been almost transformed into a literal
fact ; and society, meaning sometimes a nation or cluster of na-
tions, and sometimes the whole human race, is spoken of as if it
were a living being, in such a sense that its greatness and per-
fection could form an end quite apart from the welfare of indivi-
dual men.

This conception may be illustrated, and is indeed often sup-
ported, by analogies drawn from those special and Hmited orga-
nizations, whose end is to be looked for in the work which they
have collectively to accomplish. Take, for example, an army.
No one would say that the comfort or virtue of the individual
soldier is, however desirable, the end for which an army is con-
stituted. Everything else must be subordinate to its excellence
and efficiency as an army. It lives for what it has to do, and is

28 Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy.

successful when tlie town is taken or the campaign is won, with-
out making account of the perishable units of the rank and file.

In some such light do the thinkers to whom we refer regard
states and communities. The end of their existence is the
greatness to which they attain, their victory over difficulties,
their subjugation of the powers of nature, the sciences, arts,
polities, which they develope. Men themselves are weak and
transient. Society has its own vital principle, which endures for
ages. Is it not then, they say, something incomparably higher
and grander to look for the end of human efforts in this con-
tinuous existence, rather than in the fleeting emotions of indi-
viduals ?

But they call on us not to bound our conceptions by the limits
of one state, but to extend them to the family of nations, and
beyond present forms and existences, to those which shall here-
after arise. True, they admit, that the principle of life, which
gives individuality to a nation or an era, ceases at length, but
only ceases, that new forms, new organizations, may arise, rich in
all that has been acquired before them, and adding fresh acquisi-
tions to the store. All that the ancient world has given of
letters and art, of philosophy, statesmanship, and law, — all that
modern ages have added of science and humanizing influences, —
remains the indestructible possession of mankind. Thus, to the
ever-increasing knowledge, power, and greatness of the human
race, there seems absolutely no limit. Do not conceptions like
these, they ask, annihilate all consideration of individuals ? Who
would bestow a thought upon the slaves who wrought at the
Pyramids or the Temples of Carnac? They and their Httle
hour of comparative happiness or misery, are covered by the
night of three thousand years, while the Pyramids and the
Temples remain, an attestation of the greatness of old Egypt — a
contribution to the greatness of collective man.

Ideas such as these, which confer upon abstract existences the
attributes of real being, have, no doubt, considerable power in
captivating the imagination. One cause of their attraction lies
undoubtedly in this, that they seemingly appeal to a true and
noble instinct of man s nature — the instinct of sacrifice, of forget-
fulness of self — the call to merge petty personal ends in the
great circle which surrounds him.

To see this conception, which sinks and absorbs the indivi-
dual, and all individuals, in the idea of the collective existence
of the race itself, asserted vehemently and without reserve, we
would refer to the lectures of the celebrated German philoso-
pher, Fichte, on the characteiistics of the age. This distin-
guished writer not only maintains that the limnan race col-

Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy. 29

lectively possesses an existence, but that it alone possesses real
existence. " The individual life", he says, " has no real exist-
ence, since it has no value of itself, but must and should sink to
nothing ; while, on the contrary, the race alone exists, since it
alone ought to be looked upon as really living". And while he
enforces the necessity of the spirit of sacrifice and forgetfulness of
self, he warns us clearly that he means us to forget oneself,
not in others regarded in a personal character, but in others
regarded as the race. And this life, in the race or in the
idea, he does not shrink from designating as the attainment by
man of eternal life^ when he comes to live, not in himself or in
other individuals like him, but in the one, mighty, progressive,
self-sustaining, perpetual, and infinite life of human kind.'

This extreme and daring development of the idea to which we
have alluded, serves to show us what it radically is, and to what
it tends. For it is inanifest, that in the thought of Fichte, the
idea of collective humanity was exalted into actual Divinity —
that men are called upon to devote themselves to, and annihilate
themselves in, an essence upon which he confers the attribute of
sole real existence — that the idea of humanity is thus, for him
and his school, the object and the outlet for the instincts of reli-
gion and the feeling of the infinite, ineffaceable from the heart of
man, and is actually substituted, in their system, for the Creator
and Governor of the world.

But, apart from mystic conceptions such as these, the idea that
it is possible for man to have a social end, independent of his in-
dividual one, has become largely infused into the spirit of the
age. In M. Guizot's lectures on European Civilization, he refers,
we may remember, to its twofold effect: first, in the deve-
lopment and improvement of the individual; and next, in the
development and improvement of society. He says, and with
justice, that these two effects have a mutual influence, one upon
the other ; that, in general, good institutions have a favourable
action upon the character of the citizens ; and again, that the
character of men is certain to be reflected in their institutions.
But still the great question remains behind, which of these two
objects is principal, and which is subordinate? Let us hear his
own words.

" Of these two developments of which we have spoken, and
which constitute the fact of civilization, of the development of
society on the one hand, and of humanity on the other, which is
the end, which the means ? Is it for the perfecting of his social
condition, for the amelioration of his existence on the Earth, that

' Fichte's Popular Works, vol. 2, Smith's Translation.

30 Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy.

man develops himself altogether — his faculties, his sentiments,
his ideas, his whole being ? Or, on the other hand, is the ame-
lioration of the social condition the progress of society, society
itself no more than the theatre, the occasion, the instrument of
the development of the individual? On the answer to this
question depends inevitably that of knowing if the destiny of
man is purely social, if society exhausts and absorbs the whole
man, or if he bears within him something foreign and superior to
his existence upon Earth. Gentlemen, a man of whom I am
honoured in being the friend — a man who has passed through
meetings such as ours, to ascend to the first place in assemblies
less peaceful and more powerful — a man, all whose words remain
engraven where they fall, M. Royer CoUard, has resolved this
question ; he has resolved it, according to his conviction at least,
in his speech upon the proposed law relating to sacrilege. I find
in this discourse these two phrases : ' Human societies are bom,
live, and die upon the Earth — there are all their destinies ful-
filled ; but they do not comprise the whole of man. After his
engagements to society, there remains to him the noblest part of
himself, those high faculties by which he raises himself to God,
to a future fife, to unknown good in an invisible world. We,
individual and identical persons, true beings gifted with immor-
tahty, we have a different destiny from states'. I will add
nothing", M. Guizot goes on to say ; " I will not even undertake
to treat the question ; I am content with stating it. It meets us
at the end of the history of civilization: when the history of
civilization is exhausted, when there is nothing more to say of
actual fife, man invincibly demands of himself if all is exhausted,
if he is at the end of all. This is, then, the last problem, and
the highest of all those to which the history of civilization can
lead. It is sufficient for me to have indicated its place and its
greatness".^

From the tone of the above passage, as well as from the
general character of M. Guizot's mind and writings, we think it
clear that his own solution, if he had given it, would have co-
incided with his friend's ; but it is singular that he should have
considered the question as doubtful — most singular tliat he
should have treated it as one which he was not called upon by
his subject to determine. He says it is the last problem : is it not
the first and fundaniental one ? He says it meets us at the end of
the history of civilization : does it not confront us on the thre-
shold? If the two objects of civilization of which he speaks
stand in the relation of means to end, if one be principal and the

' Civilization in Europe, Lecture I.

Vieios preliminary to the study of Political Economy. 31

other subordinate, surely to expound, insist upon, and enforce
this relation, is absolutely necessary to tlie comprehension of his
subject. Both positions cannot be true, and according as we
take up one or the other of them, we necessarily alter our whole
perspective of things. We cannot help thinking that, notwith-
standing the incontestible ability of M. Guizot's book, this
original error taints it throughout with an unfixed and somewhat
sophistical character, and renders it, however interesting in many
respects as history, extremely unsatisfying as philosophy.

Our object is not civilization, which, as M. Guizot truly says,
it is much easier to understand in a loose popular sense, than to
define strictly ; but is the influence of wealth. To treat of wealth
as an agent in civilization vv^ould be a comparatively easy task,
for its topics lie abundantly at hand, but rather too vague for our
purpose ; we have to consider it as civilization itself must ulti-
mately be considered — namely, as an agent in human good. The
question, whether there can, in the nature of things, be a social
end superior to, or independent of the individual one, lies, there-
fore, at the threshold of our subject too, but surely it will not
cost us much difficulty to resolve it.

Let imagination, let the power of abstraction, be carried to
the uttermost, an obvious analysis brings us to the simple truth.
When we speak of the immense blessings and benefits which
the social bond confers upon man — how it educates, controls,
developes him, brings out liis highest qualities, guarantees his
possessions, helps to save him from himself, — we say what is all
just and true, but all in conformity with the proposition, — that
which makes man the end, society the means.

And when we speak of the life with which society is instinct,
we use metaphoric language to express an undoubted fact. Un-
questionably there exists in every community of men which is
better than a heap of uncementing sand, a spirit aptly hkened to
the vital principle in living beings, which pervades and informs
the whole body, gives it miity and coherence, is the source as
well as the guide of its energy, and, deprived of which, it decays
Hke organic matter after death. All this is true, but it is true
that in all this the life of which we speak is nothing more than
the common ideas, feelings, and beliefs diffused among the mem-
bers, and transmitted from generation to generation.

Again, we are referred to the high claims of society upon its
members, the emotions which it awakens, and the sacrifices
which it exacts. Certainly the advantages which man derives
from society are so great that, for its existence or its well-being,
he feels himself called to the higliest degree of labour and devo-
tion. And it is the representative and symbol of such a host of

32 Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy.

memories and affections tliat man, wliose mental vision is too
limited to embrace tilings as they exist in detail, concentrates
tliem upon the abstract existence, upon liis country, or tribe, or
house, or order, for which he seems to make the sacrifices really
bestowed for his brethren present and to come.

But when all is said, it is in them^ in the individual, sentient,
conscious human beings, in their good or evil, happiness or
misery, or nowhere, that the end of the constitution of things is
to be sought. Let us take the world at any moment of time,
place it as many ages off as we please, and what will be found to
have existed till then upon the Earth but individuals? It is
surely puerile to have to insist that railways are but stone and
iron — a code of laws or an epic poem so much stained paper —
the noblest statue no more than the block in which it was im-
prisoned, apart from the human beings wliose minds they soothed
and elevated, or to whose comfort they ministered.

Why have we insisted at such length upon a principle which
may seem so plain? Because, in the very outset of our inquiries,
it is of the utmost importance to apprehend clearly and hold
resolutely the principle, that the good of which we are in search
must, in the last result, be traced to its home in the individual
heart ; because the opposite mode of viewing things, at all times
a temptation, is peculiarly so in our day. The conquests of ma-
terial civilization during the last century have been so immense,
so dazzling, and so splendid, that to accept them as the greatest
end to which man can attain, to rest in them, to bow down before
them, has become the dominant superstition of the hour. We
are not disparaging or prejudging these things, which have, no
doubt, their proper and appointed use; but we ask that men
should learn to look through them, to know that there is a bar at
which they must be tried, and, above all, to guard ourselves
against the fatal tendency of mind which an undue admiration
of them produces — a tendency to disregard and trample on in-
dividual rights and happiness in the view of some great collective
result.

Yet, having gone so far, does not a further question beset us :
What is the individual good of which we are in search ? This
topic, which occupied and divided the greatest tliinkers of anti-
quity, meets us here, and neither its scholastic form, nor the ex-
tent to which it has employed the human intellect, can exempt us
from referring at least to the primary truths upon the subject. It
is, moreover, in some degree forced upon us by the view of
human good which political economy takes, and properly takes,
within its own limits, — possessing, within those limits, a certain
relative tmth — absolutely and mischievously false outside them.

Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy. 33

Everything, we know, wliich man naturally seeks, whatsoever
gratifies any appetite, either of sense or spirit, whatsoever con-
fers pleasure or removes pain, or tends to do either, is in itself
and considered in the abstract, undoubtedly a good : we have no
naturally tendency whose object is evil. To say otherwise would
be to assert for evil that absolute and substantive existence which
we abjure — would be to imply maleficence in our creation, and
thus to fall into the very darkest of speculative errors. All
things that are natural objects of human desire are in themselves
good, and if to increase human good in that wide and indis-
criminate sense be all that is claimed for increasing wealth, our
task is ended before it is well begun, for it enters into the very
definition of wealth, that it should consist of those things which
are directly or indirectly productive of pleasure or preventive of
pain. If we refuse to recognize any order or subordination among
the desires of man ; if we are to place body and spirit in equal
honour, to discard all thought of the harmony or even of the unity
of the human person, and see in man nothing but an assemblage
of powers and propensities, each having its own scope and its
proper gratification ; if we could enrol ourselves as disciples of a
philosophy so grovelling, we should have no more to say but to
bid mankind amass without stint where and how they could, the
means of enjoyment, material or mental, as inclination prompts.
Now, it is to be observed, that it is precisely in such indiscrimi-
nate sense alone that the political economist does or can regard
human good. His science speculates upon the desires and appe-
tites of men so far as they require the results of labour for their
gratification, and upon wealth in all its forms as the instrument
of such gratification ; but of those desires it has no measure, ex-
cept their number and intensity. As to their comparative worth,
it is absolutely bhnd and unintelligent. It would be as reason-
able to seek from geometry the results of chemical analysis, or
from arithmetic that it should weigh as well as count its units,
as to look in the laws of supply and demand for any guage
of the intrinsic worth of what is demanded and supplied. But
outside of the narrow field of the economist, the philosophy
which would place all our inchnations on a par would be an
epicureanism too gross to need to be confuted. What is said by
those who place the good of man and his highest good in the
fulfilment of his desires, is commonly this — that man has indeed
various powers and tendencies, but that they are of various
degrees of worth, the mental above the bodily, the emotional and
aBsthetical above the mental ; and that the progress of man to-
wards perfection consists precisely in his subjugating and subor-
dinating more and more the lower faculties to the higher. What-
ni. 3

34 Views 'preliminary to the study of Political Economy.

ever truth tliere may be in tliis, it is, as we conceive, very wide
of the whole truth. Even among the animals we mark the
existence of various capacities, higher and lower. Who would
not say, for example, that the yearning of the brute-mother over
her young, the delight in the master's caress, the ecstacy with
which the bird pours forth his heart in the season of song, are
gratifications higher in their kind, constitute a finer joy, than the
sensual pleasure with which they take their food. And con-
ceding for man an organization incomparably richer, grander,
and more composite than that of any of the animals ; yet, if we
look no further than the gratification of particular faculties,
however high, we cannot arrive at more than a diiFerence in
degree between man and the inferior creatures, a difference
not greater, perhaps, than exists between members of the inferior
creation themselves. The specific and peculiar distinction of
man must be looked for in something very different. It consists
in this, in the stamp of infinity, which marks the two master
faculties of his nature, his intelligence and his will, that he is
endowed with an intellect whose scope ^d end is infinite truth,
and a will whose scope and end is infinite good.

When we say that the object of the intelligence is infinite
truth, we do not mean of course that it is given to the under-
standing of any creatm-e to embrace at once all truth, but we
mean this — that man has been constituted the intelligent spectator
of the infinitely wise order which the Creator has established in
the universe, with capacity, ever more and more to enter into and
apprehend it, and to follow His own words in pronouncing it to
be good.

The intelHgence of the lower animals, so far as we can pro-
nounce upon such a subject, begins and ends in the apprehension
of the individual objects present to the sense. Of the relation of
things to one another, and of the part and office which each ful-
fils in the great scheme, it would be absurd to affirm that they
have any conception. That is proper to man. The faculty of
knowing each particular star not in the sensation of light alone,
nor even in the feehng of beauty alone, but in the perception
of its function as the minister of such light and beauty, and as
portion of a universe of Hke ministers, is his. Thus the specific
characteristic of the human intelHgence is the knowledge of
order ; of all knowledge the highest, for it rises to embrace the
design of the Maker in the formation of all that has been made.

But, to be the inteUigent spectator of the order around him and
within him, is but the smaller portion of the dignity conferred
upon man. He has been called to an eminence incomparably
higher — to that of being the voluntary cooperator, the fellow-

Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy. 35

workman of his Maker in the sustainment of the order so estab-
lished. This is the great gift of freedom of the will — the power
bestowed upon man of being in his measure an original principle
of action, and of acquiring the merit of using that power in con*
formitj with the knowledge of good imparted to the intelligence.

And as every creature finds its felicity only in following the
law of its nature, so is it with man. In one sense, happiness is
his being s end and aim, in the sense in which it is coincident
with and consequent upon virtuous action, and it is, at all events,
a vain philosophy which forbids him to crave after it. He can-
not help forming to himself an ideal of satisfaction and enjoyment
in which his whole nature may find repose. Surrounded, then,
and solicited as he is by a multitude of objects having power to
gratify his varying desires, it would be no wonder that he should
seek in them, one after the other, the means of appeasing this
great hunger, if it were not that his intelligence led him to the
comprehension of infinite good, and pointed out to him that his
will, liis action, and endeavour are to be directed to all things
whatsoever in proportion as they lead to that. And it is in this
direction of the will, this subordination of the faculties, this free
cooperation with infinite wisdom, and in this alone, that the sense
of complete satisfaction, the repose of the whole nature, the hap-
piness, our being's end and aim, is to be looked for.

The Earthly perfection of the human being consists then in
this — that with the utmost possible light of the intelligence to
indicate to him his duties, he should follow that light with the
utmost devotion of the will.

In their apprehension and enforcement of this great truth —
the truth that man's highest good is at all times an internal one,
at all times strictly within his own power, and consisting in the
right direction of the will, lies the claim of the great Stoic sect
to the admiration of mankind. It was this which they meant to
express by such phrases as " living according to nature", " coope-
rating with the universe", and similar sentences common in their
writings. These sayings yield indeed an easy handle to ridi-
cule — a still easier one is afforded by their inconsistency in prac-
tice, their failure to realise what they professed. Such failure
we can now see to have been inevitable, for whatever their in-
sight as to ends, they were, in respect to means and possibilities,
entirely blind. Even the great truth that man's highest good is
at all times strictly within his own power, was, as they held and
taught it, an error, for it is true only in this sense, that we
have at all times the power to ask for that strength in well-
doing which is not in ourselves. That man must stoop to con-
quer, was the grand secret hidden from the Stoic. They held up

3 B

36 Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy,

an ideal of transcendant virtue to wliicli they bid men aspire,
while to do so was but to point out tlie inaccessible mountain
height as the resting-place for the feeble heart and broken wing.
In the lecture-room, indeed, or the closet, the disciple of the
Stoic might, through that delusion which pursues man to his
grave, persuade himself that it was easy to achieve what he had
learned to admire ; but when, in the world of action and tempta-
tion, all this splendid theory broke down, it was too tempting a
theme for the scoffer, who would see nothing in this Stoic ideal
but a phantom and a cheat. Still we cannot refuse its just
honour to that noble school, which, in the old world, raised the
banner of labour and sacrifice against eifeminacy and sensuality ;
nor will we be found to subscribe to the mean judgment which
could dehberately exalt the champions and providers of material
comfort above the noble, even if ineffectual, aspirations after wis-
dom and virtue.

There are, however, two great distinctions between the Stoic
view and ours, which we advert to here, because they serve to
bring out what we have finally to say upon this subject. Man,
we know, possesses not only the liigh faculties of which we
spoke, but he has also the inferior sensitive nature, which he
shares in common with the animals, but in him more subtle,
deUcate, and complex. And he grows up with an inner world
of sympathies and affections, all capable of a gratification or a
wound- Now, that this physical sensitive nature could be in
any way the seat of good or evil, is what the Stoic absolutely
denied. The wise man possessed liis soul self-centred, complete,
immovable; and outside of wisdom there was no good. Ex-
ternal things were matters of no regard whatever. Pleasure or
pain, wealth or poverty, sickness or health, were simply tilings
indifferent. We judge far otherwise. We concede, indeed, and
assert for moral good, not merely the supremacy over all other
good, but a supremacy of such a kind as to render the one abso-
lutely incommensurable with the other. The right exertion of
the will of any human being, in however shglit a degree, pos-
sesses a value against which the sum of all actual and possible
enjoyment is not to be weighed. But, to go further and deny
that external good or evil exists at all, must be to use these terms
very differently from their natural human meaning. To say that
ease of body and mind, or the gratification of the legitimate
affections, is not good for man, — that anguish and bereavement
are not evil, — is to do violence to our deepest instincts. Out-
ward evils may be, indeed, and should be, the occasion and
subject matter of the highest good; it is for that end they have
been ordained. The mind may become '* sovereign o'er trans-

Views preliminary/ to the study of Political Economy. 37

muted ill" ; but surely in that very saying tlie point is conceded,
— that must have been evil beforehand which is thus susceptible
of being transformed to good. And, in a world like ours, made
up of infinite contrivance, all directed to the well-being of sen-
tient creatures, it is surely a needless task to attempt to prove
that the happiness of the beings whom He has made is portion of
the design of the Creator. To us. Christians, at least, this ques-
tion admits of no controversy : it is proved by the very precept
of charity, which bids us minister, not merely to the internal, but
to the outward and bodily good of our fellow-creatures.

But there is a second question of more importance still. Not
only did the Stoic deny that external things could form of
themselves an end, — as means or influences they were equally
worthless. His ideal would have been at once destroyed by the
supposition that it could be dependent on or affected by anything
outside the mind itself. That heroic temper to which they
aspired was not to be the creature or slave of circumstances, but
lord of itself and them. Now, here also there is a certain con-
formity with Christian teaching. We also are taught that,
to the rightly-directed heart and will, the actual state of out-
ward circumstances, in which man may for the time be placed,
is infalKbly the best : that is, supposing the will to be entirely
right, — an enormous postulate. But we are speculating, not
for the perfect, but for men as they exist — the pliant servants
of desire and fear. We treat of beings, who are moulded and
fashioned by outward influences to a degree hard to estimate, in
whom the will, though it never wholly loses its essential free-
dom and regal attributes, is yet so broken and enfeebled that it
is perhaps true, upon the whole, to say of all the generations of
men, that they are least evil where they have least temptation.

Therefore it is that the outward circumstances which surround
men, so far from being to us, as to the Stoic, things of no im-
portance, are of the deepest interest. Social condition, laws,
customs, prejudices, even feelings which are susceptible of ridi-
cule, such as family or national pride, if they can be engaged on
the side of good ; whatsoever, in its degree helps to form a bul-
wark between the unprotected will of man and the coarse allm^e-
ments which appeal to his passions, are to be accepted and
rejoiced in. And amongst the external facts thus tending to
influence and control mankind, surely their condition in regard
to wealth is none of the least important.

Upon this subject we can 'give at present no more than a rapid
glance at the conclusions to which our inquiries may lead us.
We may, perhaps, conclude, that as the progress of nations in
wealth is clearly a natural law, it was intended to contribute to

38 Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy.

tlieir good; but we will guard ourselves against the fatalism
which proclaims that it has such tendency certainly and of
necessity. On the contrary, our judgment will be likely to be,
that it is impossible to separate the question, how far riches are
a real benefit to a nation, from the consideration of how they are
acquired, and to what uses destined. In the infancy and ado-
lescence of society, growth in wealth is, generally speaking, an
almost unmixed benefit. It is the offspring and symbol of many
virtues — of patient labour, of providence and seff-denial, of all
that is opposed to that torpor and recklessness which Virgil
designates as the characteristics of barbarism.

" Nee eomponere opes norant, nee parcere parto".

And the same quahties which thus enabled men to grow in
wealth, also fitted them to use it. At such a period, the moral
elements which bind society together, and without which it could
not grow at all, are, generally speaking, in vigorous Hfe. At such
a time the gradual accretion of wealth is one of the appointed
means of the development of human intelligence, and of its re-
demption from that slavery to the present hour which the extreme
of penury enforces. It is then a beneficent influence in the growth
of the arts which adorn Kfe, and which, in their proper use and
sphere, are designed to act, to some degree, as a charm against
the coarser fascinations of sense. And now, if we are asked at
what period in a nation's life the increase of riches ceases to be
a good, and becomes an evil, we answer, it does not necessarily
do so at any period. If we consider how far the great masses of
men in any country, at any era, have been from having even
their material, not to speak of their intellectual and moral wants,
fully supphed, we will infer that no time has been seen on Earth
in which, for wealth justly and honourably won, there may not
be a laudable and beneficent use. But a period does come in the
Ufe of nations, when wealth becomes, certainly not a necessary
evil, but an enormous temptation to evil. "^Tien the austere
habits of an earlier time are forgotten — when wealth becomes,
not the natm-al result of labour springing from duty, but an
object passionately pursued as the means of personal enjoyment —
then, in its acquisition and its use, it is the representative of cor-
ruption and the harbinger of decay. And why? Because its
ofiice has been perverted, and instead of being, as it was
appointed to be, an agent in the emancipation of the human
intelhgence from the hard necessities of the body, it tends to
make the soul the body's sbve. So was it in old Persia, so in
the empire of Rome. To the latter, indeed, the world has seen
nothing comparable, either in the prodigious extent of its opu-

Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy. 39

lence, or the scandalous oppression and rapacity witli which it
was amassed, or the purposes of nameless and transcending luxury
to which it was devoted ; the evil acquisition and the evil use
being but the counterparts of one another. It was considerations
such as these which inspired many thinkers with the belief that
human society is formed to run for ever in a fatal circle, and that
so surely as it is born and grows by means of sacrifice and virtue,
so surely it is fated to perish at last by luxury and selfishness.
This is the thought expressed in these despairing fines —

" There is the moral of all human tales,
'T is the same sad rehearsal of the past :
First freedom, and then glory. When that fails,
Wealth, vice, corruption — barbarism at last ;
And history with all her volumes vast
Hath but one page — "

And yet we profess ourselves entire disbelievers in this fatal
theory, as much as in the opposite theory of fatalism, which holds
that society is advancing certainly and necessarily upon a career
of unbounded progress.

Our modern society has lasted too short a time, — scarcely a
thousand years, — to enable us to presage its career or end ; but
we believe that the great moral antiseptic power which Chris-
tianity brought into the world will preserve the new civilization
from perishing ignominiously like the old. These ideas, which
it may be interesting to consider hereafter in detail, we now
only glance at, and we close with the theme which we have
endeavoured to pursue throughout, namely, that if society is
thus to be preserved, it will be through no great collective
achievement, but tlu-ough an agency acting on that from which
all good must spring, and to which all good should tend — the
individual heart.

II.

There are many to whom inquiries such as we are pursuing,
inquiries as to the final causes of the world and society, seem
to belong to the class of idle because unfathomable questions.
They accept life and its phenomena as materials for science indeed
to analyze, and for art to use and fashion according to its lights,
as the working field of man, where his hand is to labour earnestly
in whatsoever it finds to do, but of which the beginning and the
end, the scheme and scope, are impenetrably dark. And yet
surely the research after final causes is the most irrepressible
instinct of our rational nature, which seeks not alone the know-
ledge of sequences or operative causes, but of a purpose and
design, controlling all things, and consonant with our idea of in-

40 Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy.

finite wisdom, justice, and benevolence. It is the province of
philosophy to answer us when we ask not "how?" but " why?"
and to ascend ever from minor ajid subordinate solutions to that
from which all others are derived, to that "s^u6 jinem sive
extremum sive ultimum definimus^ id quo omnia referrentur
neque id ipsum usquam referretur"". It is easy to sneer at the
word " Theodicea", but it is the goal of all true philosophy.

Setting out from the consideration of the relation of wealth to
the good of society, we found ourselves obliged to consider the
end for which society was ordained. We saw that end to be the
noblest and highest conceivable, nothing less in its perfection than
this, that it might in the best and truest way aid man — the indi-
vidual — in attaining his perfection : the complete cooperation of
his free will with the whole scheme and law of the universe, a
cooperation based upon the widest possible knowledge of that
law. This is the ideal, the possibility latent in every human
creature, the " hen delV intellettd'^ — the good of the rational soul,
for the better attaining of which men were made social beings, and
to assist him to that end has been ordained all the visible social
fabric which we see around us — empires and laws, kings and
pontiff's.

But now we have to descend from the contemplation of this
magnificent ideal, and simply opening our eyes, to look upon
mankind as they exist in reality and fact, and then endeavour, if
we can, to point to some principle that will resolve an enigma so
tremendous.

We suppose there are few of us who, when our early thoughts
were first turned to consider social topics, were not filled with a
strange despair in contemplating the phenomenon which the
world presents in the mere matter of the external condition of
mankind. Apart from minute statistics, out of place here, where
our view is necessarily broad and general, it is a computation
perhaps rather under than over the truth, to say that five- sixths
of the population of the world belong to what are termed the
labouring classes — to that class whose occupation is an almost
unremitting bodily labour — whose subsistence is what we call
the necessaries of life — whose intelligence is practically limited
to the little sphere of their hamlet or township. Such, with ex-
ceptions comparatively few, are mankind ; such is the average
naan. How different from the being upon whose mighty capa-
bihties and glorious earthly destinies the worshippers of huma-
nity dehght to dwell ! They form their ideal of man, the hero
and the sage ; but again we say, let us not shrink from the facts.
Observe the city populations when some great occasion has
called them abroad, or see the peasants in the fields, and behold

B Vieios preliminary to the study of Political Economy. 41

in the heavy features, where monotony of labour has produced a
monotony of dull expression, pervading and transcending all
varieties of race and climate, the representatives of the immense
majority of our kind. Gradations exist, of course, between
country and country, between era and era; but we speak of
things in the mass — we speak of a phenomenon, true upon the
whole, now as it was three thousand years ago — true of ancient
Greece or Assyria as of modern England or China.

To a thinker of the ancient world this phenomenon would, we
can well imagine, have presented little difficulty ; he would have
simply answered : This earth is made for the few ; mundus nas-
citur paucis; it is the patrimony of the rich, the learned, and the
wise. The poor, the slaves, the great mass of the community,
are but the means to that end — the unsightly, if essential, foun-
dation of the great edifice — the coarse and earthborn roots,
whose office and end it is to produce and sustain the bright
consummate flower of heroism and wisdom.

Nay, further, we will say that this idea and persuasion is one
which never altogether dies in the hearts of the rich — the idea and
persuasion, namely, that there is some intrinsic and essential dif-
ference between them and the poor — that their pursuits and plea-
sures, by reason of being theirs, form an end and object in the
constitution of things, to which the poor were designed to minister.

This feeling, we say, is never altogether eradicated ; it is the
eternal temptation of the rich, as envy and discontent are the
eternal temptation of the poor. And further we must confess we
do not know of any answer which mere reasoning can give to it.
The inequalities in the conditions of men, in all outward relations,
in all the forms of power and enjoyment, are so much tJie striking
phenomenon of this world, that we do not know how it could
be shown that it is not an essential and intrinsic superiority
given to one set of beings above another.

To combat that idea, we must, it is plain, go into another
sphere, and draw from other sources. So immense is the change
which Christian ideas have wrought in us, that that which
would appear outside the circle of Christianity to be the expres-
sion of a simple fact, seems to us, and justly, an intolerable pre-
sumption, namely, to assert that any one human being was created
merely for the sake of another, or that the honour or enjoyment
of the highest upon Earth entered as an end into the design of
the Creator, more than that of the poorest slave.

In seeking, then, to explain and justify the physical condition
of the masses of mankind, we do not feel called upon to discuss
the hypothesis that they are the appointed and predestined
servants of a favoured few.

42 Vieivs preliminary to the study of Political Economy,

It may indeed be said, tliat there is in all sucli investigations
an essential absurdity, and that we can do nothing more than
accept the ordinances of nature as tliey are. It is capable of
almost physical demonstration, that, so far as the -world's products
have hitherto existed in proportion to its population, the vast
majority of men, in order to live at all, must be condemned to a
life of labour and privation. Why not rest in the necessities of
things? In some average condition or other men must exist.
What right have we to say that that average shall be higher or
lower, or that one condition is unsuitable rather than another?
As the dm^ation of men's lives is measured by decades, not
centuries — as their average stature is under six feet, not over
sixty, and we can see that all these things are in harmony with
nature and with one another, but cannot see any reason why
things should be made upon one scale rather than another ; so it
may be . said, bodily labour and a restriction of the materials of
enjoyment to the necessaries of life, is the condition in which
man is placed. If we can see no reason why it should be so
rather than otherwise, we can also see no reason why it should
be otherwise rather than so. It is simply to be accepted and
acted upon.

Such is in substance the argument that nms through Pope's
Essay on Man.

" Presumptuous man ! the reason wouldst thou find
Why formed so weak, so httle, and so blind ;
First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess,
Why formed no weaker, blinder, and no less".

Such reasoning is, no doubt, carried throughout the poem to
lengths wholly unjustifiable ; yet, if restricted merely to the ques-
tion of man's situation in relation to external things, it would
perhaps admit of no answer, if it were not that man has within
him a deep instinct that his position is somehow out of harmony
with his original nature. It is the irrepressible sense which
he has of his intrinsic greatness and dignity which makes him
conscious of a touch or note of discord in the actual ordinances
of things. That to activity of some kind man was created is
manifest, for it is the function of the will, in which the very
crown of human nature resides ; but that, gifted as he is with
higher and lower organs, with those which ally him with the
spirits, and those which he possesses in common with the brutes,
he should be so placed that his intellectual faculties should, in the
necessities of things, be all his life cramped and imdeveloped,
and that his lower functions should almost solely be exercised —
th^ is the problem which weighs upon us.

We are not unaware that it has become rather a fashion of

Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy. 43

late years to celebrate the greatness and intrinsic dignity of
labour. Now, let us dwell as much as we please upon the results
of laboiu* — its necessity, its salutary uses ; but, to speak of a life
spent in tlae weary exertion of the muscles, as forming of itself a
glorious and exalted destiny, is poetry, and modern poetry, not
fact. Ask the working man himself after his day of toil — ask
all true poets and thinkers, who have described the actual facts
of life, and they paint to you labour as it is — wearisome — not
pleasant, but grievous; endured, '•'• spe Jinis'\ in the hope of the
repose to come.

What then are we to say? — that it is an expiation. Un-
doubtedly it is ; but it is more — it has a value evidenced to us,
not alone by faith, but by our own consciousness, by all our
observation of the world and all our knowledge of its history.
Labour is a discipline — the harsh medicine for a deep disease.
Moral evil, as we have seen, is not anything existing in the
nature of things, but is merely the determination of the free will
of responsible beings to the lower good of sense rather than to
the higher good of the intelligence. How it has come to pass
that the will of man, whose object is the supreme good, should,
in its actual condition, tend to rest in subordinate creatures as
the supreme end of its being, faith alone explains ; but the fact is
as plain and undeniable as the existence of the globe itself.

Now, we say, this being so, — discarding all idle flattery of
ourselves or our race — taking men as all experience, as the
voice of our own hearts tells us that they are, — let us conceive
for a moment what they would be if they were in the mass sup-
plied, without effort and without stint, with the means of in-
dulging each propensity as it arose. The original greatness of
man is the measure of his capacity for evil. What spectacle can
we candidly conceive the world would present, if men, with a
will bent to evil, had unlimited leisure to conceive and means
to execute it? Milton, speaking of the corruption of the world
before the flood, says that the Earth bore " more than enough,
that temperance might be tried". And such has been the
invariable experience of mankind ever since, that scarcely an
example can be found of any body of men having the un-
constrained command of the passive drugs of this world, that
they did not abuse them.

In mercy, therefore, and as a benefit still more than as a chas-
tisement, was that command denied to mankind in the mass.
Next to freely doing right, the best thing is to do right by com-
pulsion ; and the ordinance which made man a serf of the glebe,
and forced him, in order to live at all, to live by the labour of
his body and the sweat of his face, not only rendered duty a

44 Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy.

necessity, but rendered tlie free acceptance of that duty the
means of the only happiness possible for him. It is the first
condition of his upward progress. It remained for long centu-
ries almost the only countervailing force to the disorders which
overspread the world. We remember the description in Virgil
of the Roman matron lising by night to her labours, kindhng
the expiring embers, and calling her handmaids to their labours,
that she might preserve an honourable name, and bring up her
dear children :

-quum femina primum,

Cui tolerare colo vitam tenuique Minerva
Impositum, cinerem et sopitos suscitat ignes,
Noctem addens open ; famulasque ad lumina longo
Exercet penso, castum ut servare cubile
Conjugis, et possit parvos educere natos".

How many virtues are here pourtrayed ! — ^what patience and
self-denial in the act ! what excellence in the motive ! — virtues in
some shape sure of their reward. Thus, then, the life of toil to
which man has been condemned, is not indeed his original or
his best state, but it is his best relatively to his actual moral con-
dition ; and when we say that this condition of the human race
is an unhappy one, we say so with great truth indeed in the
sight of man's origin and capabilities, but we must add that it
contains the germ of the only happiness possible for him.

If considerations such as these serve to explain and justify to
us the condition of the great mass of mankind, we must not
forget that there is a minority very differently circumstanced.
Harsh as the terms may be which the Earth exacts as the condi-
tions of her supply, she is not so niggard as merely to return to
the labours of tillage the bare food of those who till. Over and
above what is sufficient for the food of the husbandman, she
yields, in the first place, sufficient to sustain another class of
bodily labourers, — those, namely, who work with their hands in
providing clothing and the means of habitation for the agricultu-
rists and themselves. But, besides all this, she yields, in the
majority of her soils, a large surplus, which, in the actual
arrangements of society, becomes at the disposal of a minority
rising in " columnar diminution" above the common level, and,
as^ they rise, possessing ampler means of gratification, together
with more abundant leisiu-e and larger scope for the development
of all their faculties. What then shall we say as to these, the
select classes, and the end of their existence ? Are we with the
vulgar to rank them as the objects of peculiar favour; or, again,
are we bound, in accordance with our own principles, to say, on
the contrary, that they are the especial objects of disfavour, set

Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy.

45

in the occasions, and endowed with the means of evil, from
which necessity has restrained their fellows ? In a measure we
must say both these things. The more elevated classes are
called to a post of greater danger, of greater responsibility and
self-command. Their office is to be the mental workmen of the
world.

There is an observation made long ago by an Italian writer,
and often repeated since, which is worthy of our notice here. It
is this — that the visible and external labours of man, wonderful
as they seem and are — all that we dignify with the name of
human creations — consist in this only, the separating or uniting
of particles of matter. We can, by the action of our muscles, pro-
duce motion, and we can do literally nothing else. Whether
we drop a seed into the earth, or fling a shuttle across the
tlueads of the woof, or lay colours upon canvas, or hew marble
from the quarry, or collect it in the palace, the actual thing we do
is no more than the carrying certain particles of matter from one
place and depositing them in another. The result is wholly
independent of us ; it flows directly from the powers of nature —
that is to say, from the hand of God working through the laws
which He has bestowed upon His creatures. And if these works
of man were performed in obedience to mere instinct, they could
assert for him no higher dignity than that of the ant or beaver.
But beneath all man's visible operations lies his invisible work,
the action of the intelligence, which originates, guides, deter-
mines all liis outward labours. This is the spirit diflused through
the globe, of which all that is done by man is but the imperfect
expression.

Thus, then, the primary division of labour is into bodily and
mental, and it brings with it the division of bodily and mental
labourers. It is true that there is scarcely any bodily labour which
does not involve some exertion of the intelligence, as, on the
other hand (pure contemplation apart), the intellectual workman
is rarely without some bodily exertion, however slight. But, on
the whole, the functions are distinct ; and, on the large scale, their
union in the same persons would be simply impossible. For, in
addition to the prolonged education and ample leisure required
for the cultivation and use of the intellect, it is true that con-
tinued and monotonous bodily exertion creates of itself both a
distaste and an unfitness for mental labour. It is a common
experience that mind and body cannot be both worked in a high
degree at the same time.^

^This is very well expressed in a late work of fiction of Mr, Hawthorne's,
which takes for its basis one of the attempts which have been made in America

46 Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy

All that is done in the world is wrought by the hands of men,
but the active hand obeys the thinking head. In planning and
directing labour, and in superintending the distribution of its
produce, and in doing this in all senses, lies the function of the
minority. That those who think must govern those who toil,
is a constitutional law deeper than all codes, and defying all
revolutions to alter. Every society must be governed by this
" natural aristocracy".''

to realize some of the socialist theories. The conception was, that all the mem-
bers taking part in the Utopia should be bodily as well as intellectual labourers.
Thought and poetry, and the refining influences of Uterature, were to go hand
in hand with field-work or handicraft. The result, however, was far from
answering their anticipations. * * * " The clods of earth", says the writer,
" which we turned over and over, were never ethereahzed into thought. Our
thoughts, on the contrary, were fast becoming cloddish ; our labour symbolized
nothing, and left us mentally sluggish in the dusk of the evening. Intellectual
activity is incompatible with any large amount of bodily exercise. The yeoman
and scholar — the yeoman and man of finest moral cultivation — though not the
man of sturdiest sense and integrity, are two distinct individuals, and can never
be welded into one substance".

^ " A true natiu-al aristocracy is not a separate interest in the state, or separa-
ble from it. It is an essential integrant part of any large body rightly con-
stituted. It is formed out of a class of legitimate presumptions, wliich, taken as
generalities, must be admitted for actual truths. To be bred in a place of
estimation; to see nothing low and sordid from one's infancy; to be taught to
resi)ect one's self; to be habituated to the censorial inspection of the pubhc eye;
to look early to public opinion ; to stand upon such elevated ground as to be en-
abled to take a large view of the wide-spread and infinitely diversified com-
binations of men and affairs in a large society ; to have leisure to read, to reflect,
to converse ; to be enabled to draw the court and attention of the wise and
learned wherever they are to be found;— to be habituated in armies to com-
mand and to obey ; to be taught to despise danger in the pursuit of honour and
duty ; to be formed to the greatest degree of vigilance, foresight, and cir-
cumspection, in a state of things in which no fault is committed with impunity,
and the slightest mistakes draw on the most ruinous consequences— to be led to
a guarded and regulated conduct, from a sense that you are considered as an in-
structor of your fellow-citizens in their highest concerns, and that you act as a
reconciler between God and man — to be employed as an administrator of law
and justice, and to be thereby amongst the first benefactors to mankind — to be
a professor of high science, or of liberal and ingenious art — to be amongst rich
traders, who from their success are presumed to have sharp and vigorous
understandings, and to possess the virtues of dihgence, order, constancy, and
regularity, and to have cultivated an habitual regard to commutative justice
—these are the circumstances of men, that form what I should call a natural
aristocracy, without which there is no nation.

" The state of civil society, which necessarily generates this aristocracy, is a
state of nature ; and much more truly so than a savage and mcohereut mode of
life. For man is by nature reasonable ; and he is never perfectly in his natural
state, but when he is placed where reason may be best cultivated, and most pre-
dominates. Art is mail's nature. We are as much, at least, in a state of nature
in formed manhood, as in immature and helpless infancy. Men, qualified in the
manner I have just described, form in nature, as she operates in the common
modification of society, the leading, guiding, and governing part. It is the soul
to the body, without which the man does not exist. To give therefore no more
importance, in the social order, to such descriptions of men, than that of so
many units, is a horrible usurpation".— jBmtAc.

Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy. 47

This being so, we perceive at once the necessity for the exist-
iice of a class in the community exempt from the ordinary lot of
physical toil. To discuss the nature and origin of property in
relation to justice and natural law, does not enter into our present
purpose, which deals with ends and utilities ; but it is clear that
it is by means of the institution of property that the continuance
of such a class is secured.

But here it may be objected — and this is one of the points
most earnestly urged by M. Proudhon — it is not so much with
the hif^her work as with the inordinate wages of the superior
class that we quarrel. Granting that you are to have persons
devoted to mental occupations, are these teachers and com-
manders of mankind therefore entitled to richer fare and costlier
raiment than their fellows ? If their occupation be of a higher
grade, why not let it be its own reward ? Why should the fact
of being set apart for an immaterial work be the reason for larger
material enjoyment? Upon this subject we may make two
observations : —

First, — If the minority be, as they are, the appointed governors
and rulers of the masses, then, physically and numerically weak
as they are, the preservation of their position absolutely depends
upon the respect paid to them by those whom they rule. Now,
of course it would be an absurd as well as low estimate of human
nature to say that the respect paid by the majority to the minority
depends entirely upon the outward show made by the latter.
No one overlooks the influences of loyalty, of religion, of deference
for personal character; but still it must be insisted that external
advantages form an element, and a considerable one, in such
submission. How long could the governing classes hope to pre-
serve control over the multitude, if, in all matters of appearance,
no difference existed between them ? No doubt in the rare cases,
where personal qualifications are of an eminently high and
striking kind, this observation may have little weight. A saint
may be all the more honoured in his rags. A consummate
general, known by his soldiers to be such, may even gain
increased respect by sharing their rations and drilling them in
his shirt sleeves. But in the mediocrity, both of virtue and
talent, which men in the average present, all government, all
subordination, would be practically impossible, and the thinking
or governing class trampled down with contempt, if they had no
means of inspiring respect but an appeal to their intrinsic supe-
riority.

Secondly, — These governing classes are not, or at least ought
not to be, and cannot long continue to be, in the nature of a
caste. On the contrary, their ranks must be, and in fact are,

48 Views preliminary to the study of Political Economy.

perpetually filled up and recruited from the great body of the
community. Now, to gain recruits, you must allure them. If,
therefore, "it be essential that there should be motives sufficient
to induce certain individuals amongst the labouring class to make
that amount of exertion which would enable them or enable their
children to step from the ranks of the bodily into the ranks of the
mental labourers, it is equally essential, that these motives should
be of that plain, strong, and effective character which would act
upon man in his actual constitution. And such an incentive
is found in the superior physical condition which is thus to be
attained.

No one, we trust, will imagine, that these observations are in
the nature of arguments in favour of retaining any particular
social arrangement ; on the contrary, our position is, that these
social laws are fundamental and unalterable, fixed not by men,
but by a power above them ; and the considerations we have been
developing are to the end, that we may not only accept them as
inevitable, but acquiesce in them as just. Upon this ground then
do we stand. To clear away from before our eyes those sha-
dowy, but in their tendency very mischievous speculations, which
tempt us to make of man's social organization something greater
than man himself, is the first requisite to the formation of a right
judgment upon what does or does not contribute to human good
And next to that, is the clear apprehension of what that good is,
namely, in the highest sense the perception of truth by the
intelligence, and the pursuit of it by the will. And further,
that the actual constitution of human society, of whatever im-
provements in detail it may be susceptible, or whatever gradual
amelioration may be hoped for, is upon the whole wisely and
justly framed to secure that end.

There is a considerable body of speculators, to whom all
these views of ours seem utterly false and hateful. These
thinkers regard human society, in all its parts, as being the work
of man alone, as made by him, and therefore to be re-made by
him. And further, they assail the actual constitution of society,
as fundamentally unjust and oppressive, and demand that it should
be taken to pieces and constructed anew upon a fairer basis.
This is the school of the socialists, to some of whose writings we
shall next direct our attention.

Celtic Studies. 49

Art. hi. — Celtic Studies. By Hermann Ebel. Translated
from the German ; icith an Introduction on the JVature, For-
mation, and Classification of Stems, with examples from the
Greek, Latin, and Gothic. By William K. Sullivan.

[Comparative Philology, although but a creation of the present century, has
had, like all branches of human knowledge, its period of conjecture and em-
piricism. The collection of facts is a work of time and labour ; until there is
an abundance of facts, there can be no hypotheses founded on strict inductive
reasoning to account for phenomena, and loose conjectures and fanciful specu-
lations occupy their place. But no hypothesis, however correctly established, can
be wholly true ; the proportion of error in it will, among other things, depend on
the state of development of the science, and on the greater or lesser generality of
the hypotliesis itself— that is, on the greater or lesser number of phenomena
embraced by it. To object, then, to a science because its hypotheses are
rapidly changed, or because in its infancy an illegitimate use may have been
made of its methods, is to mistake the scaffolding by means of which an edifice is
erected for the permanent structure itself. If a little more attention were bestowed
upon the historical development of different branches of science, this mistake
would not be so frequently made. We should then learn what a large amount of
scaffolding and useless materials are cast aside in the course of a single cen-
tury's growth — scaffolding and materials which may perhaps have formed
the sole subject of that century's intellectual strife.

Now the instrument of research, so to say, in scientific philology is the
system of letter-changes, the true laws of which are only very gradually
being established upon a correct basis. As in every other science, this in-
strument has not always been employed properly, nay, its use has led occa-
sionally to results quite as ludicrous as any ever obtained by the old method
of guessing at the relations of languages from the accidental resemblance
which w(3rds may offer when placed at random in parallel columns. Surely
it would be more than unreasonable to condemn an instrument because
it had occasionally been unskilfully used. In the hands of Bopp, and of his
school, this instrument, judiciously used, has raised Comparative Philology to
the rank of a true inductive science. One of its greatest triumphs has un-
doubtedly been the Grammatica Celtica of Zeuss, of which an interesting
account has been published by the distinguished Irish scholar. Dr. O'Donovan,
from whom we may soon expect a translation of the whole work. Before
the publication of this great work, a monument at once of its author's genius
and labour, several of tlie most distinguished Continental scholars, among
whom may be specially mentioned, Pictet, Bopp, and Diefenbach, had written
valuable works on Celtic Philology. But with the appearance of Zeuss' work,
a new era may be said to have commenced for Celtic Philology. The Classic lan-
guages, Sanskrit, and Gothic, with the derivatives of the latter, the large family
of Germanic languages, upon the analysis of which the laws of the science were
built, were so gleaned by bands of ardent scholars, that a fresh field in Indo-
European Philology was to them what a new gold field would be to gold diggers.

Of the many who have begun to cultivate this Celtic field, there is one
who bids fair to rival Zeuss himself In the remarkable •' Celtic studies " of
Hermann Ebel, published in the Beitr'dge zur vergleichenden Sprachforschung
auj dem Gebiete der Arischen, Celtischen und Slaivischen Sprachen, hrsg. von
A. Kuhn und A. Schleicher, we have one of the best examples of strict inductive
Philology which has ever emanated from the Boppian School. Irish scholars,
with very few exceptions, have not hitherto done anything in Comparative Philo-
logy. This is by no means to be regretted in the case of those who have heretofore
devoted themselves to the study of the ancient language, literature, and historical
monuments of Ireland, because, had the object of their labours been the mere
abstract study of the Irish language, we should perhaps not have obtained the
III. 4

50 Celtic Studies.

great results in a national point of view which those labours have yielded. There
is, perhaps, no country in Europe, in which, in the same space of time and under
a similar amount of difficulty, so much has been done, in about twenty-five or
thirty years, for the collection, preservation, and publication of the records of
its ancient history, than in Ireland, So also it would be difficult to rival, in
patient and conscientious work and solid learning, such men as Petrie, Curry,
O'Donovan, Todd, Graves, and Keeves, — to speak only of those who have occu-
pied themselves with the earlier periods of Irish History and Archaeology. I
believe that the period has now, however, arrived, when the cultivation of Com-
parative Philology would confer important advantages upon Irish Literature, and
very greatly faciUtate the study of the ancient MSS. With the double object of
placing the investigations of Ebel within the reach of such Irish scholars as may
not be acquainted with the German original, and of holding out an inducement to
some of our own young scholars to enter, and earn for themselves a name, in a
field of study which is so peculiarly their own, and for the cultivation of which
they possess so many advantages, I have ventured to make a translation of
the cliief paper, namely, that " On Declension in Irish", and of three of the
shorter ones, which are necessary supplements to that paper.

On completing the translation, I found, however, that without some explana-
tion of the peculiar method of grammatical analysis followed by German phi-^
lologists, it would be wholly unintelligible except to a very few persons. I thus
ran the risk of missing my main object, namely, of stimulating some young
Irish scholars, who may chance to meet with these pages, to study the method of
the Boppian School. Under these circumstances I had no alternative but to
prepare an explanatory introduction, — to venture in fact upon the hazardous
imdertaking of becoming, without any special qualifications, the interpreter of
the German School of Philology. For any shortcomings in this introduction, I
can only then plead its object and the circumstances under which it was written.

At first I proposed to explain the difference between Boots and Stems, — the
Formation of the Stems and their Classification, — the difference between Stem-
formation and Derivation, — and lastly, the primitive forms of the Case End-
ings in the several Indo-European languages. The length to which the first part
ran, that which I deemed the part most requiring explanation, prevented me
from adding anything upon the case endings.

As the Classic languages, the Sanskrit, and the Gothic, were the languages
which served as the foundation of the science, I determined to take my examples
from such of those languages as were available to me, namely, Greek, Latin, and
Gothic.

It feeras almost imnecessary to add that such an Introduction, from its nature
and object, could only be a mere compilation from the works of those scholars who
are considered to be masters in the science. I have been especially careful to
avoid introducing any examples of my own, except where I could not find a
suitable one in any available work of authority. Beyond the mere form, there-
fore, but very httle belongs to me. The chief works trom which I have derived
my materials were : Bopp's Vergleichende Grammaiik ; Grimm's Geschichte der
deutschen Sprache ; Curtius, Die Bildung der Tempora und Modi ; Heyse's
System der Sprachwissenschaft ; but espacially from the two latter. I have
also occasionally derived assistance from Buttman's Greek Grammar, Kriiger's
Latin Grammar, and the works of Ahrens, Diintzer, etc.

Ebel's papers may be looked upon as emendations and extensions of Zeuss'
Grammar, and liis materials are almost altogether those which that work fur-
nishes. To understand his papers at all, the reader must be acquainted with
what Zeuss has done on the subject. As liis book is one likely to be found
only in the hands of very few persons, I have given, as an appendix, a trans-
lation of the portion of the chapter in the first volume of Zeuss to which the
papers of Ebel here translated refer; the shorter passages referred toby Dr.
Ebel have likewise been translated, and put among the foot-notes. In the
translations the author's notes may be distinguished from the editorial notes by
the latter being enclosed in brackets. The whole may be considered to form
a more or less complete treatise on Irish declension, from the point of view
of comparative pliilology.

Introduction. 51

The following is the order of arrangement of the several parts :

I. Introduction — On the Nature, Formation, and Classification of Stems,
with examples from the Greek, Latin, and Gothic, p. 51.
II. Celtic Studies (translated from the German of H. Ebel) :

1. On Declension in Irish, p. 79.

2. On the Article in modern Irish, p. 1 07.

3. On the so-called Prosthetic N, p. 108.

4. Additions to the article on Declension, p. 111.

III. Appendix. — Translation of the second chapter of Zeuss' Grammatica
Celtica, concerning the Inflexions of the Noun in Irish, p. 1 13.]

I. Introduction.

ON THE NATURE, FORMATION, AND CLASSIFICATION OP STEMS, WITH EXAMPLES
FROM THE GREEK, LATIN, AND GOTHIC.

§.1-

THE metliod of investigation employed in the modern science
of Comparative Etymology may be described as an analytic
process, to wHch tlie words of cognate languages are subjected;
consisting in successively stripping from them certain letters or
syllables wliicb have the symbolical power of expressing the quali-
ties, proportions, or relations in space and time, under wliicb the
subject contemplates the object — tliat is, so much of tlie phonetic
whole constituting the word, as fixes or limits the idea intended to
be expressed by it, and makes it the symbol of a definite concep-
tion. By this stripping process we obtain a residual syllable or
nucleus to which the term Root is given. A large number of
different words, not only in the same language, but in several
languages, subjected to this kind of analysis, may leave the same
syllable or root ; hence we may consider the Root of a series of
words as a phonetic symbol of an individual but logically indefi-
nite idea, the limitation or logical definition of the idea being
given by the sounds or syllables stripped off. The assumption
of such nuclei in words pre-supposes that the formative process or
growth of languages was a synthesis, the reverse of our analysis ;
or, in other terms, that the first symbols of ideas in a language
were Roots, out of which were elaborated the more developed
languages.

Roots form the common element of the languages comprised in
a family. Their number in any one family is comparatively
small; and all of them are not found in any one language, or in
an equal state of purity. The latter is especially the case in
modem languages, which have all become more or less disturbed
and mutilated by rubbing off the grammatical endings ; hence, in
most cases, we rarely get the true Root, we only get root-forms, —
and from these the primitive form and signification of the root
must be inductively established, not, however, by the study of
one language, but by that of a whole family, the different lan-

4 B

52 Celtic Studies.

guages of wliicli complement each other. The object of this
kind of analysis is not merely the discovery of the primitive
forms of the roots ; it also includes that of the grammatical ele-
ments themselves which are stripped off the roots. Comparative
Etymology may, consequently, be considered as a species of
Palaeography which has for its object the determination, from
their mutilated relics, of the primitive organic forms of a lan-
guage, — of that of the parent language of a family of languages, —
and, ultimately, of the parent language of all; exactly as the
object of Palaeontology is to reconstruct from the bones, shells,
etc., the forms which extinct animals had when living.

It is obvious from what has been said that it is erroneous to
speak of EngHsh Roots or Latin Roots ; we can only speak of Indo-
European Roots, etc. It will also be obvious that languages
which can be analyzed in this way cannot contain uncombined
roots. In process of time, however, and especially if great per-
turbations and mixtures of different peoples take place, the
grammatical elements affixed to the roots get shortened, muti-
lated, or drop off wholly, so that the root is laid bare. In
modern languages, as, for example, the English, we find several
naked roots, which, however, have the value of the words from
which they have been obtained by the gradual wearing off of
the clothing ; thus the word hand is in reality a root-form, having
now the full signification of a primitive noun, which in Gothic
had the form handus.

§.2.

^ Leaving out of consideration interjections, we may classify the
different kinds of words of which rational speech is composed
according to the following scheme, which is that usually followed
by grammarians : —

Corporal Words, Formational Words.

I. SUBSTANTIVES.

Noun-substantives Pronominal substantives (pro-

(nouns), nouns, /, thou, he, she, it, who,

etc.)

II. ATTRIBUTIVES.

A. Words defining the subject — Predicate words.

a. Adjectives.

a. QuaUtative atUectives. b. 1 Quantitative adjectives or

numerals.

2 Pronominal adjectives

(mine, thine, this, etc.)

3 Articles.

/8. Verbs.
a. Concrete verbs {to love). b. Abstract verbs (<o be).

Introduction. 53

Corporal Words. Formational Words*

B. Words defining the predicate — Adverbs.
a. Qualitative adverbs b. Adverbs of time, place, num-

(derived from adjectives). ber, etc,

III. PARTICLES.

A. Prepositions.

B. Conjunctions.

This arrangement renders the distinction between the words
which constitute the materials of speech, and those which express
the varying relations of space, number, time, etc., very evident.
And as the words of each class may be subjected to the process
of analysis, we get two kinds of roots, distinguished also as cor-
poral^ and formal oi formational Roots. As we may get the same
root from a noun, an adjective, a verb, or an adverb, a corporal
root must be considered to have the symbolic power of a whole
sentence ; that is, of expressing a whole concrete occurrence, but
without possessing any contrivance for expressing the person,
time, etc. Corporal roots may therefore be considered as founda-
tions for nouns and verbs, rather than as possessing the symbolic
power of either.

Assuming that language was synthetically developed from
isolated monosyllabic roots, we have next to consider how words
were formed from roots. The formation of words from roots is
called derivation y but the pure words thus formed must undergo
further modification, in order to express the varying relations of
speech. Thus, a Verb must have special contrivances to express
time, person, etc. ; and the Noun, number and case, etc. This
further modification is called fl^xion^ or word-hending . The
processes by which Derivation and Flexion are effected are fun-
damentally the same ; they are—

1. Internal phonetic change, which can only affect the root-

vowel, as the change of a consonant would necessarily
produce a change in the symbolic value of the root.

2. Addition of phonetic material to the root, which may be of

two kinds :
a. Such as spring from the root itself; or Duplication.
h. Affixes ; which may be Prefixes or Suffixes, but espe-
cially the latter. These Affixes may be :
a. Single sounds or syllables, which only occur as for-
mational elements of words, or word-forms, and which
of themselves have no signification in the fully-formed
language, and do not consequently occur isolated in it.
/3. Affixes which possess of themselves a distinct mean-
ing, and consequently may occur as isolated words
in the language.

54 Celtic Studies.

In the Semitic languages, vowel-change is a predominant
mode of word-formation and word- flexion. In the Indo-Euro-
pean languages it only appears as ablaut;^ that is, an interchange
of the primitive pure short vowels, a, i, w, but, at a later period,
of the newer vowels e and o also, which were produced by the
softening of the primitive vowels. This kind of vocalic change
(ablaut) appears to have been a fundamental agency of word-
formation in the Germanic languages. The vowel-change known
as umlaut is the change of the pure fundamental vowels a, o, w,
into the impure or obscured vowels a, o, u. This obscuration
of the pure root- vowel took place originally by the influence of
an i in the syllable immediately following the root. Later,
when the i was softened to e, the latter also acquired the power
of umlaut. Tliis kind of change, as distinct from ablaut, was,
perhaps, primitively only a mere phonetic process, which subse-
quently acquired grammatical and etymological signification.
Phonetic change, by means of affixes, is the great agent in word-
forming in the Indo-European languages.

The first kind of affixes are those employed in derivation
properly so called, and in inflexion. The second kind of affixes
— that is, those which possess of themselves a distinct meaning —
are used in making compound words. Some of the derivational
affixes may, however, be distinctly traced to selfstanding words
— such, for example, as the English suffixes hi/, Jiood, ship,
some. Indeed, the distinction between derivation and compo-
sition cannot be accurately defined; practically, however, it
exists in fully formed languages.

If some derivational affixes can be derived from significant
words, it is perfectly reasonable that philologists should endea-
vour to generahze the fact, and assume as probable that all
derivational and flexional affixes, which possess the symboHc
signification of formational words, were originally formed by
affixing such words to the word to be inflected. In modem
lan^ages where those flexional endings have been rubbed off*,
their functions are performed by words already existing in the
language. Such a view naturally leads to the assumption that
in the gradual development of languages all word-formation and
flexion were synthesis or composition.

^ Wherever special technical terms are invented in any language to express
certain definite ideas, they should be retained in translating from that language,
if the laws of euphony of the language into which the translation is made
at all admit of it. The words ablaut, umlaut, vorlaut, nachlaut, anlaut, inlavt,
a.ndauslaut are convenient terms, and better than any which could be made out
of Greek words. I have consequently used them throughout. Ablaut, umlaut,
vorlaut, and nachlaut are fully explained where they first occur. Anlaut is the
imtial sound, and auslaut is the final sound of a word.

Introduction. 55

We may assume tliree stages of composition: 1, Parathesis,
or the mere juxtaposition of roots ; 2, Agglutination ; 3, Amalga-
mation.

Parathesis. A language at tKis stage would consist of mono-
syllabic roots simply, tlie grammatical relations being expressed
by juxtaposition witb otlier roots. The same root, according to
its position in a sentence, may perform tlie function of a noun,
an adjective, verb, etc. Pott calls sucli languages, of wliicli the
Chinese aifords an example. Isolating languages.

Agglutination. In this stage the grammatical relations — mood,
tense, person, and class of verbs, number, cases, etc., of nouns,
are expressed by affixes to monosyllabic roots, which, though
invariable in function, are not inseparable from the root, each
relation being expressed by a successively added affix. In
thoroughly agglutinating languages all the affixes are suffixes,
and the root-vowel is itself inflexible, but modifies that of the
suffix, giving rise to the remarkable law of vocal harmony,
which exists in the Finno-Tatarian languages. The Semitic
languages show a liigher stage of agglutination by admitting of
prefixes as well as suffixes, the cases of nouns being formed by
prefixing prepositions, and still more by employing a change of
root-vowel for inflexion.^

Amalgamation. When the corporal and formational elements
become so intimately blended that both fuse into an indissoluble
unity, the formational elements produce true flexion, which
estabhshes a complete logical separation of the grammatical
categories. Languages at this stage are called by Pott, Amalga-
mating.

Bopp's classification is somewhat diflerent. He makes three
classes also, the first corresponding to the parathetical ; but in
the second he includes both agglutinating and amalgamating,
and makes of the Semitic languages a third distinct class.

The hypothesis that derivation and flexion were primitively
synthesis, and that the phonetic additions by which they are
affected were at first selfstanding words, constitutes the basis of
what is known as the agglutination theory. This theory is now
generally considered to be the correct one. Some philologists
seem disposed, however, to modify it so far as to admit two
kinds of affixed flexional materials: 1, Simple sounds or sylla-
bles, which were never selfstanding words, their symbolic power

^ Some examples illustrative of the process of agglutination in the Northern
Family of languages may be found at pp. 92 and 94, vol. I., of the Atlantis, in
the first part of my paper ''On the influence which the Physical Geography,
the Animal and Vegetable Productions, etc., of different regions exert upon the
Languages, Mythology, and early Literature of Mankind, etc."

56 Celtic Studies.

being derived from tliat which each individual letter is con-
sidered to inherently possess ; 2, selfstanding words polished into
derivational and flexional elements.

§.3.

In the foregoing section I have mentioned three kinds of pho-
netic forms: 1, roots ; 2, simple word-forms ; and 3, words clothed
with the inflexional elements, which express their relations to
each other as members of a sentence. But these do not include
every form. The simple word-forms are not as a rule obtained
by the direct addition of a grammatical element^ derivational or
flexional, to the root. Between the root and the grammatically
complete word there lies the word-stem^ upon which, and not
upon the root itself, the grammatical elements affix themselves.
Stem-formation is, consequently, the first stage of word-formation,
a stem is not a root, nor yet a complete word. From the root it
is logically distinguished in this, that the unlimited, or, as we
might say fluid, symbolic contents of the root are fixed or solidi-
fied, and rendered fit to serve as a basis for the symbol of the
completely determinate conception represented by the grammati-
cal word. While there are but two classes of Roots, corporal and
formational, there may be many kinds of Stems: for example,
we may have verbal, nominal, pronominal, and particle Stems.
Instead, then, of three categories of phonetic forms, we have, in
reahty, four: Roots, Stems, Simple word-forms, and Words clothed
with inflexional elements.

A Stem becomes a Word by giving to it the characteristic sign
of a definite word, which is phonetically done : —

1. Internally, by a change of the root- vowel.

2. Externally, by the addition of phonetic material, which

may be : vocalic, consonantal, or syllabic.
That is apparently by the very same means by which deriva-
tion is effected ; indeed, the phonetic means by which the two
processes of Stem-formation and Derivation are effected cannot be
absolutely distinguished, the same phonetic change or addition
being at one time stem-formation, and at another true derivation.
There is, however, an essential difiPerence between stems and
derivatives, the basis of the stem is the root, while the derivative
always proceeds from the stem. The two processes are, there-
fore, logically as well as phonetically distinct.

§. 4.

Before proceeding to describe in some detail the various
methods by which stems may be formed from roots, I must first
notice two changes which the root may suflfer, without giving

Introduction. 57

rise either to stem-formation, derivation, or flexion. The first is
root-variation^ which may be described as a phonetic change that
modifies or tempers more or less the symbolic value of the root,
without the latter ceasing to be a root. The result of this varia-
tion is to produce in the same language, or in cognate branches
of the same family of languages, two or more afiihated roots with
ahnost synonymous signilication, but dilSerhig in a slight degree
phonetically. These synonymous roots may appear to have been
evolved, as it were, parallel to one another, or the one to be
primary, and the other secondary. Of two such synonymous
roots we may consider the one which has the greatest phonetic
dimensions to be the secondary root. It is even reasonable to
generalize this hypothesis, and to assume all roots of considerable
phonetic dimensions to be secondary roots, even where we can
no longer detect the primitive root. This kind of variation takes
place either: 1, by simple modification of one or more letters —
vowels or consonants — e.g. yka^^ 7pa<^5 grab; or 2, by the addi-
tion of a sound or sounds — e.g. Latin trail., Greek rp^x (rpLx^w),
Gothic thrak, German trank, English drank. The letter added
in the examples of the second mode is n, and by its addition the
original idea symbolized by thrak^ which may be verbally ex-
pressed by to draw, is tempered, or modified so as to express
to draw into, that is, to drink.^^'"- In the change of the root
into a stem there is no such modification of the root-idea, but
only a mere solidification of its fluid contents.

lioot-variation is to be carefully distinguished from the second
phonetic change which the root may undergo without ceasing
to be a root — namely, the remarkable historical transposition of
sounds (lautverscJdebimg), schematized by J. Grimm, according to
which the mute consonants appear, in passing from the Greek or
Latin to the Gothic, and thence to the Old High German, to be
shifted forward in the direction in which the sounds are naturally
developed — that is, the labial, dental, and palatal medials pass into
the corresponding tenues, and the latter into the aspirates — thus
the Greek medial b is represented by the Gothic tenuis p and
by the O. H. German aspirate jo/i or/; the Greek p by Gothic/and
the O. H. German 6, etc. ; the Greek dental medial d by the Gothic
tenuis t and the O. H. German aspirate th; the Greek medial ^,
by the Gothic tenuis k, and the O. H. German aspirate kh, e.g.:
Greek ttovq, gen. ttoSoc"? Gothic /o^ws, O. H. German vuoz; daKpv,
Gothic tagr, O, H. German zahar (the sibilant z for the aspirate
th); Latin gelidus, Gothic kalds, O. H. German chalt, etc.^''^

2bi3. 1 (Jq jjq^ profess, in this introduction, to discuss the value of particular
laws, my object being merely to explain the nature of stems. I am aware that
some of the examples given above are not strictly in harmony with Benary's

58 Celtic Studies.

§.5.

The Phonetic methods of Stem-formation may now be de-
scribed in detail ; they are : —
I. Modification of root-voicel:

a. Ablaut proper, which is a very frequent change in the Greek ;
it is rather an accompaniment than a means of stem-forma-
tion. It does not occur in the Latin, but in the Germanic
languages it is very common, and was apparently the pri-
mitive means of stem-formation. Examples: root brack ,
stems 6nc/i, hrucli; £-j3aX-ov, jSoX-?}, (3i\-og.
h. Obscuration of the root-vowels a and i to ^, and of m to o,
a change which is assumed to have taken place in all
Greek, Latin, and German stems which have short e or o,
e.g.: root lig or lag — Atyw, lego; root rig — rego, reclit; root
vul (vult) — volo, etc.
c. Strengthening of the root- vowel, which may take place :
a. By lengthening the short vowel, as : root XaO, XrjOw,

Doric XaOtt).
j3. Gunation^ and Diphthongation — Examples of guna-
tion: root t, a//f, root ^uy, (ptvytj; in Gothic, root
hug, havg, root vit, vait. Examples of Diphthonga-
tion : root 0av, (jiaivh) ; da, daio). The latter and similar
roots ending in a vowel show the true relation of the i
to the root-vowel in <^aivw. Curtius has shown that
in the latter the form was ^av-t-w, a derivational i
(Sanskrit ?/a), being originally placed after the root,
but which by metathesis afterwards entered the root.
Gunation, according to some scholars, does not occur in
the Latin, and consequently the derivational i retains
its place outside the root in the verbs in io of the third
conjugation, as capio, morior, etc. This opinion is
not, however, strictly correct ; for although gunation
may be rare, the following examples show that it does
sometimes occur : foedus £ot foidus (if we may connect
Tri-TToiO-a), root /id, iriO, hi{n)d; Siurum, 2iurora, com-
pare U7'o, us-ium, Sanskrit root ush. The occurrence of
, this derivational i as an element of stem-formation

gives rise to a distinct and important class of stems,

law ; I did not, however, think of any less objectionable. But the same objec-
tion may be urged against Grimm's law of lautverschiebiing, to which, in other
respects, there are many exceptions. I have endeavoured to state below Grimm's
law as simply as possible, but, of course, the form in which I have given it is
not wholly imobjectionable.

' The term gunation is applied to the process by which e (at) is produced by
prefixing a to i or i, or 6 by prefixing a to u or H. Diphthongation and gunation
are well expressed by the German terms nachlaut and vorlaut.

Introduction, 59

which will be fully discussed further on in the section
on ya- or m-stems.
II. Consonantal strengthening of the root:

1. Duplication or doubling of the final consonant:

In the Greek XX, dialectically qq and vv ; o-o- (Boeot.), per-
mutated in the new Attic to tt. In the Latin there is
frequent duplication of Z, and in the German of I and rn.
In the former case it is the result of the assimilation of
a derivational y by the final consonant.

2. Affixation of a mute consonant foreign to the root. In the

Greek and Latin a r is thus affixed frequently, e.g.^ f^XairTU)
(j3Xaj3r]), pecto} In the Germanic languages this process
is not now recognizable.
3 Affixation or intercalation of a nasal :

a. Nasalizing an internal vowel. This change is common
in the Latin — e.g. : pango ; it also occurs in the Modern
German ; Old High German hdhen, thence New High
German hangen.
h. Affixation of the nasal in the auslaut :

a. After vowels. In the Greek we get from Ta., ycf,
rav., TEv, yiv. It is sometimes combined with diph-
thongation, as in fdaivw. In the German we have
ga becoming gaii, and gang.
j3. After consonants. Only few examples in the Greek ;
e.g., riiLLvo). In the Latin we have sterno, sperno, etc.
c. Affixation of a whole syllable, accompanied by nasali-
zation, of which we can only find examples in the
Greek : ve, va — Kvviw, dajuvaix) ; as av, by which the
root- vowel becomes likewise nasalized: root \a6 —
\av-6avM-
4. Reduplication ; as, for instance, iiifivii) for fiifxivd).
All the more important methods of stem-formation are em-
braced under the preceding categories. There are, however, a
few exceptional cases, such as where an intensive s is introduced
into the root, as : root ^ly — fiiayu), Latin, misceo (compare Ir.
cummasc, commixtio), which must not be confounded with the de-
rivational so of inchoative verbs. It may be well to observe here,
that the circumstance of stems being formed by the addition of a
whole syllable, the introduction of an intensive s into the body of
the root, etc., shows us how cautious we should be in concluding
that stem-forms, which at first sight appear extremely simple, are
the roots themselves. For example, (pav and Kpiv, although ap-
parently forms of very moderate phonetic dimensions, have been,

* Tlie Greek KTtig suggests that the ct of pecto may be radical.

60 Celtic Studies.

in reaKty, enlarged firom <^a and kqi. Then again, it is necessary
to be careful to distinguish between the stem and the pure words
or stem-words. For example, ettoc and corpus are true stems, as
is shown by attaching flexional elements to them ; thus, tirea-oq
contracted to etteoc, corpus -is softened to corpor-is. On the
other hand, 0fXI(w), Xo7o(c), fructu(s)^ are full words, con-
taining the derivational elements, w, c» s, respectively.

§.6.

The formation of stems may be considered the first separation
of words into grammatical categories, but it does not complete it ;
for although some stems are essentially verbal, and others nomi-
nal, there are many which admit of being made the basis either
of verbs or of nouns. The complete separation is only effected
when the sign which characterizes the complete word is affixed
to the stem. These grammatical signs are the derivational and
inflexional elements.

The characteristic signs by which the stem becomes a verb,
are the personal endings; those by which the noun is formed,
the gender and case endings. As Dr. Ebel's paper does not
deal with the verb, I shall confine myself entirely to nouns and
adjectives. The vocative, from its nature, ought to present us
with the pure nominal stem, but in the actual language this is
not generally the case ; and hence it is found more convenient to
assume the nominative as the basis of analysis.

One of the most characteristic distinctions between objects is
that which life affords, and accordingly the sign, by the affixation
of which to the stem the nominative form of the noun is pro-
duced, is a gender sign. For hving objects, the sign primitively
affixed to the noun-stem in the Indo-European languages was s.
Some scholars hold that neuter nouns were distinguished by t,
which they consider possesses a certain power of symboHzing
lifeless or inert bodies. But the evidence that t was ever used,
except in pronominal declension, as a sign of the neuter gender, is
very doubtful. The Gothic neut. adjective-ending ata is, accord-
ing to Bopp, merely a suffixed pronoun. Mankind has, however,
at all times, figuratively endowed certain hfeless objects with life,
and abstract conceptions, such as justice, virtue, etc., are em-
bodied as male or female forms, according as our fancy loves to
consider them of the one or other sex ; the names which are used
to symboHze these objects or abstract conceptions take, accord-
ingly, the sign of living objects.

The nominal sign s has, however, been but imperfectly pre-
sented ; the feminine forms, which incline to vocahc auslaut with
long vowels, seem to have thrown it off, apparently with the

b

Introduction. 61

object of marking the distinction of the sexes. This tendency to
have vocalic auslaut is well shown in the adjectives having the
endings in the Sanskrit, as, a, am; in the Greek, o?, a {rf), ov.
Even masculine forms often lose the s. In the Gothic it is only
preserved in masculine substantives with consonantal stems, and
in masculine adjectives and pronouns. In the Old High German
the substantives have altogether lost it, while in adjectives and
pronouns it has become r.

The neutral t of the pronominal forms has to a great extent
been lost. In the Greek it does not occur at all ; in the Latin it has
become d, e.g. : id, illud, quid, etc. In the Gothic it occurs in the
pronouns is, si, ita; English he, she, it; Old Irish e, si, ed; Gothic
sa, so, thata, Anglo-Saxon the, thed (earlier se, seo), that ( = GTeek
6,77,ro for ror = Sanskrit ia^J. In theOldHigh German it becomes
z, e.g. : Gothic third person of the pronoun masc. is, neuter ita =
Old High German masc. ir sometimes her, neuter iz, sometimes
ez. In the Gothic blindata, godata, Old High German plintaz,
guotaz. Middle High German hlindez, guotez, the ending ata, as
above observed, is a suffixed pronoun, and cannot consequently
be considered as a proof that t was the sign of the neuter, in
other than the pronominal declension. In many cases the neutral
t has been replaced by m or w, which, however, belonged origi-
nally to the accusative singular ; thus, Greek t, t v.

§ 7.

But the grammatical signs or endings cannot always be di-
rectly affixed to stems; this is especially the case with those
ending in consonants, and where the stem likewise ends con-
sonantally. If in such cases the ending did not affix itself
directly, the final stem-consonant would be rendered Hable to
change, and the modification may proceed so far as to render the
stem unrecognizable. Therefore a copulative vowel is introduced
between the stem and the ending, which originally had a mere
phonetic function, and possessed no etymological or grammatical
signification. The vowel by itself is always short, and conse-
sequently very changeable. It is often an extremely difficult
problem to distinguish between the copulative vowel and a
derivational vowel, and therefore between a derivational and
stem-form ; it is also an important one, for the copulative vowel,
though having no derivational character, has gradually come to
be looked upon as an integral part of the stem-ending, and has
even penetrated where it was not absolutely required.^

^ In Finnish nearly all the stems are two-syllabled. The first or root syllable
is accentuated, the second has a short vowel auslaut. This short vowel, unlike
the root-vowel, which is invariable, sounds differently according as the stem is

62 Celtic Studies.

But in some cases a whole syllable, the consonant forming the
auslaut, acts the part of the copulative vowel. The forms produced
in this way have necessarily more of the character of derivation
than those yielded by the copulative vowel, — indeed many of
them have the character of true derivation. But as I have
characterised derivation as always starting from fully formed
words, all noun-forms produced by means of copulative syllables,
that do not proceed from ready formed words, and which do not
distinctly refer to such as their etymological basis, but, on the
contrary, refer to a radical element which is not by itself intel-
ligible, must be reckoned to belong to the present category.

We have accordingly three distinct classes of stems as regards
their relations to the grammatical endings: — 1. Pure stems, to
wliich the endings are directly affixed; 2, stems which require
a vowel between them and the ending; and 3, stems which
require a syllable ending in a consonant between them and the
grammatical ending. The second and third classes are called
middle forms, that is, intermediate between pure stems and true
derivational forms.

Of the pure stems some have vocalic and some consonantal
auslaut. The middle forms, produced by affixing a copulative
vowel, may all be looked upon as vocalic ending stems, while the
middle forms, which result from affixing a consonantal ending
syllable, are consonantal stems. We have accordingly :
Vocalic Stems. Consonantal Stems.

1 Pure Stems. 1 Pure Stems.

2 Middle forms produced by af- 2 Middle forms produced by af-

fixing a copulative vowel. fixing a syllable ending con-

sonantally.

Vocalic Stems.
§. 8. Pure Stems.
All monosyllabic nouns may, strictly speaking, be considered
to be pure stem- words, in which the nominal sign is directly
affixed to the stem without any intervening phonetic material.
Such nouns occur in the Greek and Latin, though they are not
numerous. Greek: Ki-g (masc. gen. Ki-6g), ^pauc (ypa-oc)? both
of which appear to exhibit traces of a vowel not belonging to

pronominal or verbal. It is a mere rhythmical addition to the root which some-
times acquires the signification of a derivational suffix, and has consequently a
striking analogy to the copulative of the Indo-European languages. The
affixation of this copulative is the only mode of stem-formation in the Finnish ;
in Hungarian it has been to a great extent obliterated. It would be extremely
interesting to trace this rhythmical stem-forming vowel through the whole
Finno-Tatarian Family. Here, however, it would be out of place to dwell
further on the analogy.

Introduction. 63

the root ; Spue, ^w? possess still more of the character of pure
stems. Some forms usually included under this category are
undoubtedly not primitive pure vocalic stems ; for example, ^ovq
may perhaps be more properly reckoned among the conso-
nantal stems, as it stands for j^op-g-

Latin. In the Latin there are extremely few forms which can
be considered, strictly speaking, as pure vocalic stems. Perhaps
the only form is grus, stem gru, for it is doubtful whether the
r in the plural vi-r-es of vis (stem vir?), and in the old form of the
genitive — sueris — su-er-is o£sus, Sanskrit, su-kara, be not organic,
instead of being, as is generally supposed, merely euphonic.

Gothic. In the Gothic a number of such monosyllabic words,
belonging to what is called the strong declension, is to be found ;
in the masculine and feminine they have the nominative sign s,
while in the neuter no suffix can be found, e.g. : masc. fisk-Sj
dags, halg-s; fem. anst-s; and neut. leik. These nouns corres-
pond with the Greek nouns derived from consonantal stems:
OpiKj ai'S? TTup, and the Latin nouns U7'b-s, pons, mel. So far as
the nominative case goes, the analogy is complete ; but if we
compare them through all their cases, we shall find that in the
Greek and Latin the noims of this kind affix the case-endings to
the stem in exactly the same way throughout, namely, its nomi-
native directly, and the others by means of a copulative vowel,
which is the same in all the cases, while the Gothic nouns
take different vowels in the plural. For example :

Nom. and Voc.

. fisko-s

balge-is

Gen. .

. fiskd

balge

Dat. .

fiska-m

balgi-m

Ace.

fiska-ns

balgi-ns.

It would appear from this, that the Gothic nouns under con-
sideration are only relics of more primitive forms, still preserved
in the plural, but blotted out in the singular. According to this
view, all the nominal stems must have been clothed with a voca-
lic auslaut, which was either a or i, and called by Grimm the
declension vowels, and which correspond to the copulative vowels
of the middle forms in the Greek and Latin. The primitive
form of fisks must therefore have been fiskas, and of halgs,
halgis — forms which approach very close to the Latin, as may
be seen by comparing the primitive form o£ gasts, gastis = Lsitm,
hostis. The view just put forward is supported by the circum^
stance that there exists a class of nouns, in which the clothing or
declension vowel of the stem is u, that are not syncopated like
those with the vowels a and i. Although at first sight the Ger-
manic languages appear to contain the largest number of pure

64 Celtic Studies.

stems, the preceding considerations appear to show that there are
no pure nominal stems in those languages. On this account I
will include the whole of those Gothic nouns under the middle
forms with vocalic auslaut.

§. 9. Middle Forms ending vocally.

The term middle form implies that we have passed beyond
the stem, but have not yet arrived at a true derivational form.
The nouns derived from those middle forms have the same ana-
logy to those obtained from pure stems, that the Greek verbs ia
aw, £(u, ('w, etc. — as rifiaw, cjuXiio, fitBvtj have to those in fuHf as
€tjLit, Tidr]ijn^ St'^wjut, etc. The nominal middle forms have, how-
ever, much less of a derivational character tlian the verbs above
named; so that, while always bearing their mode of genesis in
mind, we may consider them as vocahc stems.

As the primitive vowels were a, z, u — e and o having been
formed later, the primitive stem-forming vowels must have been
also a, I, u. To these were added at later language-periods e and
o — e being formed by the softening of «, e of i, and o of a. There
is also a secondary u produced from a, wliich must not be con-
founded with the piimitive u. We may consequently include
all vocahc stems under a-stems, z-stems, and w-stems.

I-stems.

I-stems approach closest to the character of pure stems. In the
Latin the i becomes e; in the Greek it sometimes becomes v,
and in the oblique cases e.

Greek. — The masc^ulines and feminines of the third declen-
sion in -/c, gen. -log, -cwc, belong to the i-stems ; e.g.: (pvcrig (-foc)
TToXig. There are no neuters in i. We have a masculine form
m V, in 7r7i\ug (cwc)* and a neuter one in aoru {-emq): rax^gi
-iia^ 'V (gen. Tay^z-og), yXvtcvg^ etc., are forms in v of the ad-
jective. Tlie obhque cases betray in these examples the origin
of the V obtained from t.®

Latin. — The masculines and feminines of the third declension
in is, and the feminines in es, which do not take an augmenting
syllable in the genitive, belong to the z-stems as : hosti-s, civi-s,
aede-s; the * being changed in the latter into the long e charac-
teristic of feminines. In neuters the i is changed into 6^ but in
the plural the i again appeai-s: mar-^, mar-i-s, mar i-a. The
adjective stems, brevi, dulci, levi^ belong to this category.

Gothic— Among the Gothic t-stems which correspond to the
preceding, may be mentioned the primitive forms : masc, gastis,

• The passage of t into v, spoken of above, although believed in by some
eminent philologists, is not very satisfactorily established.

Introduction. €5

gardis, halgis, existing in the Gothic, in the syncopated forms :
^asts, gards, halgs^ but showing traces of the vocaUc clothing of
tlie stem in the plural: nom., gasteis, gardeis, balgeis; fern.,
dedisj vaurtis, syncopated in the Gothic to deds^ vaurls; nom.
phu'., dcdels, vaurteis. It will be seen from the preceding, that
the feminines also retain tlie nominative sign s, the feminine form
appearing to be marked by a gunation of the vowels of the
uJIngs in the genitive and dative singular, thus:

Masc, Fern,

Nom. . . gast-s ded-s

Gen. . . gast-is ded-ais

Dat. . . gast-a ded-ai

As in the Greek there are no neuters formed from z-stems.

In addition to the feminines above discussed, and all of which
belong to the strong declension, there is another peculiar class of
i-stems belonging to feminine nouns of the weak declension, such
as manageiy gen. manageins, which will be better understood
when I treat of the a-slems.

Adjectives derived directly from stems, and not through other
forms, although differing essentially from substantives in their
flexion, exhibited primitively the same distinction of stems into
a-, 1-, and w-stems, corresponding to the Greek adjectives in oc,
a, oy, and vg, cm, i» ; and to the Latin in ws, a, um, and in is,
e. But the primitive distinction is very much obscured in the
Gothic, in which, with the exception of traces, the z-stems have
wholly died out, while only a few of tJie «-stems remain ; and
even these pass in the oblique cases into the a-stems, with the
-addition of a derivational i (see the discussion of this subject
Tmder the head a-stems), so that the primitive character of the
stem is only recognizable in the nominative. In the Gothic
there are consequently only a- and w-stems to be disting-^uished.

A-stems.

Greek and Latin. The a-stems in the Greek and the Latin
^dmit of being divided into two classes : —

1. Stems m which the primitive a has been preserved un-
changed, or changed into e, and which maybe subdivided into :

a. Stems with primitive short a.
j3. Stems with a or e.

2. Stems in which the primitive a has been clianged into o in

the Greek, and into u in the Latin.

A'Stems with primitive short a. In the Greek the masculines

of the fii-st declension in -ac, -nc are refeiTed to this class, e.g.:

|3op£ac,'Ep/t£ac contracted to'.Epwr/c ; the nominative g is retained,

but the vowel is inorganically lengthened. In the Latin, also, only

HI. 5

66 Celtic Studies.

the masculines of the first declension, wliich, Kke the feminines of
the same declension, have lost the nominative s, belong to this ca-
tegory, as : scribay agri-cola, etc. Pott considers the long vowel as
the result of contraction. It is probable that all the words belong-
ing to this form are, in reality, derivatives in the second degree
from nominal and verbal stems, that is, they contain, besides the
nominative s, a second derivational element, which may still be
recognized in the Greek nouns in rrjg, as : ttoXittjc? etc., in which
the derivational suffix is the syllable tt}. This derivational suffix
reminds us of the consonantal middle forms produced by affixing
a syllable, the only apparent difference being that the latter has
a consonantal auslaut, and the former a vocalic one.

A -steins with a or e. As was stated above, feminine nouns
prefer long vowels and vocalic auslaut ; accordingly we find that
this class includes the feminines of the first declension in the Greek
and Latin, all of which have lost the nominative s. In the Latin
the a is invariably shortened, but in the Greek it is partly re-
tained, or changed into rj and partly into a, e. g.: x^P«j ^iKrj,
^(pvpa. While the vocative of the a-stems, with primitive short
a, appears as a rule with the organic short a, that of the stems
with a or ^ is the same as the nominative, and consequently
sometimes has an inorganic short a whenever the nominative has
one. The primitive long vowel has been preserved in the form
e, and likewise the nominative s, even in the vocative, in the
nouns from stems of this class, which belong to the Latin fifth
declension, wliich is but an older form of the first, e.g.: dl-e-s,
fid-e-s. Here also we meet with forms which appear to belong
to the class of vocaHc stems obtained by means of a derivational
syllable-suffix, as described above, the analogy being strongly sup-
ported by their admitting of being declined either according to the
first or fifth declension, e.g., materies or materia, canities or canitia.

A-stems, in which the primitive a has been changed in the
Greek into o, and in the Latin into u. This change occurs in
the words of the second declension in og, ov, and us, urn ; those
in OQ and us are, as a rule, mascuHne {as in the Sanskrit is always
masculine) ; there are some, however, exceptionally feminine, as
ri Ta(j>pog,fagus, etc. The vocative shortens o, u, to ^, has orga-
nically no nominative s, and in the neuter is the same as in the
nominative. To this category belong the Greek adjectives in
og, a (ri), ov, and the Latin ones in us, a, um. From this it
will be seen that the vowel is shortened in the feminine in the
Latin, but not in the Greek ; but, on the other hand, some Greek
adjectives of this category do not distinguish the feminine at all.

Gothic. To the Gothic a-stems belong the masculine, fe-
minine, and neuter forms corresponding to the Greek forms in

Introduction. 67

oc, a, ov, and tlie Latin ones in us, a, ?<m, discussed above, and to
the Sanskrit in as, a, am. For example: masc. dags, fisks, etc.,
which are syncopated forms from dagas, Jiskas, etc., as 1 have
ah-eady fully described, nom. plur. dagos, fiskos, etc. ; fern, giba,
hida, etc., nom. plur. gihos, hidos, etc. ; neuter, vaurd, leik, etc. ;
nom. plur. vaurda, etc. The masculines have lost the a in the
singular, but retained it in the form of o in the nominative
plural, e in the genitive, and a in the dative and accusative (see
declension ofjisks, pp. 63, 71) ; the feminines have retained the a
in the oblique cases as a or o, but have thrown oiF the nomina-
tive s. The neuter form has lost the a in the singular as well as
the neuter nominative sign: — the full form of the nominative
singular of vaurd, for instance, should have been vaurdat, or, as
the t has almost entirely disappeared as a neutral sign, more
probably vaurdam — Latin verbum; it has retained it in the
plural vaurda, but not with the neutral sign.

I have already spoken of the Gothic adjectives, and here it is
only necessary to add that, although the distinction between the
clothing vowels of the stems was earKer obscured, and to a greater
extent in the case of the adjectives than in that of the substantives,
the signs of the genders have been much better preserved. In-
deed, in the latter respect the Gothic adjectives belonging to the
«-stems have endings of a much more primitive form than either the
Greek or the Latin, or even than the Sanskrit.' These endings
are s, a, ata, or, in the primitive form, s, a, t, as for example : —

Masc. Fem. Neut.

Primitive organic form . . blind-a-s blind-a blind-a-t
Syncopated Gothic form . . blind -s blind-a blind-a-ta

Ya- or la-stems.
Besides the primitive a-stems, above described, there exists
another class of stems, which, as they do not give rise to any
essentially peculiar flexion, may be considered as a class of
secondary forms of the simple a-stems. They are formed by the
intercalation of an i (y) between the stem and the declension-
vowel, and may accordingly be distinguished as ya- (yd-) stems.*
In the Gothic the stems of this class are usually considered to be
middle-forms, properly so called, the Gothic a-stems being
reckoned as pure stems. I think I was justified, however, in
classing them along with the middle forms of the Greek and the
Latin, and that, this being so, the ya- (yd-) stems approached still
nearer to true derivational forms than any of those yet mentioned.

^ On the assumption that t was the primitive neuter gender sign, which is not,
however, generally admitted. Bopp considers the encHng -ata to be a suffixed
pronoun. See § 6, p. 60.

® Ya- masculine and neuter ; Yd- feminine.

5b

68 Celtic Studies.

The Greek and Latin forms which come under this category,
are the substantives and adjectives in toe, <«» i-ov^ ius, ia,
ium — e.g.: KvpLog,i^iog; medius, onedia, medium.

As the only forms of this kind referred to in Dr. Ebel's paper
are Gothic, and as the object of this sketch is merely intended
to elucidate that paper, I will not fiu'ther consider the Greek
and Latin ia~(id-)stems li/a-Q/a-)stems], and will accordingly
confine myself to a few observations upon the Gothic ones.

In the Gothic the intercalated y is firmly retained before the
endings through all the cases, e.g.: harjjis instead of hari-s
(the primitive organic form of which would be h arias) ; gen.
haryis; dat. Itarya, etc. Li the Old High German the nom. sing,
alone retains it. If the stem-syllable be long, or ends in two
consonants, yi changes into ei: Goihic hoirdeis instead of liairdi-s
(the primitive form of which would be hairdla-s) : Old High
German liirti^ gen. Mrtes; Middle High German lii.te., gen. Juries.
In the Modem High German it parses into the weak declension :
der hii'te, des hirfen. Some of the feminines of this category retain
the full organic form, such as vrahja, hvahya; and in some the
i is even preserved in the Old High German as y or e^ as for ex-
ample, sunlya; while other words throw off the a, e.g.: Gothic —
bandif kunt/ii, instead of bandy a^ kunthya.

The distinction between the a and the ?/a-stems disappears in
the masculines and feminines when the a and i of the Old High
German are softened into g, — the two forms then coinciding.;
the existence of such a distinction being only betrayed by the
umlaut of the stem- vowel in the ya series. The same obsei-vation
applies to the neuters, one example of which will suffice to show
their forms, e.g.: Gothic huni, gen. Jcunyis, instead of the full
organic form kunya-t^ or kunya-m^ or kuny-a; Old High German
cliunn-i^ gen. cJrnnn-es, the i being di'opped, as was already
noticed in the case of the masculines, in all the cases except
the nom. sing. In the Middle High German the i becomes e as
in the other genders : kiinne, in which the umlaut of the stem
vowel betrays the ya-stem..

The adjective forms of the ya-stems are exactly analogous to
the substantives. In the Middle and New High German the cha-
racter of the stem is betrayed only by the umlaut. The striking
analogy between some of the Gothic and Latin adjective forms
of the ya-stemSf is well shown by the following comparison :
Latin — medius, media, 7ned ium = Gothic — midis, midya, midyata.

Consonantal stems changed into vocalic (a- and i-) stems.

Some Latin n-stems drop the n in the nom. sing., e.g. : in dn, —
homo, ordOf margo, of which the full organic forms with the

Introduction. 69

nominative s should be : homon-Sy ordon-s, margon-s; in on, — leo^
latroy carhoy the full organic forms of which should be, leon-s,
latron-s, carbons; the feminine verbal nouns in ^o, which is ob-
viously louy with the n dropped, e.g. : actio, ratio, statio, etc., the
full organic forms of which should be, actions, rations, stations.
These nouns give us in the inorganic form of their nom. sing,
apparent vocalic stems. A comparison between the full organic
forms of the verbal nouns, which are undoubted derivatives in
the second degree, and those of the other examples given above,
affords strong giounds for believing that the latter also are deriva-
tional forms of the second degree. Except in not having a final
n in the nom. sing., these nouns are perlectly an^dogous, in all
the other cases, to the Latin nouns in in, especially to those in
which the i is softened to e in the nom. sing., e.g.: j^^cten, etc.;
and the verbal nouns /lumen, teamen, lumen, car men, etc., and
may be compared with the Greek uktiv, gen. uKrlvog ; Xtfiriv,
gen. Xifiivog; arjStjjv, gen. aridovog; ukwv, gen. eiKovog; Xei/ulwv,
gen. XeiiuLLJVog.

There is a class of Greek nouns, chiefly feminine, which
at first sight appear to form their stems in w, and which, as a
rule, do not tnke the nominative s, e.g.: r) ir^iOio, gen. irQiOoog,
the (X) being shortened to o ; 17 vx^o, gen. rjxoog, etc. Some are,
however, formed with the g, as ri aici-jg, gen. alSoog, the w being
shortened; ijowc, gen. I'/owoc, etc., without the shortening of the
w. According to Curtius, all these forms ai*e the relics of muti-
lated «-stems.® There is an obvious difference, however, between
them and the Latin foims — homo, etc. — with which, if this
hypothesis be correct, they would connect themselves, namely,
that the n appears regularly in the oblique cases of all the Latin
nouns, not only of those ending vocally in the nominatiA^e, but
even of those which take the nominative s, as sanguis, which is
evidently for sangwas.

In the Gothic, a class of nouns with vocalic auslaut is also found,
which exhibit a remarkable analogy with the Latin nouns just
discussed; for example, guma, Eng. g{r)oom, gen. gumins, which
may be equated with the Latin homo, gen. Iiominis; rathyo, gen.
rath//6ns, with the Latin ratio, gen. railonis; namo, gen. namlas;
nom. plur. namna, with the Latin nomen, gen. noniinis; nom.
plur. nomini. The reasonable conclusion from this is, that these
vocalic forms are in reality consonantal w-stems, having more or
less of a true derivational character. According to this hypo-
thesis, their full organic nominative forms should be : gumans,

' This hypothesis of Curtius, by which w, wg, ag, ar, are considered to be=
av, is, to say the least, extremely improbable.

70

Celtic Studies.

rathyon-s, namon-s. This hypothesis receives considerable sup-
port from the fa€t that several of those forms have again taken
up n in the Modern High German, e. g.:

Gothic,

boga, <LS!r-
graba(?), .
garda, . .

name.

Old High
German.

bogo, . .
grabo, krapo,
garto, . .

name, . .

Middle High
German.

. boge, .
. grabe, .
. garte, .

, name, .

Modern High
German.

bogen.

graben.

garten.^®
(name and
"J^also namen.

Probably all the foregoing examples may be referred to
71-stems ; but there is likewise a class of feminine nouns, which,
considering them as vocaHc stems, may be classed as ^-stems,
and which in the Gothic end in the diphthong ei, e. g.: audagei,
managei, gen. manageins, etc. ; they present the same pecuHa-
rities of flexion as the others above mentioned, as will be shown
further on. In this case also we are led to the conclusion that
they are w-stems which have thrown off the n, not only by the
analogy of flexion, but also by the fact that the greater part of
this class of nouns take up an /i in the nominative in the Old High
German; we thus get, along with maniki, manahin, while in
the Modern German we have menge, unlike the a-stems. So
also Old High German odhin and oedi, New High Gerrnan
cede; ster chert ^ New High German stdrke.

The dropping of the n does not, as has been already remarked,
aflect the declension of the Latin or Greek nouns ; but it is not
so in the Germanic languages, where a pecuhar declension has
been developed, known as the weak declension, in contradistinc-
tion to the strong or true declension of words Hke fisks, dags, etc.
The diflerence will be better understood by the following com-
parison :

Strong : Nom. sing, fisks ; gen. fiskis ; dat. fiska ; ace. fisk ; plur. nom. fiskos.

Weak:

hana ; „ hanins ; „ hanin ; „ hanan ;

hanan.

All the nouns of the class we have been here considering
belong to the weak declension, the great peculiarity of which is
the addition of an n to all the endmgs of the cases, except the
nominative singular and dative plural. It belongs to adjectives
as well as to substantives, but while the latter decline exclusively
strong or weak, adjectives may be dechned according to either

'" Besides garda, there is also in the Gothic the word gards (plural gardeis)^
house, family, etc. ; but evidently having the meaning of garden also, as is
proved by veingards=\mcyKr(ii ; awr«/9orc?s=orchard. The German garten=
English garden, could not, however, be obtained from it ; but, on the other hand,
the English yard (as in court-yard) is derived from it.

Introduction. 71

declension. The weak adjective declension corresponds with
that of the substantive ; its chief peculiarity is that of having
vocalic auslaut in all three genders, e.g.:

MasG, fern, neut.

blinda, blindd, blindd.

The same vowels characterise the genders, e.g.: masc. hana;
fern, tuggo; neut. hairto. In the Old High German the masculine
a and the feminine 6 change to a. In Middle and New High Ger-
man both the a and o become e, so that all genders end alike.
Tliis change is not, however, confined to the vowels ; for although
in the Gothic the case-endings are not affected by the addition
of the n, the genitive s is dropped, and hanins becomes hanin.
In the Middle High German, the uniform ending en took the
place of all the different endings, both singular and plural, with
the exception of the nominative singular.

The existence of the s in such Latin forms as sanguis (for
sanguin-s), which belong to the same class as ratio, nomen,
etc., justify, as I think, the additions of that nominative sign, in
reconstructing the full organic nominative forms of those and
similar nouns. For its addition in the analogous German nouns,
I have the great authority of J. Grimm ; but Bopp's discovery
that the primitive nominative sign in the Indo-European
language was s, places the matter beyond doubt. It is right,
however, to state that some philologists, amongst others Heyse,
consider that the full organic forms never had s. A full discus-
sion of this point, however important, is incompatible with the
limits of our space, and would be in other respects outside the
specific objects for which this introduction has been written.

U-stems.

Greek. Under this head come the Greek words in vg of the
third declension, which retain the v in the oblique cases, e.g.:
nom. 6 LX^vg, voc. tx^^» S^^- ^X^*^o^» ^*^-

Latin. The Latin ^^-stems belong exclusively to the words
declined according to the fourth declension, such as those in its:
they are chiefly mascuhne, but also exceptionally feminine, e.g. :
manus, socrus, etc.; verbal nouns in tus, which may be con-
sidered to be true derivatives in the second stage, e.g.: ductus;
neuters in w, e.g.: cornu. The nouns of the second declension,
which appear to contain z<-stems, are a-stems, the a having been
replaced by u. This secondary u is much more unstable than
the primitive u of the fourth declension, which is never sup-
pressed by^ the vowel of the ending, but, on the contrary, absorbs
the latter in the genitive singular and nominative and accusative

72 Cellic Studies.

plural, e.g. : fructuSy instead o^fructuis^fructues. It has not wholly
resisted modification, however, having been, in most cases, softened
into i in the dative and ablative plural, e.g. : from the older fruc-
tubiiSy has come fructihus; in others, however, it has remained
unchanged, as in acubus, lacuhus. The whole declension may be
considered as a contracted secondary form of the third declension.

Gothic. The Gothic words founded on w-s terns correspond
exactly with the Greek words in vq of the third declension, and
the Latin ones in us and u of the fourth. Unlike the Gothic a-
and 2-stems, the w-stems are not syncopated, and consequently we
get them in their primitive organic forms, the mascuhne and femi-
nine taking the s in the nominative singular, e.g.: masc. vuUhns,
siinusy nom. plur. sunyiis; fern, handas, nom. plur. Iwiidtjmy
vrithus, etc. The neuter exhibits no truce of its peculiar sign t
or m, e.g.: wihi, faiha. The mascuhnes and neuters preserve the
u in the singular in the Old High German, but lose the nomina-
tive #, e.g. : sunUy wihu, etc. In the plural the M-stems pass into
the f stems ; and in the Middle High German they altogether
disappear, the masculines and feminincs becoming confounded
with the z-stems, and the neutei'S mth the a-stems.

I have already mentioned that the primitive distinction between
the a-, i-j and w-stems was very much obscured in the case of ad-
jectives; and that, with the exception of tiaces, the ^-stems had
wholly died out. The w-forms of the adjective, which were not
very numerous, took s in the nominative of both the masculines
and femi nines, but the neuters had no gender sign, e.g.: nom.
masc. and iem. licivdus; neut. liavdn. The ^^-forms died out in
the Old High German, leaving for all adjectives only a-stems.

CONSONANTAL STEMS.

§. 10. Pure Stems.
S-stems.
Greek, and Latin. — 6 fiug, (miis.) gen, fw6(^, which stands for
fiv<T-ogy=muris for mus-is. In the forms like oag, gen. wr-og —
<f>u)gi gen. (jxjjr-og, etc., either the r has become g, or the nomina-
tive s has inorganically affixed itself, in which case the t dropped
out. In either case these foi-ms belong primitively to dental te-
nuis-stems, and not to the s-stems. Mus, flos, mas, without the
nominative sign. Except in vds, vdsisy s becomes r in the oblique
cases, as it stands between vowels. It sometimes appears dupli-
cated, as in 05, ossis, but here it stands for st (compare oareov).

Stems with Sonant Auslauts.
(Semi-vowels, m, /, w, r, ng.)
Greek and Latin. — Semi-voweh: 7i{xhxnigv-s,hos £oibov-Sj

Introduction. 73

etc.; l-sfems' a\-g, sal; n-stems : pig for piv-g, the liquid having
dropped out, (ppijv, without the nominative sign ; Pan, without
the nominative suffix ; r-stems : x^''P' ^W> ^^^- ' f^^'^^ without the
nominative signs.

Stems with Medial Auslauts.

Greek and Latin. — B-stems : (p\^\p for <^X£j3-c, the -g being
the nominative suffix: urh-s, scob-s; d-steins\ irovg for Tro^-g:,
pes for ped-s; vas for vad-s, the dental having dropped out;
(^-sterns : ^Ao£ for (pXoy-g ; lex for leg-s^ rex for reg-s.

Stems with Tenuis Auslauts.

Greek and Latin. — P-stems: yv-^p for yvir-g; op-s, etc.;
f-slems: (pwg for (jtwr-g] dens for dents, pons for pont-s, etc.;
k'Slems: Xvy^i for XvyK-g, Gfii^ for o-e^TjK-g; pax £ov pac-s.

Stems with Aspirated Mute Auslaut.

Greek. — dol'i for TQ[\-g, (di)^ for /Bj? vt*-

Gothic. — It has been shown in a previous section, that pure
consommlal slems, pioperly so called, do not exist in the Gothic,
and that the forms which at first sight might come in here, belong
rather to the vocalic middle forms, under which they have accord-
ingly been treated. I. shall mei'ely give here a few examples of
forms which might olhei'wise have come under the respective
categoiies above given for the Greek and Latin: saic-s, froiv;
bagm-s, Ju/m; 8tol-s,mel; sliui\figgr-s; stab-s, lamb; sand-s, land;
hugs, gagg; hups, sL'p; shifis, heist; striks, leik; munths, etc.

§. Consonantal Middle Forms.

The nominative of some of the forms which come under this
head exhibit the complete stem, which in the oblique case may
be unrecog^nizable, owing to letter-changes or the dropping of
letters. In most cases, however, the stem can be better deter-
mined from the oblique cases, in consequence of the nominative
s, or the change of the vowel of the affixed syllable so altering
the appearance of the stem in the nominative as to render it lui-
recognizable. The form of the stem to which the case-endings
in the oblique cases are affixed is usually called the theme, to
distinguish it from the true stem-form, with which it sometimes
coincides, but generally not. The neuter form of adjectives is
best adapted for determining their stems.

Sstems.

In studying the stems of this class, we should be careful to
distinguish the s stems proper from words with the auslaut s, in

74 Celtic Studies.

some of wKicli the s is secondary, being formed by the softening
of a ty etc., and in others it is the nominative s, before which the
liquid n and the mutes a and t have dropped out.

Greek. — Neuters of the third declension in oc ( = Sanskrit as)
which show the pure stem in the nominative ; in the oblique
cases the o becomes e, and the c drops out, e.g.: yiv-og, gen.
yiv'h-oQ for ytv-ecr-og, and contracted to jev-ovg. Adjectival
substantives in tjc, foc=ouc, e.g.: i) rpiriprig; — forms of this kind
may be considered as true derivatives. Adjectives in rjg, sg,
e.g.: Ga(^r]gy aa<l>ig, gen. (ra<p-i-og for o-a^-ltr-oc, and contracted to
(7a(j)0vg.

Latin. — To this category belong certain isolated masculine
and feminine substantives in os, such as : honos, arbos, the s of
which was afterwards softened to r. The adjective vetus comes
under this head also. The substantives in is and us : pulv-is,
ciri'is, ven-us, tell-us^ are most probably r-stems, in which the r
has dropped out before the nominative s. Neuters of the third
declension in us (= Greek oc), the affixed syllable us being
weakened before the oblique case-endings to or or er^ e.g.:
corp-uSy gen. corp-us-is, weakened to corp-^r-is, genus, gen.
gen-US-is, weakened to gen-Sr-is.

Stems with Sonant Auslauts.

The stems which come under this category are : in the Greek
those in V, p ; in the Latin and the Gothic /, w, r. M does not
occur as the auslaut of a stem in either the Greek or the Latin.
The pure stem is preserved in the nominative in the neuter, — the
vowel being always short in the Greek. The other genders are
distiQguished iu the Greek either by the nominative s, before which
the liqiiid drops out, or especially in the feminines, by lengthening
the vowel of the formational or affixed syllable. No such dis-
tinction of gender occurs in the Latin, the nominative s ha\dng
given way to the liquid in almost every case, except in a very
few instances, e. g. : sanguis for sanguin-s.

L-stems : stem-forming syllable il : masc. Latin pugtl, mugil,
Gothic, sauil; ul: Gothic, Hakul-s.

N-stems: stem-forming syllable an; Greek neuter adjective
fiiX-av, Gotliic, saban; an: masc. Tramv, gen. iraiavog; en:
\ifjL{]v, gen. Xifiiv-og, en: "EXXriv, gen. "EXXijvoc; 'tn softened
to en in the nominative in pecten, and in the derivational
suffix of verbal nouns, -men, gen. -minis, e. g. : lumen, flumen,
etc.; in: aicriv for aKrlv-g; 6n: Greek adjective ttcttov,
masc. substantives daifitov, gen. daijaovog; on: Xttjuwv, gen.
Xetjuwvoc. To the preceding may be added the nouns with
vocalic auslaut, which are considered to have thrown off

Introduction. 75

the n, and wliich I have ab-eady discussed, as : homo, Macedoy
carho, etc.

R'Stems: stem-forming syllables — dr: veicrap, Latin Caesar,
Gothic Kaisar, fadar ; ar: calcar, gen.calcdris; ^r; 6 arip gen.
atpog, Latin anser, Gothic, maurtlir; er: Kparrip. In this and
similar words the stem-forming syllable may be considered to be
T-np, and to be a derivational one for verbal nouns ; dr.- prjrwp, gen.
pijTopog — here the stem-forming suffix is rop, which may be com-
pared with the Latin ones in tor and sor, e.g.: lector, cursor; — mar-
mor is produced, however, by duplication and not by suffix ; ur :
masc. augur, gen. auguris, in which the u remains unchanged in
the genitive case ; turtur is a stem also formed by duplication ;
neuters which retain the u in the obhque cases : sulfur and the
dupHcated stem, murmur; neuters which soften the u to d: femur,
gen.femoris, etc.

Stems with Medial Auslauts.
Stem-forming syllable ih; adjective caelebs, gen. caelihis; uh:
6 x«^^^' ^'^^ x«^^i^'^' g^^- X^^'^i^oc; ad: Xa/xirag, gen.
Xa/z7ra§oc, lampas, gen. lampddis; ed: merces, gen. mercedis; id:
fXirig, gen. eXmdog, cuspis, gen. ciispidis, praeses, gen. praesidis :
id: Kpi]7rig, gen. Kpr}7rtBog ; od: custos, gen. custodis; iid: palus,
gen. paludis. Ag is not found either in the Greek or Latin ; eg. :
lelex, gen. lelegis; ig : remex,^ gen. remigis; ug: irripv^ for
irripvy-Q (in the Greek the nominative s fuses with the labial mute
h and in the Greek and Latin with the palatals), gen. TrripvyoQ.

Stems with tenuis auslauts.

Stem-forming syllable dp : ri XalXaip for XaiXair-g, gen. XaT-
XaiTog ; ip : adeps, gen. advpis. Princeps and similar words do
not come here, as they are true compound words in which one of
the constituent stems is the pure stem ceps. Op and op occur
only in stems forming constituents of compound words, e. g. :
KVKX(i)-ip, gen. kvkXwttoc, etc. At: a great number of the
Greek forms in dt throw off the t in the nominative, and
are, therefore, somewhat analogous to the Latin w- stems homo,
ordo, etc., which throw off the n, e.g.: (rCjfia, aTojia, ^pajxa,
mpayfia, etc., which form their genitive in roc- Sometimes r is
replaced in the nominative by p or g, e.g.: rjirap, gen. ?j7raroc ;
Kplag, gen. Kptarog. To the same category belong such forms in
U, as : jUfXt, gen. /miXiTog. The Latin forms which may be referred
to stems in dt, dt, St, and et, drop the t in the nominative, but
retain the s, e.g. : anas, libertas, teges (the e becomes long after a
vowel, as in abies), quies. So likewise the Greek forms in et and
it, such as : ladr]g, gen. ^aQrirog \ xnpig, etc. The Latin forms in

76 Celtic Studies.

U have tlie f softened to e, e.g.: miles, gen. milUis. The follow-
ing forms also occur: zt, e.g.: Somnis, plur. Samnltes; 6t, e.g.:
epiOQ, gen. c'pwroc; "'^epOs, gen. nepoii?; vt: sohis, gen. sahlti'i.

To tills categoiy belong also tlie Greek forms in k and the
Latin in c, of wlileli it will only be necessary to mention a very
few. Stem-ibiming syllables aK, ac: iriva^ for irivaK-c: (we may
also add here the forms in -qkt, as ijiva'i^ gen. avciuroc)', ah, etc:
6wpa'^;fo7'm(uv, and the adjectives having the deiiva!ioiial suffix
aCj such as alidade, ccpa.v, which inoiganically retain the nomi-
native s; EK, Sc: c(\o>7r>YS, g^^-t ciXu)7reKog, the neater halec, or,
fused with the nominalive s, masc, ho/e.c; tK, ic and ic: ^o7i/t|,
salLu, gen., sahcU, radiv, gen., radicis; oc: CappoAox; oc, ferox;
VK, uc: Jc/^oDs, gen., uiioTjicog, PollfiiV.

There are also in the Gieek stems in vr, vO but not in vS; in
the Gothic there are al^ro stems in n, t, and nd, but as
my object is rather to show what stems are, ihim to give a de-
tailed account of all their forms, I will not dwell fui'ther upon
this part of the subject,

§.11. DERIVATION.

Having so often spoken of derivation as distinguished from
middle forms, and ?/c'-stems, I think it mil not be out of place
if I say a few addilional words upon the subject here. The
words formed by derivation are: one kind of verbal forms from
another, as, for example, diminutives, inchoatives, etc., verbs
from nouns ; nouns from verbs ; one kind of noun from another,
such as diminutives, feminine names, patronymics, abstracts
from concretes; adjectives from substantives; substantives from
adjectives; adieclives fiom verbs; adverbs from adjectives, etc.

The dei-ivational affixes are of two kinds: 1. Of affixes con-
sisting of siugle lettejs or syllables, which in their present state
are not only not seK^standiug words, but {*annot even be traced
up wilh certainty to selfstanding words, though having a definite
symbolical signilicaiion which modides the meaning of the stem.
2. Syllabic affixes which aflx)i'd evidence of their having been
once selfstanding words, but which in process of time have been
modified and have lost that character.

It is often very difficult to distinguish between derivatives by
means of the first kind of affix and the middle forms about
which so much has been said in the preceding pages, especially
when the affix consists only of a vowel. The origin of the first
kind of derivational affixes is a problem of great interest and im-
portance, but obviously one which would be quite foreign to my
present object, even could I devote space to it, and feel compe-
tent to treat of it ; I will therefore confine myself to giving a few

Introduction. 77

examples by which their character may be judged of. Verbal
ufixes: Greek tu, a^, ci, v5, w^ atvy etc., e.g.: KoXaK-ev-to from
KoXa^, \evK-aiv-(i) from Xeukoc ; the sign of the inchoative verb
(TK = Latin so; the Latin diminishing syllables il, ul, e.g.: ventilo.
JVoun-Suf'des : /^oc, evg, Tr}g, etc., e.g. : (^aOfiog, etc. ; the
Latin ^/o (properly ti-on), e.g.: medita-tio; the English er^ tion,
etc., e.g.: carpent-er, imagwa-tion; in the German y«^-(i we have
an example of a derivational suffix consisting of a single letter.
Adjectival Affixes: poc, ^•^•.* ^^oi^c-pog; the Latin alis, etc., ^.^.:
leg-alls.

The derivational affixes of the second class, being of greater
phonetic dimensions than those of the first, have been less
intimately fused with the stem, and consequently their historical
development from selfstanding words can be more clearly
traced. This kind of derivation was originally without doubt
simple composition of the same kind as that by which compound
words are still formed in living languages. It is the first stage
of amalgamation from the mere agglutination which takes place
in the formation of such words, as, peiihnfe, moonshine^ etc.
Its transitional character is made still more evident by the cir-
cumstance that the affixes of this class are prefixes as well as
suffixes, and that the fojiner diffi^rs from particle composition in
this only, that in the latter, two selfstanding words still existing
in the language, combine together, while in the former, a selS
standing stem combines with a letter or stem not now selfstand-
ing. In the Greek and Latin the deiivatives of the second class
are neither so well marked or so numerous as in the Germanic
languages. The suffixes -ftSrjc? -(popoo, fe,c, dicus, etc., are really
stems, and consequently we may considei* words ending in them
to be compound words, rather than derivatives, e.g. : OsoeiErtQ,
Kavr}(l>6pog^ arfife.v, meudicus^ He

In the Euglish we have a number of well marked derivational
suffixes of this class; e.g.: /^oo6Z = German, heit, Gothic, haidus,
way, condition, as for instance, girlhood; ship = Gei'mixn, schaft,
Old High German, sc«/, shape, property, etc., as partnership;
c?om = German, thum, Gothic, c/om, primitively, tribunal, dignity
or condition of a person in genejal, as, for instance, didrdom;
so?7ie = Gothic, sam, a stem which signifies similarity, and, hence,
Gothic, soma, English, same, e.g.: handsome; /// = German, lich,
Gothic, lelfc, Old High German subsiantive lih, English like,
body, shape, etc.

The following are examples of prefixes: Latin — in, dis, com
(con, co), re, all of which have been borrowed into the English,
which has also the prefixes un, be, etc., belonging to it as a Ger-
manic language.

78 Celtic Studies.

§.12. COMPOSITION.

This is tlie last stage of word-formation, and consists merely ot
the union of two stems, or even words with grammatical endings,
so as to form one word. In the older language-periods a copu-
lative vowel was frequently introduced between the constituent
words — a phenomenon which offers a remarkable analogy to the
stem copulative vowel. In the Greek, this vowel was generally
o, seldomer t, or £ ; in the Latin z, and exceptionally o, or u; in the
Old High German it was generally z, afterwards e; and in the
Modern German, as in the English, it has dropped out, or an s,
and in the former language an en, which are flexional endings,
have taken its place, e. g., -n/zfp(o)Spo/ioc, carn(i)fex, nacht(i)gall,
IIulf(s)huch, Tasch(en)luch, doom{s)day. It is worthy of remark
that the English word nigM{in)gale presents a kind of transition
between the simple copulative i and the more usual Modern Ger-
man en. The copulative vowel belonged, in the older languages,
only to noun forms, and not to those obtained by the union of
verbs and particles. Combination is sometimes accompanied
by phonetic changes in one or both of the constituents;
such, for example, as that which takes place in the stem-vowel
in the Latin verbs: legere, coUigere, etc.; or the grammatical
sign of the first constituent word is dropped. The first mem-
ber of a compound word, whether noun or verb, usually oc-
curs in its stem form, and where necessary with the copu-
lative vowel; the second member alone takes the gender or
nominative sign. Occasionally, however, the first member enters
into combination with its grammatical endings affixed, so that the
latter get thus intercalated between the two constituent members.

One of the constituents of a compoimd word represents the
fundamental idea or basis of the conception ; the second, the
secondary idea by which the former is determined, modified, or
limited. The former may be compared to the root of a word,
and the latter to the grammatical affixes ; with this difference,
however, that the latter are chiefly suffixes, while in compound
words the fundamental word is usually the last member ; the qua-
lifying word is consequently prefixed, e.g., hride-groom, glass-icin-
dow, and window-glass. In some Greek verbal nouns the revei-se
position of the constituent members is apparent, e.g., (piXo^oyog,
etc. It was probably the oldest form of composition, but has
almost wholly disappeared from written language, even from the
Sanskrit. Curiously enough, it exists both in the spoken English,
French, and German, e.g., breakfast, tire-botte, taugenichts. This
circumstance offers some interest in connection with the origin of
affixes.

On Declension in Irish. 79

II. Celtic Studies.

By H. Ebel.

1. on declension in irish.

BOPFS sagacity has never been, perhaps, so brilliantly proved,
as in the discovery that the whole of the aspirations and eclip-
ses, by which the Modern Irish declension is apparently disfigured,
are nothing else than the relics and results of the after-action
of the old case-endings.^^ Zeuss' determination of the old forms
of the article has confirmed this supposition in the most complete
manner, as regards the n and the consonant aspirations ; the t and
h before vowels are, however, to be somewhat differently under-
stood. After what Zeuss remarks (pp. 59 and 63),^^ we cannot
help regarding the 7i as, in the beginning, a useless and arbitrary
addition before vowel anlauts, which, at a later period, permanently
fixed itself after vowel auslauts ; the passage of s into h appears
to be foreign to the Gaedhelic branch of the Celtic; in the
dative plural, where h likewise appeai-s before vowels, it is not s,
but b, which has dropped off; for from donahis^^ the Modern Irish

^' Die Celtischen Sprachen, etc. S. 22, et seq.

^' («) [The passages in Zeuss are as follows : —

P. 69 : "H is not found as a radical in the Irish ; and if in ancient MSS.,
besides the combinations ph, th, ch, the h is also seen alone, which only happens
at the commencement of words, it is nothing more than a breathing prefixed
to the initial vowel, as in the ancient Gaulish names : Hercynia, Helvii. This
h, neither a radical nor a necessary letter, occurs, without any fixed rule, in
one place, and is not found in another, ; as : uile, huile (all), Wb. fq. ; eula
(wise), Wb., heulas (wisdom), Sg. 209* ; aui, hdui (descendants), Sg. 28^ 30'' ;
and so on. The ancient language knows nothing of that regular usage accord-
ing to which the modern dialects, Irish and Gaelic, prefix the A in a hiatus to the
initial vowel of a substantive following the forms of the article na (gen. sing.
fem., and nom. and dat. plur.) or preposition ending in a vowel. We find,
indeed, for example, inna hlrise (of the faith), Sg. 209^ but also inna idbairte
(of the offering), inna indocbale (of the glory), inna amne (of the soul), na
cecilse (of the Church), Wb. 22*^ 22^ 25*= 27*; na accobra (the desires), Wb. 20<=;
la Atacu (with the men of Attica), Sg. 147* ; a oentu (from unity), Wb. 26'' ;
aalbain (from Scotland), Marian. Scot. ap. Fertz. 7, 481".

P. 63, " The s drops out by ' infection' in the ancient language.* The more
recent language, indeed, which expresses the aspirate in its primary state as a
strong s, almost as ss, pronounces the same letter when mortified or ' infected' as h ;
but I think this h is of still more recent origin than the A in a hiatus between the
article or a preposition and the initial vowel of a substantive following, of which
supra. For the ancient Irish MSS. either mark the mortified s, like the/, by a
dot [the />?<«c^i<?;i c?e/en5, used commonly in mediaeval MSS. to mark a letter
written by mistake, and to be omitted], or else omit it altogether".]

'^ [i. Kead *donaho (from * du-sannabo). Ebel's hypothetical dotiabis is due to

* [" Infection", or "mortification", as it is called by some grammarians. Dr. O'Donovan
calls it "Aspiration"; which he defines thus: "Aspiration, a grammatical accident, the
general use of Avhich distinguishes the Irish, Gaelic, and other cognate dialects of the Celtic,
from all other modem languages, may be defined as the changing of the radical sounds of tlie
consonants from being stops of the breath to a sibilance, or, from a stronger to a weaker
sibilance".— O'D., Gram. p. 39-40.

80 Celtic Studies.

dona has been fiist developed through the Old Irish donaih or
donah. On the other hand, we also frequently find the t
(Zeuss, 55, 231, etc.)'* after n in Old Irish, even where d should
generally stand, before eclipsed s. Hence, we cannot look upon
the t in the nominative of the article as a substitute for s, but
must assume that it had preceded the s in the more ancient
forms of the nominative, and afterwards remained when s dropped
off. The Old Umbrian appears to afford a parallel to this:
it never shows an ns, except instead of nns in Palsans^ but
either nz or z (enze^onse) or s (neirhabas). Accordingly, in
the modern form of the language, this t is to be found wherever a
vowel has dropped out from between n and s, equally whether
the s belongs to the article (as in masc. an tiasg, the fish, instead of
{an(t)s iafig,) or the noun substantive (as in fem. an tsla.t, the
rod,'^ instead of an(t) slat).^^ It is absent when s or another con-

his theory that the O. Ir. dat. plur. sprang from an instrumental (Sansk.
-hhis). But this theory is destroyed by the Gaulish inscription of Nismes {Revue
Archeoloc/ique, 1858, p. 44), in which Dr. Siegfried has recognized two datives
plur. — viz., mdtrebo namausikubo (matribus nemausicis), which are genuine
descendants of the Indo-European datives plur. in -bhias, Sanskr. -bhyas, the
i (y) being ejected as in Lat. -bus. In donaib the stem-vowel a has been wea-
kened into ai.

'* (6) [The passages in Zeuss are as follows: —

P. 55. "The form NT, also, occurs in forms of pronouns coalescing with
the preposition in, but only when the preposition governs the accusative
case: inte (= in earn, fem.) Sg. b* ; infeM (gl. in ipsam) Sg. 199% 209^;
tw/m (in eos) Sg. 7% Ml. 21*. 28^ Thence _ we might expect for the
other persons the forms: int'ium (= in me), intiunn (== in nos), inik (=
inte), inilb (== in vos), inils (= in eum), which I have not met with in
MSS. The harder form, hit, of the article prevails before vowels in the sing,
nom. of the masc. gender, in which, after the usual form of the article, m,
the hard form of the consonants is retained. Therefore the harder form nt seems
to coniain in itself the signification of action (motion, in the preposition), of
hardness of form and of the masculine gender ; the softer nd that of the passive
(rest, in the preposition) of softening [of the letter] and of the feminine gender.
It is to be observed in addition, that the form of the article hit prevails almost
always (the form hid is very rarely found) before the softened, or, as it is called,
tlie ' mortified' s in all the cases of the three genders in which ind occurs before
vowels (e.^. in the Article); this is, however, to be compared with the fact,
that even the particle hid in composition (in the ancient Gaulish ande-) he-
comes hit before a softened or mortified s in the following word.]

P. 231. [Gen. sing, of the article, in]. *' In, aspirating, before tenues and
niedials; Ind before liquids, mortified consonants, and vowels. *****
Instead of the regular Ind the form INT also prevails before the mortified s, as
before at p. 55 [extract, supra, note {}^)~\, and here : hitsechtaigtha (gloss : "simu-
ationis"), Ml. 21*; fomam hitsommai (under a rich man's yoke), Ml. 27'^.]

^^ The difference between an tiasg and an tslat is only graphic, as it is pro-
nounced an tlat, and as in accurate writing in the Old Irish s is provided with a
dot or left out, not only in this case but also after vowels. — Zeuss, 63.

1*5 [ii. The t in the nom. sing. masc. of the Irish article has been since shown
to be due to the law, pursuant to which, in Old Irish, d becomes t before aspi-
rated s, an tiasg, in 0. Ir. intiasc^=Skn Old Celtic san(d)as=^scas, subsequently
in(l8hesc=intiasc.']

On Declension in Irish. 81

sonant has dropped oiF; consequently, in the gen. and nom. plur.
fern, na slaite, instead of nds slaite, in the nom. sing. masc. an
smth., the scholar, instead of an(t)s sruth; in the gen. plur. of both
genders na smth., na slat., instead of nan sruth^ nan slat; in the
dat. plur., dona srothahh, dona slataibh.

A third point in which Bopp's view undergoes a modification
through the Old Irish forms, is the explanation of th^3 nom. plur.
masc., which in the Modern Irish is formed as in the fem. in na
with h before vowek, and without alteration of the following con-
sonants. Bopp thence concludes that in the Celtic the article, like
the substantive, in the masc. plur. originally ended in as; conse-
quently, that na has been deformed out of anas; but tlie Old Irish
ind, or mwith an aspiration following, together with the fem.masc,
inna or na, show us that here also the masc. originally ended in a
vowel as in almost all the Indo-European languages ; consequently,
that the modern na owes its existence to an inorganic extension
of the accusative form, or fem. plur. form, as we can at once see
in the Old Irish neutral plural inna, which leaves the consonants
following unaffected.^^

With the exception of these three points, the old forms confirm
throughout Bopp's discovery, according to which the nomin.
sing, masc, the gen. sing., and the nom. pi. fem., from their very
origin ended in s; the gen. plur. in n; the gen. and dat. masc., and
nom. and dat. fem. sing., in vowels.

The finding of the neuter, which has disappeared without
leaving a trace in the New Celtic (an or a in the nominative and
accusative singular, and the plural like the genitive), and of the
accusative (replaced in the Modern Irish by the nominative), in
the Old Irish forms mzti (before consonants iti) in the masculine and
feminine singular, inna or na in the plural of all three genders, —
and in which we can plainly recognize the original ending -n in
the singular, and -s in the plural, — is an important enrichment
of Celtic grammar.

I hazard no supposition as to the relation of the old forms with
t, followed by nt, nd, nn, to the new with a and simple n; the
vowels of the endings can only be determined through a compa-
rison of the substantive-declension, to which we shall now
proceed.

The philologist recognizes at first sight, in the first order
{Ordo Prior) of Zeuss, a vocalic (or a consonantal changed into a
vocalic) declension, in the second order (Ordo Posterior), con-
sonantal stems ; among the latter, the masculine and the feminine

J^ [See the author's further observations upon this subject, in his paper " On
the Article in Modern Irish", p. 106.]

III. 6

82 Celtic Studies.

n-stems and nouns of relationship in -thir (= Sanskrit -tar) being
especially evident, as liad been already recognized and put forward
by Pictet and Bopp. On tbe other hand, I cannot, from external
and internal grounds, agree with both these masters in the
distribution of the vocalic-stems.

If, for example, we compare the first paradigm or table of
Zeuss with the second, his remark, that the first is external, and
the second internal inflexion, is at once shown to be incorrect.
We have only to take, instead of ball, a word with e — as, for
example, /er, man — in order to at once see that the declension of
cele (companion) does not at all difier in the main from that of
fer, except that m the former a vowel preceded the dropped ofi*
ending, in the latter a consonant. The vowel of the original pe-
nultimate undergoes in both the same changes : nom. and ace. sing,
and gen. plur. cele, like fer, gen. and voc. sing, and nom. plur. cell,
2LsJir, dat. sing, celiu a,s Jiur, ace. plur. celiu asjiru: it is only in the
dative plural that a slight difference occurs between celib and
feraib. In short, I. is only a variety of II., and both are related
to one another, like the Gothic harjis or hairdeis to Jlsks. Let
us, therefore, assume for a moment that I. contains ya-stems, II.,
a-stems; there remain for III. u and ^-stems. But a similar
relation to that between I. and II. also occurs in the feminine
between IV. and V., and the differences in the paradigm between
tuare and rainne in the genitive singular, tuari and ranna in
the nom. and ace. plur., are compensated by the secondary forms
of the fifth, which we find under the examples gen. sing, -a
and -0, nom. and ace. plur. -e and -^. We could here also assume
in the fourth yd-stems, in the fifth a-stems, and have only to
determine then what has become of the i or z-stems, in order
to remove the objection which could be raised upon external
grounds against such a division; for, if feminine w-stems are
wanting, there is nothing remarkable in the circumstance. We
shall again find the feminine i-stems under V. ; the z-stems have,
however, either become ya or i-stems. We find many stems,
originally consonantal, changed into III. (exactly as in Latin in
the 2-declension) : e.g., dis, 6is (aetas) = Sanskrit dyus, gen. aisso,
desa.^^ The feminine nem}^ (caelum) = Sanskrit nabhas, gen. nime,

'® [iii. It is impossible to equate dis with dyris^ final s being never retained in
Irish, not even in the ns- stems.]

'^ [iv. Nem (also nim) was a fern, t-stem — not an a-stem— as we see from the
Old Irish gen. plur. nime : —

Sen a Christ mo labrad
a choimdiu secht nime.
" Bless, Christ, my utterance,
O Lord of seven heavens !"

Oingus cele D^."]

On Declension in Irish. 83

according to V., reminds us of the Slavic forms mentioned in tlie
Zeitsclirift fiir vergleicliende Spracliforschung, iv. 342: voda=:
Sanskrit udan, gora = opoc, tima = Sanskrit tamas. If, accordingly,
we designate tKe five series set up by Zeuss as : I. b. masculine and
neutral ?/a-stems ; I. a. masculine and neutral a-stems ; II. mascu-
line and neutral i and w-stems ; III. h. feminine ?/a-stems ; III. a.
feminine a and z-stems, we shall find that this classification will
receive an external confirmation by a consideration of the words
and sufiixes which belong to the individual classes.

Most loan-words harmonize, in the most strikingly accurate
manner, with their types in the declensions. Compare, for ex-
ample the a-stems: /eZsw6=philosophus, oV=aurum,^" angel=
angelus, apstoZ= apostolus, ^j9scc>p = episcopus,yiaZ= velum, idol
m,=idolum, ifurnn='m£eTimm., saZm =psalmus, teinpulzzitem-
plum, together with the genitive digaimzr-ddgammi, metir =
metri; the a-stems: (aZmsm?^^ rreleemosyna, epistil fzneipistola)
persan =-peisonsi, riagol riagul=Yegula, pianz=-pcena, fedb=z
vidua (no doubt borrowed ?) liter =z]itera, sillab=: sjllahsi ; those in
ia and id: the masculine notaire^ rectaire, tablaire, the feminine
fellsube=i^hilosoiphisL; those in i: the masculine faith =zY2ites;
in u: the masculine /er's= versus, sens = sensus, spirut (gen.
spirito, spiruto) = s^intus. Proper names follow the same rule,
such as rom, fem.=:Roma, romdn, mas. = Romanus, tit= titus,
<mm^/ie = Timotheus, grec — Gia^cus, although I. a. has here
embraced rather more, as the dat. aetieus, gen. adim, Socrait^
Aristotil, show.

The forms of the cognate languages afibrd a further confirma-
tion, and here and there also traditional Gaulish words. Fer (stem
Jlra) corresponds to the Sanskrit vira still more accurately than
the Latin vir and Gothic vair (instead of vir stem vird) f^ the ad-
jective /zV to the Latin verus (compare n^"^=: Latin rex) ; din den
to the Latin wins; marb to the Latin mortuus (b = tv)f*fescor
fescar, masc. the Lithuanian vakaras, Latin vesper; bran, raven, to
the Slavonian vraww, Lithuanian 'yar'wos (Sanskrit varna) ; run fern,
to the Gothic runa; dia masc, the anomaly of which is only appa-
rent, to the Latin Deus (instead of Deus = Sanskrit deva) ; fere
fem. probably to the Greek opyri ; tuath femf. to the Oscan tovto,

^ '" [v. or is even found vdth the n of the neuter termination in the nom. sing.
or iiglan (pure gold), where or h is exactly the Greek avpov.']

^' [vi. Kecte almsan : episdlis right — the iin the last syllable heing due to pro-
gressive assimilation — a phenomenon which Irish exhibits in common with
Finnish and Magyar.]

^^ The Lithuanian form wyras, and the rarity of the Latin i, instead of a, before
r, speaks more in favour of vtra than of vara.

*' [vii. Eect^ ri=Gaulish rix, a ^--stem.]

** [viii. The 6 in ?nar6, now viarhh, is a v. marb=*marva, Welsh, marw.']

6 B

84 Celtic Studies.

Umbrian toto; aniiriyfem.., from wliicli several cases are formed
according to III. a. (Zeitschrift f. vergl. Sp. vi. 213), and which
corresponds in these to the Latin anima; Idn to the Latin plenus
(see supra) ; colum to the Latin columba;^^ ardd, no doubt, to the
Latin arduus; nu^^ to the Latin wovws = Sanskrit nava, on the
other hand, nue is related to the Gothic niujis = Sa.n.skiit navy a;
aile to the Latin alius; consequently we may refer uile to
Gothic alls by assimilation from Ij: the neuter cride represents
exactly the Sanskrit hrdaya (less accurately the Greek icapSm),
trede neut. (the Trinity) the Sanskrit tritaya; muir shows itself by
the GauHsh mori- to be an z-stem, which, notwithstanding small
deviations, the Latin mare^ Slav, more^ Gothic marei, confirm ;
mug (servus) appears to be identical with the Gothic magus
(puer), and consequently an w-stem; fid neut. (arbor) re-
sembles the Old Saxon widu, Anglo-Saxon wudu, Old High
German witu (Old Norse masc. vi^r), and besides has been
determined by the Gaulish vidu to be a w-stem, like cath
(pugna), bith (mundus) by the Gaulish catu-, hitu-; the fem. set
(dat. seit, pi. seuit) via = Gothic sin^s, like det (dat. deit =
Lat. dens), fluctuates between i- and a consonantal declension;
finally the double forms ben and ban (mulier) may be explained
either from* ^uina^^ ( = Gothic qvino) and *gvano ( = Greek yuvrj,
Boeot. f3ava) or from *gvani (= Sanskrit^'ani) and *gvana (exactly
as the Slav, zena can have been formed from zana or zina).

But if we considered these agreements as merely accidental, so
much the more would the identity of the sufliixes gain in authority.
The adjectives come almost without exception under the classes I.
a. and b. in masc. and neut. HI. a, and b. in femin., consequently
to a- and yd-stems, which in all the Indo-European languages are
most numerous. The superlatives end in -em, of which I have
found no inflexions in Zeuss, and are probably derived from ima,
or am, certainly from -ama, which is inflected according to I. a.
Of the adjectives the fem. abstracts in -0 are very generally
formed according to HI. 5., which corresponds to the Sanskrit ?/«,
Lat. -ia, Greek -m, Old High Germ, -z. Middle High German -e^
e.g., amprome (improbitas) from amprom, sulbaire (eloquentia)
from sulber, doire (miseria) from doir, soire (nobilitas) from
soir, firinne (justitia) £Tom. firian, luinde, bitterness, from lond,
ndibe (sanctitas) from noib, etc. Among the masc. in -e (I.
b.) the words in -ire or -aire, corresponding to the Slav, -art,

** [ix. Colum (recte colomb), gen. coluimb, is a masc. a-stem, not fem. like
colwnba.']

26 [x. Recte nua. The nom. plur. of s€t (see below) has the masc. article in
Zeuss, p. 237.]

' CAll words to which an asterisk is prefixed are hypothetical.]

On Declension in Irish. 85

as echire, echaire (mulio), and many loan-words (from the Lat.
-arius) single themselves out; among the adjectives those in -de
= Sanskrit -tya, only of wider usage, e.g. nemde (coelestis), tal-
mande (terrestris),coZ?2f(ie(camalis),etc. ; the Sanskrit -taya occurs
in the numeral adjectives dede., trede corresponding also in gender
to the Sanskrit tritaya, catushtaya. We must, therefore, accord-
ingly compare the modern fem. in -mhuin, as produced from the
older -maine, not with the Sanskrit neuter in -man, but with the
Latin fem. in -monia (seachmuin = sechtmaine, consequently not
accurately expressing the Lat. septimand), especially as even the
Old Irish sometimes exhibits retrenchment, as testemin, festimin
stands by the side of the Lat. testimonium, the neut. aill by
that of the mas. aile = alius.

The verbal substantives, which take the place of the infinitive,
are particularly interesting. Those of them that apparently
contain the naked root, as cumang (posse, potentia), fulang
(tolerare), may be recognized by their declension according to
I. a., as a-stems, to which the Sanskrit gerund in -am, and the
locative in -e, with which the Indian grammarians clothe the
roots, are parallel. Pictet (De I'affinite des Langues Celtiques
avec le Sanskrit, p. 161) compares the infinitive in t, th,
d, dh, with the Sanskrit -turn; rather with the Slavonic
'ti, because of the form tinn; we find among the suffixes
in Pictet, the Irish adh compared with the Sanskrit -atliu.
We shall become acquainted with tinn further on under
consonantal declension; the Old Irish supplies us information
about the other forms. Here -ad and -ud follow the second kind
of inflexion, -t the third ; we are consequently the more entitled
to presuppose in those i/-stems (like the Lat. -tus, from which the
supine, Sanskrit -tu, from which the infinitive and gerund -turn,
'tvd)f as, according to the latest statements of Schleicher (Bei-
trage, I. 27), even the Slavonic infinitive in -ti belongs to this
formation; on the other hand, the feminine forms in -t (ac-
cording to III. a.) are not to be separated from the feminine ab-
stracts in Sanskrit -ti, Greek -tI (o-it), Lat. -ti (si), Gothic -ti^ pi,
di. The feminine in -dl (III. a.) remind us of the peculiar
Slavonic participles in -lit; but it would be difficult to decide
whether -a or -i has dropped ofi" in them. The feminine in -em
are a-stems, which correspond to the Greek verbal-nouns in -fir]-,
the masculine in -am, -om,, -um, remain obscure to me. Finally,
-ent, -end, according to 1. a., I consider to be borrowed, a suppo-
sition to which the forms legend, scrihend, already point. The
masculine in -id, gen. -ada, in which Zeuss, p. 766, suspected
an original -at, also deserves to be mentioned; the proper
stem-ending is -ati, absolutely like the Sanskrit -ti, Greek tl (in

86 Celtic Studies.

/lavTig), only differently employed, as it appears in the Irish, as a
taddhita suffix.^ The part. perf. pass, appears to make the only
exception to tliis regular correspondence with the cognate lan-
guages : they do not end in -th or -d, according to I. a., as the
analogy with the Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, and Gothic would lead
to, but in -the, according to I. b. ; but the original form still lies
before us in the preterite passive of the impersonal conjugation
(sing, -d, plur. -tha) ; we have consequently to distinguish in the
ordinary form an addition {-ya or -aya) like as in the Old Welsh
-etic. On the other hand, the part. fut. pass, -thi, properly -tin,
accurately links itself to the Sanskrit -tavya, Greek -tIoq (Lat.
-tivus).

If, finally, we compare the forms of the article, which, accord-
ing to Bopp's view, also belong to an a-stem, and exactly agree
with an a-stem in the distinguishing cases, gen. sing, and nom. pi.
masc, there will be found sufficient external grounds to justify
our division. We shall now pass to the inner characteristics
which exist in the Irish phonetic relations, in order to develope
and explain, as far as possible, the individual forms.

The Irish vocal system exhibits two \e,rj close points of con-
tact with the German, the umlaut or obscuring of an a by i
and w, and the fracture of an i and u by a. In reference to the
first, it is particularly remarkable that the three kinds of assimi-
lation of the a before i and ?/, which we generally find separated
in different languages and language-periods (complete assimilation
as in the Sanskrit giri and guru, diphthongation as in the Zend,
pairi and pauru, umlaut proper as in the Old Norse hendi and
hand), appear here side by side ; thus the well-known particle ar-
is written air-, ir-, er- [and aur-'] ; the accusative plural of ball, at
one time bullu, at another baullu; rolaumur (audeo) also rolomur.
As umlauts of a there consequently occur: — 1, ai or i, seldomer
e; 2, «w or u, seldomer o; inversely i changes into e, o into u, under
the influence of an a following, as in the Old High German ; thus,
for example, in the gen. feda, moga fromjld, mug. We may see
how far the last law has extended itself, from the fact that it has
even invaded foreign names, as e^aZ=Itaha; but when Zeuss
ascribes the same influence to a succeeding o and u, it should be
considered that o and a often interchange, as in the gen. etha or
etho from ith, where the e owes its origin rather to the a than to
the 0; but, on the other hand, o and e arise from simple weaken-
ing — namely, before double consonants, so probably also in felsuh
= philosophus.^^ We can just as little recognize an umlaut of the

2^ [So the Indian grammarians call the secondary suflixes.]
29 [xi. Here Zeuss seems right and Ebel wrong. Thus for the breaking of
i into ehy :

On Declension in Irish. 87

e into i, for wliere we have reason to consider e as primitive, there
is produced by a succeeding i or u, not i or m, but ei or eu, for
example, in tlie plural geinti (gentes) in the dat. neurt, from nert
(virtus, valor). ^" Zeuss has proceeded in a one-sided manner, inas-
much as he has everywhere taken the vowel which appears in
the nominative as the primitive one ; while, in cases like wim^,
giun, it is rather the i changed into ^ by a that again appears. On
the other hand, it must be admitted that umlaut may produce an
e not derived from i, as in gen. rainne from rann (pars). Accord-
ing to this, the rule for the Old Irish (we pass over here the vowel
changes in the Modern Irish, and slight deviations, such as oi for
a^, ea,eo^ for ao) may be expressed somewhat as follows : under the
influence of a succeeding a, i changes itself into e, u into o; under
that of a succeeding i (exceptionally also an e), a into i or ia
(or e), e into ei, u into w^, o into oi; finally, under that of a suc-
ceeding w, a into u or au (or o), i into zw, e into eu. It is unne-
cessary to observe that the factor very often disappears, and the
fact remains, so that, just as in German, we can determine by
the vowel-changes in the stem the vowel of the ending, a cir-
cumstance of so much the more importance, as will soon appear,
because, even in its oldest form, it is much more weakened in
the auslauts than, for instance, the Gotliic.

If we apply the rule just given to determine the vowels of
these endings, we obtain, in the first instance, for the masculine
and neuter, according to I., the following endings : —

Sing. Nom. -{a)s, -(ji)n . . Plur. -e, -d

Ace. >-{a)n . . . -«, -a

Gen. -i . . . ^an

Dat. -u . . . -abis^^

Examples: ball (membrum) hall, baill, baull or hull, haill

hallaih or ballib; fer (vir), fer, fir, fiur, fir, firu, fer, feraih;

Bretan=Brito (Book of Armagh) ; lenomnaib (lituris), Zeuss, 739, compare
Lat. lino ; lebor from liber (Zeuss, 744) ; senod (Cormac), from st/nodus (y=i)
cenel=ceneth(o)1^01d Welsh centtol.

And for the breaking oil into e by u: — treb?m from tn'btmus (Zeuss, 198), screpwl
(Cormac) from scr«pMlum, cercol (Zeuss, 594) from c/rcwlus. But the last instance
is perhaps an example of the power of o; and as to screpul {scripul in Zeuss), we
have unfortunately no MS. of Cormac in which the spelhng can be relied on.]

^*^ [xii. E seems changed into i by a succeeding i in the following instances ; —
Aristotd (gen. sing.), Zeuss, 887, magisttr, nom. pi. of magister, Zeuss, 1057,
heritic (=haeretici) Zeuss, 1055.]

^' [xiii. Eegarding the remarks in notes 13 and 29, the hypothetical endings
for the masc. and neut. may be set down as follows:

Sing. nom. . . . os, on Plur. i, a

ace. . . . on us, a

dat. . . . u dbo (aho ?)

gen. . . . i (in

and these agree with the Gaulish endings of the a-declension, so far as they
have been established.]

88 Celtic Studies.

neuter, imned (tribulatio), pi. imnetha imneda. We recognize
here distinctly tlie a-stem halla^ fera instead oi fira^ imnetha
instead of imnitha ; fira harmonizes in a remarkably beautiful
manner witb the Gothic and Latin stem vira (for vair indicates
a previous short ^) in opposition to the Sanskrit vira. The
feminine a-stems lead back to : —

Sing. Nom. -a .

Plur. -ds

Ace. -an .

-ds

Gen. -e{s) or -{a)s .

-an

Dat. -i or e
/I - _\ .. • .

-abis

Examples : nem (heaven), nem, nime, nim (stem nimd, hence
the nom. nim is still found singly) ; delb (effigies), delbj delbe^
deilb, plur. delbce (instead of delba), gen. delb, dat. delbaib, with
primitive e, therefore it is in the dative not dilb, but deilb. The
masculine stems, according to III., exhibit, in the immediately
preceding stage approximately the following forms : —

Sing. Nom. (-is or -us)
Ace. {-in or -wi)
Gen. d(s) or d(^s)
Dat. u?OT-i?

Plur. -d{s), -e(s), t(s)

-a -i

-e(n)

-ibis Q-abis ?)

Examples: nom. denmid (doer) instead of denmadis, gen.
denmada; nom. bith (world), dat. biuth instead of bithu ; gnim
(action) ace. plur. gnimu; aitribthid (possessor), gen. aitrebtliado,
nom. ace. plur. aitribtliidi.

It is easily seen that the forms which may be most readily-
linked, do not admit, in any way, of a direct comparison with
the primitive forms, as the Gothic, to a certain extent, do, but
still require an intermediate stage to connect them. A balli
ballu, or ballui, must necessarily have preceded balli, balluy
assumed from baill, baull, a nimd the nima, deduced from neniy
a fir us (oT firun?) the^m changed into firu, afirdn, the hypo-
thetical ;?ra?i in the gen. pi. In short, the oldest historical forms
of the Irish, in regard to the conservation of the auslaut, stand, at
most, and even scarcely, upon a level with the New High
German,-^ as the simple comparison of the Irish and the German
ball may show : —

c;«^ (Irish,

Si°&- -^German,

Nom. ball, Ace. ball,

Gen. baill,

Dat. baull.

„ ball, „ ball.

„ ball(e)s,

„ ball(e>

„ baill, „ bauilu,

„ ball,

„ ballaib.

„ balle, „ bUlle,

„ bUUe,

„ bkllen.

(German,

We find that long vowels have disappeared in the auslaut
often even with succeeding consonants ; equally so, short vowels,
with succeeding s; only long vowels before s have presei-ved

32 [xiv. Ebel would not now gay this. See hia paper infra " On the so-called
prosthetic n", p. 108.]

On Declension in Irish. 89

themselves in the shortening: [forms such as cele (socius), conse-
quently presuppose either a celias, celeas, with a fallen off end-
syllable, or a celes with a shortening of the vowel before the
fallen off s; we shall more correctly explain firu from Jirus
than from jflrim, as we everywhere [except in the article and
teo7'a ri] see that the long vowel in the genitive plural has dis-
appeared along with the w]. We could not, in the midst of
such mutilation of the original endings, venture to think of any-
thing like a satisfactory development of the casee-ndings, were
it not that fortunately the above-mentioned law for the vocalism,
and the changing of the consonants between the article and sub-
stantive, puts into our hands a means of discovery.

The end-consonants, except m and r, have evidently all dis-
appeared ; m is changed, according to rule, into w, only traces of
which have, nevertheless, been preserved f^ s no longer occurs at
the end ; ^,which appears in its place in the Old Irish as int, and in
the Modern Irish an t, shows us that it has only disappeared in the
immediately preceding period, only after the dropping out of the
short vowel. 27ie Gaedlielic has, consequently, become harder than
the Gothic, in so far that, besides s and r, it also suffered an n in
its auslaut, probably derived, however, from m, a7id not from a
primitive n.^* Of these three consonants, s was the first which
dropped off, for it does not appear in any declension or conjuga-
tion-ending ; not even in the article, where, however, its former
existence is betrayed by the t in the nom. int ant, and by the
conservation of the original anlaut after the form inna na; the
second that dropped off was the n derived from m, which is still
visible at least in the article in the ace. inn, and in gen. plur.
INNAN nan (besides here and there also, e.g. in teora ngutte,
Zeuss. 310) ; r has preserved itself to the present day in the no
minative athir athair (pater).

The mutilations bf the auslaut appear to have taken place in
this wise ; in the first place the short vowels in the auslaut and
before consonants were dropped, the long ones in the auslaut
shortened, then (or also contemporaneously, a supposition to
which the Lat. -um, instead of -wm, would lead us) the long
vowel before n shortened, hereupon s dropped, finally the long
vowel was again shortened, and the short vowel together with n
dropped. From the primitive Gaedhelic to the Gaedhelic of the
oldest monuments, we would have, consequently, to presuppose
three or four periods, which may be represented by an example,
somewhat in the following manner : —

'^ [xiv. See the last mentioned paper.]

^' [See on this passage the author's paper on "The so-called prosthetic n,

90 Celtic Studies.

Primitive period. Pre-historic period. Historic period.

Sing. Nom. . . . ballas, balls, ball.

Ace ballan, balln, ball.

Gen balll, balli, bailL

Dat ballui, ballu, baull.

(baUii ?)

Plur. Nona. . . . balli, balli, baill.

Ace ballus, ballu, baullu.

Gen ballan, ballan, ball.

Dat ballabis, ball(a)bis, ball(a)ib.

Still later weakenings of the auslaut sometimes occur, as the
Old Gaedhelic shows in neut. aill from aile (similar to the Old
Latin alid) ; the Old Kymric especially distinguishes itself from
the Gaedhelic by greater weakenings, e. g. as all (ahus) and oil
(omnis), instead of theGaedheUc aile andzwYe. The adjective in the
Welsh exhibits an interesting difference, inasmuch as here the
change of i and u into e and o first takes place in the feminine,
hence a fem. gwen, cron is opposed to the mas. gwyn (albus) crwn
(rotundus). We may consequently presume that in the Welsh
the fracture was only introduced when the shoit end-vowels were
thrown off, consequently crunnas crunnd were already become
crunn(s) crunna, whilst, in the GaedheUc, the falhng off only fol-
lowed the introduction of the fracture.

Now only are we in a position to attempt an explanation of
the endings ; but, in consequence of the extremely difficult i- and
w-stems, we shall begin with the declension of the consonantal
stems. We find in Zeuss five classes (not exactly in the most
convenient order), of which I. and II. contain w-stems. III. and
V. r-stems, IV. (i-stems f^ of these d appears to have arisen out of ^
The inflexion is most regular in the masculine-feminine w-stems
(II.), and in the masculine c/-stems (IV.). Both subdivide them-
selves according to the vowel of the genitive into two divisions,
in which we recognize, according to the phonetic laws of the Irish,
stems with a and with i; those" in -man may be compared with
the Sanskrit -man, -iman, -van, and with the Greek -^uov (compare
hritliem judge and i)yefiu)v) ; those in -tin or -sin are, in a similar
way, as in the Umbrian and Oscan, shortened from -tian, which
again appears in the nom. -tiu, and consequently express the Lat.
-tio, -tionis, with, which they also agree in gender ; the infinitive use
of these abstracts (comp. Zeuss, 4G2) explains the infinitives in
-tinn, -sinn of the present language, which consequently do not
at all directly agree with those in -t and -dli; probably a similar

3^ [xv. Zeuss' series V. contains c-stems (or rather t-stems, which, in the
oblique cases, go over to the c-declension), and under his fourth series he has
put (/-stems, < stems, and anf-stems. Among his irregular nouns he gives n,
gen. rig^ the sole example of an Irish ^-stem. Mi: (a month) gen. mis, is a
ns-stem. So were the comparatives in iu, Sanskrit iydiis, though undeclined in
the oldest Irish.]

On Declension in Irish. 91

contraction of the stem lies at the basis of those in -^W, because in
the nominative along with ogi (hospes), fill (poeta), tene (ignis),
the fuller form coimdiu (dominus) shows itself. Analysis yields
the common endings : —

Sing. Nom. (long vowel) . . . Plur. -is

Ac. -in (_-en) . . . -as

Gen. -as . . . . -an iran)

Dat. -i . . . . -abis

Which explain themselves without difficulty. The length in
the accusative plural is remarkable ; it is proved by anmana (ani-
m3is), Jileda (poetas). As a change into the vowel-declension (like
in the Latin -Ss,-eis, -is) in consequence of the a, in opposition to
the -u or -^, which alone occurs in masc. vocalic stems, is not to be
thought of, this -a must be either an inorganic lengthening, or -as
has been produced from -ans, which has been already surmised
to be the original ending of the accusative plural (Zeitschrift
f V. Sprachforschung I. 291, V. 60); the latter is no doubt the
true explanation. Among the other endings, -as exhibits the pe-
culiar tones of the Gaedhelic vocalismus, whilst, for, instance, the
Greek, Latin, and Gothic agree in the weakening of the a in the
genitive -og, -us, -is, -is, and in the Gothic even the nom. plur. -as
remains pure, the Gaedhelic, on the other hand, in direct anti-
thesis to the Gothic, has retained the genitive pure, — hence men-
man, noiden, druad, coimded, instead of menmanas, noidinas,
druadas, coimdidas, and has weakened the nom. plur. to -is (or -es
like Greek -e^ ?) consequently forming anmin, aisndisin, druid,
flid. The accusative singular with its -in or (^-en) may be compared
with the Lat. -em, — in the Zend, even with a-stems, em, — hence
menmain (for which also menmuin and menmin), airitin, torhataid
or -tid, coimdid. The genitive plural has naturally, in the first
instance, shortened its -an to an, and then dropped it ; the dative
singular may, no doubt, be refeiTed as in the Greek and Gothic to
the original locative. By the dropping off of the endings and
the influence of the end-vowels, the gen. sing, and plur. on the
one side, and the ace. and dat. sing, and nom. plur. on the other,
must have become alike in sound. The dat. plur. took up a copu-
lative vowel, as in the Latin and Gothic, an a, which by the influ-
ence of the dropped i has become ai or i; before this -aib, -ih syn-
cope frequently occurred as before the -a of the accusative plural,
e.g. in traigthib (pedibus) always as it appears in the feminines in
-tiu, the i of which, however, had acted upon the succeeding vowel ;
hence dat. -tnib, ace. -tnea or tne. Zeuss' supposition of an accu-
sative plural *druida, for which we might expect ^druada,
appears, however, to be erroneous.^^ We meet with various forms

'^ [xvi. Druide is the acc. pi. in tlie Liber Hyninoruin. This may perhaps

92 Celtic Studies.

in the nom. sing, of a?i stems e.g.: masc. menme (mens), masc.
brithem (judex) fern, amm (anima), fem. talam (terra); of the
feminine m-stems passing into m, sometimes weakened into -u; of
tlie masc. ad-stems as a rule weakened to -u, and in tenge (lingua)
to e; of -id generally -^, also, however, -iu in coimdiu (Dominus),
-u in dinu (agna), and the adjective hihdu (guilty), -e in tene
(ignis), gen. tened^ stem tenid (instead of tanid as the Kymric
tan shows) ; no ending in traig (pes). The form druiiJi (druida),^'
from the stem druad, appears to depend upon the same transition
into the i- declension as Lat. canis, juvenis, from the stem caw,
juven; for druith refers back to *druadis. According to the
analogy of the Sanskrit, the aw-stems ought to form the nom.
-a, which, in the first instance weakened to a, then fell off;
brithem^ anim., are, consequently, forms perfectly in accordance
with rule. The preservation of the vowel in menme^ weakened,
however, to e, appears to have been caused by the double con-
sonants (as, perhaps, also in the gen. pi. athre, from athir, see
further on). The -iu of the m-stems has arisen from the primi-
tive -id (by -ia or through iu; the Lat. -io, Umbrian -iu speaks
in favour of the latter), the u having been retained probably
by means of the preceding vowel as in the dative celiu, as
opposed to baull. The d- or ^ stems took originally, as in the
Lat. and Greek an s, lengthened the vowel before it as com-
pensation for the t, and retained the shortened vowel after
the dropping off of the s; e. g. *domnats (domnds) *domnus,
*dom7iu, domnu (profunditas). Or -ad was originally long, as
contractions are often found in the Gaedhelic, for example, in
the adjectives in -ach = Kymric auc, awe (i. e. dc)? In
coimdid, together with coimdiu, a contraction of the stem may be
assumed as the Welsh masc. in -iat (-iad, pi. -ieid), given by
Zeuss (p. 806) comes very near. Guiliat (qui videt) appears nearly
to correspond to the Gaedhelic y^Zt'c?,^^ the nom.y^2^ would, conse-
quently, be contracted £vom. jfiliu, for which the dative duini toge-
ther with duiniu affords an analogy.^ Traig shows itself to be
a ^stem by Welsh troet, pi. tract; Cornish troys, pi. troyes,
treys; Armoric troad, pi. treid; but the nom. sing, traig and

have arisen, by progressive umlaut, from *druadi, if drui (like hrdthair) have
passed over to the z-declension. The ace. pi. brdithre occurs in the epilogue to
the Felire (609).]

37 [xvii. Ebel has here been misled by Zeuss : druith is the nom. dual^ not the
nom. singular, which must have been drui {^=*drua(d)-s.']

3* [See "Additions to the Article on Declension", p. 110].

3^ Zeuss, 755, considers the rfas primitive, and compares the Kymric -ed, -id, p.
803 ; but, in my opinion, the masculine in -id ought rather to be compared with
the Gaedhelic in -id, -aid, gen. -ada, and the Kymric -d (now -dd) ; although
ancient, it is not primitive (^compare Lat. Inpid, Greek tXirid, koovO, Zeitschr.
f. V. Sp. iv., 325, 332).

r

On Declension in Irish 93

cus. plur. traigid are difficult to explain : tlie best way is, no
doubt, by the assumption of a neuter (Zeuss, 274), by wbicli the
want of the ending would be justified; but the i in traigid is re-
markable : we should have expected *traigidd, *traigeda, traiged.
Deviations of a different kind will be treated of hereafter ; as re-
gards cu (canis), whereof only the comp. banchu (bitch), and the
derivative conde (caninus), occur in Zeuss, we may ascribe to
the Old Irish the forms: ace. cuin, gen. con, dat. cuin ; plur. nom.
cuin, ac. cona, gen. con, dat. conaih.^'^ The neutral w-stems (I.) all de-
rived with the suffix -man deviate from the anticipated scheme : —

Sing. Nom. and Ace. -m . . Plur. -7nan (from -mand, mana)

Gen. *-man . . -man

Dat. *-main . . -manaib

Independent of shght fluctuations between a and e (e.g. nom.
plur. ingramman, gen. ingremmen) in the gen. and dat. sing., the
dative exhibits an exceptional m instead of n: anmim, anmairn
(nomini), which appears to have arisen from assimilation ; the gen.
anma, anmae, anme, has dropped the n. The remaining forms
are formed in a perfectly normal manner, but the nom. sing,
appears to have weakened the a of the original end -ma to i, be-
fore it fell off, in consequence of the continuous occurrence of
umlauts =:ai?2?n (nomen), beini (plaga), ingreim (persecutio),
ieidm (pestis), togairm (vocatio), senim (sonitiis).

The nouns of relationship in -thar (III.) contain the original
a of the nom. sing, weakened to i, either by the influence of the
liquids (Bopp, p. 7), or, as it appears to me more probable, be-
cause the a weakened to a should have dropped out in the third
period (as in balldu, ballan, ball); but this could not take place, in
consequence of the unpronounceable double consonant thence re-
sulting, and so at least the lightest vowel was chosen. The same
reason caused, no doubt, the retention of the vowel in the gen,
and dat. sing., the syncope of which was to be expected accord-
ing to the analogy of other languages and of the plural cases
(although a formation atharas, atliars, athar, athari, athir, would
not be impossible), and in the gen. plur. the i*etention of the end-
ing-vowel in its weakened form e;*^ at least, there is no reason to
assume for the Old Irish a transition into the i-declension which
to be sure would easily explain the form atJire, but which even
the Latin patrum rejected. In the dative plural, a, and not i, is
also used as a copulative vowel, as athraib shows,^^ and if braithrib

*" [xviii. Rather thus : aec. coin n, gen. con, dat. coin ; plur. nom. coin, ace.
cona, gen. con h, dat. conaib.]

*' [xix. This gen. plur. in e only occurs in athre, brdithre, and is certainly due
to a passage over to the i-deelension. Mdthair forms its gen. plur. regularly —
thus: mdthar n.]

*'* [xx. In Gaulish S was used as a copulative vowel, as is shown by mdtrSbo
(matribus), cited supra. Note 12, p. 79 ]

94 Celtic Studies.

occurs side by side with it, we must either view it as an inva-
sion of the secondary ^, or an indication of the early introduc-
tion into Irish of orthographical confusion. The nom. plur. is
not supported by evidence ; we cannot put it down otherwise than
as athir^ as Zeuss does. On the other hand, there is no evidence
to entitle us to assume with Zeuss an ending -u for the masc, as
we have no where detected, except in the nom. druith, a transi-
tion into the vocalic declension. We accordingly assume the
following genetic development: —

Primitive period

Pre-historic period.

Historic period.

Sing. Nom. . .

athar

athar

athir

Ace. . .

atharin

athirn

athir

Gen. . .

athras

athars

athar

Dat. . .

athri

athir

athir

Plur. Nom. . .

atharis

athirs

* athir

Ace. . .

athras

athra

* athra

Gen. . .

athran

athran

athre

Dat. . .

athrabis

athraibs

athraib

The addition of a determinative suffix already shows itself in the
Old Irish in some r-stems (V.) ; in the Modern Irish its action has
been felt over a much wider circuit, and has even penetrated the
nouns of relationship.*^ Unfortunately, too few forms of this class
have been preserved to us to give a complete idea of the declen-
sion, nevertheless we see from the existing ones of catliir (oppi-
dum) : —

Sing. . . . cathir, cathraig, cathrach, cathir.
Plnr. . . . cathraig.

— at least so much clearly, that these words, to which nathir (na-
trix) likewise belongs, with this suffix also followed a consonantal
declension. Bopp's conj ecture, adopted by Kuhn also, in his review
(observation 15), that this ch (g) represents an original k, is now
completely justified by the Irish phonetic law, according to wliich
the tenuis between vowels changes into the aspirata (fluctuating
into media) ; but to his comparison of the Gothic hrothrahans
and the Sanskrit -aka may be added the still more apt one of the
Greek -k in yuvjj yvvaiKOQ, like the opposite employment of the
<? in Latin, senex, senectus, along with senis (compare the essay of
Curtius on individualizing suffixes in Zeit. f. v. Sp. Bd. iv.)
The dative cathir, no doubt, likewise rests upon a similar muti-

*' [xxi. This "determinative suflix" is a dream. The Old Irish nouns to
which Ebel alludes (though t-stems in the nom. sing.), have, hke ywrj, passed
over to the c-declension in the oblique cases. There are, of course, c-stems in all
cases. Thus tethra, gen. tethrach (a scald-crow), is the Greek rsTpa^, gen.
rkvpaKOQ. The gen., dat., and ace. pi. of cathair may be set down with certainty
as cathrach n, cathrachaib, cathracha^ respectively ; for huasalathrach (patriarch-
arum) occurs in St. Patrick's hymn {Liber Hymnorum), and huasalathrachaib
(patriarchis) in Zeuss, p. 827 (the nom. sing, is huasalathair, cf. Ang--Sax. heah-
foedher^ and coercha (sheep, ace. pi.) for cderacha, in St. Brogan's hymn, v. 33.]

On Declension in Irish. 95

latlon, as is frequently found among tlie w-stems, and should
not have been placed by Zeuss in the paradigm; the normal
form would be cathrich or cathraich, in the plur. ace. cathraclia,
gen. cathrach, dat. cathracliaib may be expected.

In its most ancient stage the Gaedhelic, consequently, harmon-
izes with the classic languages by the conservation of the conso-
nant declension of the ^-, w-, and r-stems ; it even exceeds the
Latin in the conservation of the purity of the nom. ace. and gen.
plur. ; on the other hand it associates itself to the Gothic by the
passage of the s-stems into the vocalic declension, which takes place
as in the Slavonic languages in two ways : by an addition in dis,
disa, contrasting with the Sanskrit dyus; by a loss in nem (nima)
in contrast to the Sanskrit nabhas, with a change of gender, as
in the Slavonic tima, against the Sanskrit tamas.

According to what has been said above, the vocalic declension
includes masculine and neutral a-, ^-, and i^-stems, feminine d-
and i' (t-) stems ; feminine w-stems are wanting, as in the Lithu-
anian.

We have already carried back the inflexions of the masculine
a-stems to the oldest attainable Celtic forms. The most of them
scarcely require an observation. The nom. sing, -as, -a, -an, in-
stead of -am, gen. plur. -dn instead of -dm, agree exactly with the
Sanskrit ; the dative plural -abis presupposes a more ancient pho-
netic condition than we find preserved either in the Sanskrit in-
strumental -dis or in the dative -ebliyas, and which is easiest
explained from the instrumental (primitive form -abJiis), for
the dative form -abhyas would have led (through -abias -abeas,
or through -abis -abi, through -ahes -abe) to -abe or -aibi}^ (The
-ai in -aib is not a diphthong but umlaut, as the secondary form
lb shows ; it is, consequently, not comparable with the Sanskrit
-^in -ebhyas). The dat. sing, -ui (or u? undoubtedly formed out
oi-ui) and the ace. plur. -us agree with the Lithuanian and Slavo-
nian, being in the former -ui and -us, and in the latter -u and -y;
the gen. sing, and nom. plur. -i agree with the Latin (besides
the dat., Latin -d from -oi = Oscan -ui). In the nominative plural
the pronominal ending (Sanskrit-^ = primitive -a^, Lithuanian -«^,
Gothic -ai, Greek oi, Latin z, older form -ei, Slavonian -i), has,
consequently, penetrated into the substantive declension in the
Celtic also, as it does every where except in the Sanskrit, Gothic,
Umbrian, and Oscan, and indfir (pronounced indir) from inmfiri
corresponds exactly with illi viri; this i has, consequently, been
formed out of -az or -ei. On the other hand, in the genitive singular,
the most difiicult form, the -i corresponds to the Latin -i, which, as

♦* ["xxii. See note 12, p. 79.]

96 Celtic Studies.

is well known, is written not -e^, but -^ in Lucilius, and in S. C de
Bacc, an important circumstance for the correct explanation of
the Latin form ; as for the rest, the explanation is easier in the Irish
than in the Latin. Of the primitive ending = Sanskrit as^«, not only
must y, which has everywhere fallen away, but also a vowel-
flanked s have disappeared in the Irish (Zeuss, 60, 63) ; there, con-
sequently, ensued -ii (as in z^/i = Kymric, iot^ tcc = Kymric iacc)
which naturally fused immediately into i; it only remains doubtful
whether this -a also belongs to the Kymric or exclusively to the
GaedheHc.*^ The agreement of both forms with the Latin is, no
doubt, the chief reason why the words borrowed from the Latin
have mostly preserved, in so strikingly true a manner, the declen-
sion-type, and that transitions into this declension have only taken
place from the third Latin one ; — a change which the gen. -is in-
duced, as, for example : socrdit, in consequence of socratis (even
in the nom. preGept6h\ plur. preceptori, in consequence of pre-
eeptoris), not the reverse, except where it was permitted to join
a word to a known ending, as in peccad masc, gen. pectlia pectho
from peccafum, in consequence of the many words in -ad having
similar meaning. The words in -e, sometimes written -a, and
ya- (ia- and aia-) stems form a subdivision of the a-stems ; in them
either -i before -a was changed into -e, or -ia was forced into -S,
-ii into -z, — these long vowels being naturally shortened in the
auslaut ; all forms admit of being explained in both ways in the
most perfectly satisfactory manner. The -u in the dat. sing,
remained here in the combination -iu in the auslaut, for which,
however, -u and -i also occur ; in the dat. plur. a slight shortening
took place, as iib did not give -z6, but -ib.*^

The neuters exhibit a curious anomaly, inasmuch as the prim-
itive -a of the nom. and ace. plur., shortened to -a in the second
period, should have dropped oiF in the third ; if we connect with -a
of this case an analogous singular phenomenon, namely, that the
inna, na, of the article, as in the feminine, does not affect the
succeeding consonants, we shall be able to assume, with greater
probability, that in the Gaedhelic the disappearance of the neuter,
which in the Kymric can be no longer detected, had even already
been prepared in the plural, by the invasion of the feminine form,
for the inna of the article does not admit of being explained
otherwise than from innds. The Irish na cenela (nationes) con-
sequently admits of being compared with the Italian le arme

*^ [xxiii. In the Old Irish, as ia the Latin, the gen. sing, of masc. and neut. a-
stems was originally the locative sing., and has nothing whatever to do with
asi/a. Ebel is now inclined to admit this. See Beitrdqe, u. s. w. II. 186.]

*6 Zeuss erroneously remarks, page 248 : quae -ib dativi non inficiens ex -ab de-
fecisse videtur. The observation would have been in place at p. 253.

On Declension in Irish. 97

instead of ilia arma. Even the accusative plural mascuKne
inna^ na^ appears to rest upon an inorganic invasion of the femi-
nine form, because the substantive forms lead us to expect rather
*innu, *nu [conversely -iu, (-?/)= Lat. eos, occurs suffixed to the
prepositions, even as feminine] ; this form has also penetrated
even in the Modern Irish, from the accusative into the nomi-
native, so that a difference of genders is nowhere to be found
in the plural. The -ia stems form the plur. nom. regularly in -^,
as in the singular.

The adjectives mostly follow the rale of the substantives,
only that the -m-stems readily shorten the ace. plur. mas. into -i,
and the nom. plur. neuter often shows -i instead of the more
normal -e. The -/, which the a-stems often exhibit in the
neuter plural, is more remarkable, and is hitherto inexplicable
to me.'*^ A stem sdlnia, instead ofsdnia, may probably be assumed
for sain (diversus), in consequence of the ai. This has main-
tained itself in the form of the nom. plur. ; in the others it has
shortened itself like aile into aill. But how are we to explain
istlj dllsi, comaicsi? Of the pronominal a-stcms, a form has,
however, been preserved, in spite of the frightful ravages here
occasioned by the phonetic laws, which sets aside the only reason
which could probably be still put forward (except the accidental
similarity with the stem-auslaut a in the Sanskrit) in favour of ex-
plaining the gen. -a of the following classes by the Sanskrit -asi/a.
Of the stem a, there have been preserved: gen. sing. masc. and
neut. a, with affection of the succeeding consonants, consequently
pi-imitively a vowel-endmg stem ; gen. fem. a without afi'ection,
consequently for as; gen. pi. an, a, consequently produced from
an instead oi dm. Bopp therefoix3 believed hiraseir able to explain
the masc. a by asya, and the fem. d (instead of as) by as/jds. But
now di appears as the most ancient form of the gen. sing. masc. and
neut. (in Zeuss, 334, 345), besides ae, e (evidently e) also (Zeuss
347) ; consequently asya modified itself in the first instance into
di, and from thence issued the Gaedhelic forms a and e like the
Kymric y, e. Even then this form, which in consequence of its
shortness must sound fuller, differs very little from the usual
genitive of the a-stems. The neuter of the article a??, which
has weakened itself even to a, rests no doubt on a fundamental
form anat,*^ which from the outset must have become ana, an, be-

*' [xxiv. Adjectival a-stems never exhibit i in the nom. pi. But (as was to
be expected) this is done by adjectival t-stems, such as sain, isil, dilis, coinacuis,
whence saint, isli, dilsi, comaicsi. The adjectival i-declension exists at the present
day. See the paradigm {geanamhail), O'Donovan's Grammar, p. 112.]

** [xxv. More probably the neut. article an (a before a noun beginning with a
tenuis) stands for sa-n — the n being the neut. ending, and the sa the well-known
pronominal stem. The s appears in composition with non-aspirating prepositions,
III. 7

98 Celtic Studies.

cause anan (instead of anam) must Kave always retained an n;
the fundamental -at also explains the stronger shortening in the
neut. aill^ as compared with the masc. and fem. aile.^^

The explanation of the case endings is much more difficult in
the following classes, where the separation of the masculine u-
and i-, and the feminine a- and i-, stems, is already difficult.

The i- and w-stems sound in the nom. and ace. sing, perfectly
alike, for -is, -in, -zmust drop off Hke -us, -un, -u; even the vowel
of the stem does not always give us information, although denmid
(factor), for example, proves itself by the genitive denmada to
have been altered from denmad, muir (mare) announces itself by
its ui as an z-stem ; we must, therefore, endeavour to study the
stem much further, as, for instance, in hith (mundus), from the
Gaulish hitu; in ^(Z (arbor), from the Gaulish vidu and the Saxon
widu; in the verbals in -ad, from the analogy of the Latin in
-tus, etc. The only case which shows the stem clearly, the
accusative plural,^" the -us and -is of which have changed into -u
and -i, is unfortunately only very weakly represented, so that,
in many cases, no certainty can be attained. In the dative
singular -ui and -i are certainly to be assumed; these should
become -u and -i, and leave behind umlaut, but most words
take no umlaut (no doubt, in consequence of the primitive
length of the stem- vowel). Among the whole of the examples
in Zeuss, hiuth alone shows umlaut, which he accordingly has
placed in the paradigm. It would appear as if the endings -a,
-0, -e established a difference in the genitive singular ; but this is
by no means the case, as aithrehthado, from the nom. aithribthid
(possessor), for example, shows a decided i-stem; we must look
upon -0 rather as an obscuring of the -a, e, exactly as -ea and
-eo are the result of the subsequent action of a preceding sound,
or of one which had preceded. The explanation apparently
nearest to hand, that -o is derived fiom -aus ( = Sanskrit -6s), is,
consequently, to be rejected, and we are to assume either that
-aus, as well as -ais, has become -a, or, to start from the funda-
mental form, -avas and -ajas, which must likewise become -as,
-a; as the dative cannot be explained from- avi, -aji, the first hy-
pothesis is, no doubt, to be preferred.^^ According to the analogy

*' [For confirmation of this hypothesis see Ebel's paper " On the so-called
prosthetic n", p. 108.]

^•^ [xxvi. The nom. and ace. plur. (-i) and dat. plur. (-ib) of t-stems show
the stem clearly enough. But Ebel here, as elsewhere, suflfers from the incom-
pleteness of Zeuss's collection of examples.]

^^ [xxvii. Surely it is easier to assume that the i-stems (with one or two ex-
ceptions, such as tir, tire) passed over in the gen. sing, to the w-declension.
Hence the -o (-a) = -os, -mis. The fem. a-stems likewise, in the gen. sing. —
with five exceptions {inna, dena, mnda^ cacha, nucha) — have passed over to the

On Declension in Irish. 99

of the consonantal declension (compare also Gothic -yus and -e^s),
a fundamental form -avis and -ajis is to be laid down for the
nom. plur. ; -ais must arise from -avis^ and this, on the dropping
of the 5, could contract to -a, -^, or 4; -ajis, in consequence of
the preponderance of the z-sound, passed, as it appears, exclu-
sively into -z, certainly at least in the masculine in -ati (nom.
-id, gen. -ada) ; the auslauts were, as everywhere, subsequently
shortened, so that, along with -ui, -ae, -a, -e, and -i, also occur,
e.g. : gnimai, gmmae, gnima, gnime, gnimi, from the stem gnimu
(action). The form mogi, from the stem mugu, along with mogae,
is interesting, as their common origin from mogai is betrayed by
their o. The ending -e of the gen. plur. is remarkable ; it appears
to announce itself in moge as a degeneration of moga ; on the
other hand, it has produced umlaut in forcitlaide (praecepto-
rum); either there existed earlier a difference liere, as in the
nominative plural, such that -avan contracted itself into -an,
-ajan into -ian, -en, or, the umlaut in forcitlaide is inorganic,
and -e is in both cases degeneration of -a, from -dn=.-avdn and
ajdn, which forms we take as a starting point according to the
analogy of the Gothic -ivS and -S instead o{-iye. The dative plural
shows a remarkable anomaly, the normal -ih of the z-stem no
doubt appears in it, but not the -uh or -uib to be expected in the
w-stem, but, instead of it, -aib (compare aitrebthidib, mogaib) ;
either interchange has here taken place between ui and ai, a cir-
cumstance otherwise without exiample {ui for ai is frequent), or
the generality of the ending -aib introduced it inorganically here
also, in the same manner as in the Greek TroXfo-t, tttixectI the € ap-
pears to have penetrated by means of the false analogy of the other
cases. The neuter plur. in the nom. and ace. rind (constellations)
mind (insignia),/ess (scita), appears, at first sight, to be altogether
anomalous without an ending, which is the more striking as even
the a-stems show an ending where one ought not to expect it ; if,
however, we start from a fundamental form -vd, -ja, in which the v
and j were dropped, a development -a, -a, may also be conceived
(probably we should also take d=ava, aja for a starting point,
with inorganic gunation, in which case rind would bear the same
relation to gnima, as rax^a does to raxisg). In spite of much ob-
scurity in details, it is at least clear from the preceding, that the i-
and w-stems by no means so fully coincided from their origin, as
would appear from the representation of Zeuss. For the sake of
greater clearness, we shall here attempt to give an idea of the

i-declension, and consequently exhibit the ending e = es, of which the e was
probably produced, by a very ancient contraction, from a-i (cf. Goth, anstais).
Here, of course, as also in the Sanskrit and Lithuanian dves, awes, " etve's",
the stem-Towel has been gunated.]

7 B

100

Celtic Studies.

declension arranged according to tlie different periods, without
the secondary forms however : —

U- STEMS.

Primitive, period. Pre-historic period.

Historic period

Masc. Sing. Nom.

. bithus

biths

bith

Ace.

. bithun

bithu

bith

Gen.

. (bithavas) bithas?

betha

betha

Dat.

. bithui

bithu

biuth

Plur. Nom.

. (bithavis) bitbais

bethai

betha

Ace.

. (bithuns) bithus

bitha

biihu

Gen.

. (bithavan) bithavan

bethan

* betha

Dat.

. bithubis

bithuibs

* bithuib

Neut. Sing. . .

. fidu

fid

fid

Plur. . .

. (fidva)fida

I- STEMS.

feda

fed

Masc. Sing. Nom.

. denmadis

denmids

denmid

Ace.

. denmadin

denmidn

denmid

Gen.

. (denmadajas)denmadas?

denmada

denmada

Dat.

. denmada

denmadi

denmid

Plur. Nom.

. (denmadnjis) denmadis?

denmidi ?

denm

Ace.

. (denmadins) denmadis

denmidi

denmidi

Gen.

. (denmadajun) denmadajan

denmadan

* denmada

Dat.

. denmadibis

denmidibs

denmidib

Neut. Sing. . .

. fissi

fiss

fiss

PI. . . .

. (fissja) fissa

fessa

fess

According to this view, it is only the dative plural of the
w-stem mogaib that appears to be distinctly inorganic ; the gen.
plur. moge shows a weakening of the a into g, which we will
presently find again in the feminine.

The feminine a and z-stems have suffered still greater confu-
sion in their declension, so that the primitive stem can now only be
recognized from the vocalization of the nom. sing, and by com-
parison with other languages.^^ Thus the following show them-
selves by e and o to be a-stems: ess^ iress (fides), nem (coelum),
tol^^ (voluntas), hretJi (judicium), crock (crux), ingen (fiHa),

^2 [xxviii. It is true that in the Old Irish the fem. a stems have in the gen. (but
see note 51), dat. and ace. sing, gone over to the /-declension; and in the dat.
this was the case in Gaulish, as we learn from Behsaini (nom. Belesama) in the
inscription of Vaison. But in the Old Irish the fem. ?-stems are (with very few
exceptions*) still clearly distinguishable from the fem. a-stems. In addition to
the circumstance that the c-stems in general have their gen. sing, in -e, whereas
the t-stems make it in -o (a), the nom. and ace. pi. of fem. /-stems end in -/, but
those of the c-stems in -a. Next, the gen pi. of fem. /-stems ends in ae, -e ;
that of fem. a-stems has no ending. Thus nime.du/e, cai//e, rigne^ injimte^ bliadnej
fochraice, Joclilde, are the Old Irish genitives plur. respectively of neiUy nim
(heaven), dull (a thing), cai/l (a wood), ri'qain (a queen), injinit (an infinitive),
bliadaln (a year), (not hiiadan as Ebel wrongly gives it) ; jbrhricc (a reward),
fochaid (tribulation). Thirdly, the dat. pi. of fem. /-stems ends in -/6, that of
a-stems in -a/6 (dirmib, Zeuss, p. 670, probably comes from *airim: cf. Welsh rhif).'j

^3 In the Lord's Prayer, as given by O'Donovan, there is, however, bid do toil
(thy will be done), which indicates an /-stem.f

* (7a5di7and its compounds are declined in the plur. like d-stems, so idbairt, epert.

t [xxix. Toil here is the accusative sing., according to the regular Old Irish syntax
(Zeuss, p. 894) : the nom. sing, is iol, wliich was anciently a fem. d-stem.

On Declension in Irish. 101

aimser (tempus), and tlie words in -em: such as moidem (laus),
cretem (fides) ; — by ia instead of 6: grian (sol), hriatliar (ver-
bum), hliadan (annus); — by comparison: run (mysterium) =
Gotliic runa^ fere (ira) = 6pyn, tlie words in -acht oxid -echt,
wliich presuppose a Sanskrit -akatd and -ikatd, and which are
not consequently derived directly from the stem-substantive, but
through a hypothetical adjective in -ach or -ech ( = Sanskrit -a^^a,
-ika)^ as for example, deaclit (divinitas), which is not obtained
directly from dia^ but through *deach (divinus). We must like-
wise consider as i-stems the verbal-nouns in -t, such as epert
(locutio), tabart, tahairt (datio), and also iarfigid (inquisitio,
quaestio); the secondary forms, as muing, f.zzmung, m. (a mane),
quoted by Pictet, (op. cit. p. 123), appear to be z-stems (whose
nominative -i, -i, 1, cannot be distinguished in its real state from
-isy >s, > ). No certain distinctions can be at all recognized in
the case-endings, and nothing can be based upon the secondary
forms. The genitive singular shows, for instance, along with
the dominant -e, also -a and -o; but if we would assign the -a to
the «-stems, and the -e to the e-stcms, we find our proposition con-
tradicted by the circumstance that -e is the commonest ending,
and appeal's just in those words the vowels of which point to -a,
as in nime, itisse, ingine, and that -a occurs frequently in charac-
teristic i-stcms, as in eperta; if, on the other hand, we would
assign -a to the z-stems, from the analogy of the masculine, and -e
to the a-stcms from the analogy of the Latin -o^, the feminine of
the adjectives like cacha, nacha. (and even oena, along with aine)^
will remain unconsidered ; consequently -a is clearly the oldest
form in both classes, it weakened itself into -o and -e, even in the
same words ; e. g..^ dude and dulo, from dul (mundus, res, crea-
tura), and the umlaut before e, in spite of its universaUty, is in-
organic; the fundamental forms -as and -ajas must also follow
the same course : -as, -a, -a, or if we prefer starting from -ais in-
stead o£ -ajas, we have -ais, -ai, -a. The i -stems could form the
dat. sing, in -?, -i (or -aji, z, -i, which is less probable), the a-
stems either in (-dl), -e, e, or (-ai), -i, i-, as in the nominative
plural of the masculine ; both of them consequently agree, as may
be expected, in the umlaut. An -is, -z, -i might have been ex-
pected in the nominative plural, as in the masculine, from the
fundamental form -ajis; but an ais, -ai, -a, was equally possible;
and if the examples give -a, -e, and^-i, an -ai, -i, -i is not impossible,
even in the case of a-stems (compare Greek -at, Latin -ae) : con-
sequently a separation of both classes, according to the ending,
is neither a priori necessary, nor in the actual state possible (see
the examples in Zeuss, 262, 263); although, nor doubt, the as-
simiption of a primitive difference between -a (from -as) and -i

102 Celtic Studies.

(from -ajis) has much in its favour. What is most striking is,
that no ending whatever is found, not only in persin from persan
(persona), which is treated in Modem Irish altogether as an n-stem
(nom. pear so), but also in aimsir; and only in the vowel is there
an indication of -i. Zeuss considers the e and i as secondary forms,
which have resulted from assimilation: litre, epistli, appear to
speak in favour of this view, but not hliadni; for an a has been
here dropped. The following hypothesis appears to me to offer
most advantages: the feminines in -i formed like the mascuHnes,
the nominative plural in -i (see above), those in -a, contracted -di
(as in the Greek and Latin), into e or i, which, in consequence of
its genesis from -di, yielded somewhat more resistance to re-
trenchment than the -i of the masculine resulting from -a^, and
which therefore maintained itself, in part, in the weakening -e, -i,
and in part actually dropped off; but the form -a rests (as in
Slav, -y, -e), on an interchange with the accusative, which fre-
quently took place in the old language, but which has deformed
the whole declension in the modern. This hypothesis is supported
by the nominative plural of the m-stems, which never contain -e,
but everywhere 4, a circimistance which points to an earher -i
generated from -ie or -ii. The class -distinctions are completely
obHterated in the gen. plur. (without ending), dat. (^-aih and -ib
without distinction), and ace. plur.,^* which also often terminates
in -a in undoubted ^-stems, e. g., idharta (oblationes), seldom in
-I, as duli (res), epistli (epistolas).

If almost everywhere here, an invasion occurred of the most
numerous a-stems, the reverse appears to have taken place in
the accusative sing., which exhibits, almost without exception,
umlaut or a primitive i; only delb (imaginem) and nem (caelum)
point to an ending -an (an). Even if we were to assume that -a«
was changed, as in the Zend, into -en (in the consonantal declen-
sion we were led to an accusative -in or -en), the cause why this
degeneration did not befall the primitive -an of the feminine
rather than the -an of the masculine, would still remain unex-
plained. The m-stems partake of the above mentioned deformities
in the accusative singular, which terminates in -i instead of -e, and
in the accusative plural, which likewise ends in -i, on the other
hand the gen. sing, -e leads us back to the primitive -a of this case ;
the nominative plural -i appears to be formed according to rule,
except that all the end syllables are shortened. Accordingly,
instead of the forms to be expected, — which are somewhat as
follows :

^* [See Note 52, p. 100.]

On Declension in Irish. 103

Sing. Nom.

-a

-a

—

Ace.

•an

•^n

—

Gen.

-as

-a

-a

Dat.

-i

-i

>

Plur. Nora.

-i

-I

fC?)

Ace.

-as

-a

-a

Gen.

-an

-an

—

Dat.

-dbis

-aibs

-aib

-is

>s >

-in

)» >

-as

-d -a

-i

-i >

-is

-i -i

-is

"i -i

-ajan

-an -a

-ibis

-ibs -lb

.

-a (-0

-aib i-ib)

— we find the following actually occurring :
Singular . . — , ^ Plural

>_ (-)^
>.e (-a, o)

in whicli 2 represents the after-action of the retrenched i. The
same degeneration of the original forms occurs again, as may be ex-
pected, in the Modern Irish, where an cliolam (columba) fluctuates
in the gen. sing, and nom. plur. between na colaime and colama,
and even in the dat. sing, between do'n cholam and cJiolahne; it is
still further increased by the circumstance that the genitive has
also frequently thrown off the inflexion vowel, e. g. na hoigh from
an oigh (virgo). In general, however, the a-stems appear to have
assumed the ending -e; the i-stems on the other hand -a, e.g.: slat
(rod), gen. sing, and nom. plur. slaite; sgiath (wings), gen. sgeithe;
neamh (heaven), gen. neimhe; \)M%feoil (flesh), has however, gen.
sing, and nom. plur. /^oZa; and oigh, although in the gen. sing., it
has hoigh, in the plural it is na hogha. The fluctuation has even
passed over to the masculine, for ^as^ (fish) forms gen. ^wc, plur. £?zsc
or iasca; and sruth (scholar), in both cases smith or srotha. In the
Old Irish, the vocative has been already suppressed throughout in
the plural by the accusative ; in the singular there are only some
forms of the a- and a-stems preserved, e.g. fir from fire, as in
other languages ; duini from duinie; and among consonantal stems
the single one ath{a)ir in the Lord's prayer. We have already
found arguments in the Old Irish for a permutation of the accusative
and nominative. The consonantal n- and ^-stems sufifer likewise a
peculiar mutilation in the Old Irish. The secondary forms related
to anim (anima) ; gen. anrne, dat. and ace. anim, admit of being
explained from a vocahc fundamental form : not so the anomaly,
wliich not unfrequently occurs, that the nominative directly sup-
plants the dative and accusative. Examples: do foditiu (ad
tolerationem), do aurlatu (ad obedientiam), ace. aurlatu (obedi-
entla); compare also Pictet's observations (Beitrage zur verglei-
chenden Sprachforschung, I. 82 fll), where the reverse is like-
wise proved. The circumstance that, in the Modern Irish, there is
mostly (except in the anlaut) no difierence to be found between
the nominative and dative singular, agrees with the foregoing ;
it consequently appears that the accusative first coalesced with
the nominative, and then the dative. The language is, therefore,

104 Celtic Studies.

in a fair way to lose all its inflexions like the Kymric dialects,
and first of all the genitive plural, whicli now is most like the
nom. sing. ; — properly speaking, only the gen. sing, and plur. and
dat. plur. are yet retained : indeed the latter has been already de-
prived of its ending in the article, in the same way as the adjec-
tives have lost all their inflexions. The decision as to the origin of
the modern forms of the consonantal stems is rendered more diffi-
cult by this phenomenon. Only few still correspond to the old
form, thus hreitheamh (judex), gen. breitheamhan, nom. plur.
hreitheamhuin^ with brititem, gen. britheman, nom. plur.
BRiTHEMAix. DoHeamh (butler), for example, deviates already in
the gen. daileamhuin, from dalem (caupo), gen. ddleman. The
majority have aflixed -e or -a either in the nom. plur. or in both
cases, and it is diflicult to decide wlietlier we arc to look upon this
as a simple trans^ition into the vocalic declension (as in New High
German hrunnen^ instead of hrumi), or whether the nom. in -a
is not really an accusative; probably the accusative form first
passed into that of the nominative, and that then the genitive
singular followed the analogy of the nominative plural now
appearing vocalic. A striking example oi' this mixture of forms
is aflbrded by cu (canis) ; gen. con (perfectly normal), or cuin {a-
stem) ; dat. com (normal); nom. plur. co??>a (accusative foiin), or con
(spurious formation), or coin (normal) ; gen. cu (mutilated), or con
(normal) ; dat. conaibli. The nominative plural oAliara from athair
(father), has assumed the accusative form, and thereby got the ex-
ternal appearance of a vocalic stem, which has succeeded the gen.
sing, athara (together with the primitive atltar); side by !?ide with
them foims with -ach have been introduced ; e. g.: aithreach (as in
Old Irish cathtr).^^ The application of the suflix -adh (compare
denmid, denmada, or tenga, iengad), as an inflexion-copulative, is
new; e. g.: in the plural bogadha (for bogJia, how), coui^idered
also by Pictet {Op. cit. 128) to be anew formation ; but, perhaps,
it may help us to an explanation of the Kymvic pliu-al forms.

The Kymric, on which we must in conclusion cast a glance,
has preserved nothing more of its whole inflexions, even in the
oldest documents, than the sign of the plural, but this it employs
very arbitrarily: compare ti'inteib (tres lilli) with meibion, melbon,
and tyreu (turres) with i//roed. Obviously, as in the New High
German, this is of three kinds: either the old plural form re-
mains, consequently true inflexions, as bruder, giUle, fische, from
the Gothic brothrjus, gaslels, jUlws; or the dropped oft" ending
of the stem in the singular has disappeared behind the gramma-

^^ [xxx. Aiihi-each is simply due to a passage over to the c-declension. So
in Early Middle Irish we have mainisiir (from monaster ium\ making its gen. sing.
manestrech. Zeuss, xxviii."j

On Declension in Irish. 105

tical ending, as in mannen^ where the -an of the Gothic manna
(stem mannan), which has vanished in the singular, has been
preserved, while the proper ending, the s of mannans, has been
dropped ; or a suffix (determinative), wholly foreign to the stock,
like the German -er in eier, to which true inflexion-endings were,
at an earlier period (Anglo-Saxon dgru), attached, but which,
after their loss (as in the Old High German nom. eigir)^ exactly
occupies the place of the ending, like German lander instead of
lande^ except in the dative plural.

To the first kind belong : 1, the Kymric plurals without end-
ings, and with umlaut, such as Welsh llygeit — Corm^ legeit
(oculi) ; Welsh s^{??^= Armoric sent (sancti) ; Welsh cliivaer (soro-
res), from chwior; ^rae^ = Cornish treys, Armoric treid (pedes),
from troet, Cornish troys^ Armoric troad, — or without umlaut, as
tridyn (tres homines), telr morwyn (tres puellae). All these
forms have lost an -e, probably a primitive -i or -is (-wf),
and consequently may be compared to the Gaedhelic forms
such as maicc (fllii), to which the Welsh meib, or traigid, the
Kymric traet, treys, treid correspond; for instance, the mascu-
line verbals in -iat, -lad, pi. -ieid, such as guiliat, are parallel
to the Gaedhelic in -i, pi. -id (fdid) (see above). 2. The plurals
in i, such as meini (lapides), from maen, Corn, esely (mem-
bra) = Armoric ysily, from esel, appear to correspond to the
Gaedhelic -i (in ia- and feminine stems) ; but interchanges occur,
however, such as Cornish meyn, Armoric mein, alongside of
Welsh meini, and this even in the same dialect, e. g. : Cornish tell,
and also tylly (foramina), from tol, which do not allow a strict
separation to be effected. As further instances may also be ad-
duced llestri, Cornish, and Armoric, llstri, which represent
Gaedhelic *lestir, while on the other hand dyn is the Gaedhelic
dolni. 3. Finally, the plurals in -au and -iau with their different
formations (Zeuss, 290, 122), also belong oiiginally to this
category; e. g. tyreu (turres), Cornish defhyow = AYmov[G dizlou
(dies) ; -au appears to have belonged originally to the w-stems,
the verbals in -at {-iat), -ad, pi. -adau also correspond to the
Gaedhelic abstracts (Infinitive) in -ad, -ud, which take -a in
plural, so that -au admits of being very well explained from the
Sanskrit -avas. Pictet's (op. cit, p. 135) comparison with the
Sanskrit -as, which changes into -6 before sonants, although
adopted by Bopp and Kulin also, is certainly erroneous. But
afterwards confusion came in here likewise, so that we see -au
exactly like the Slavonian -ov and the Greek -ev and other
detenninatives applied to other stems also, and hence even to -iau.
Besides, all three suffixes occur in both genders, so that perhaps
the -i of the feminine may confirm the above assumed Gaedhelic
fundamental form of the nominative plural.

106 Celtic Studies.

The second kind embraces w-stems, such as the apparently ano-
malous ki (canis), the plural of which is in Welsh, gun, cwn^
Cornish ken, and which corresponds exactly with the GaedheHc
CM, plur. cuin (the Gaedhelic u is the Kymric ^); and ?/cA = ox,plur.
y chain (ancient, ychen) =.oxen — further, Welsh brawt, which has
lost its final r, plur. hrodyr (Cornish brand and broder^ while in
the Armoric sing, breur, breer^ the d has yielded, plur. breuder).

Kuhn (p. 595) wished also to include under the third category
the -an of gen. cluasan (the ears), but in tliis word it belongs
undoubtedly to the third, as cluas is evidently the old stem,
which, in the beginning, was treated in the declension like dis.
To the third kind belong the following: 1. Many plurals in -au,
'iau, in which the ending is foreign to the word-stem proper, such
as penneu (capita), stem pinna (or pz?2^a) =r Gaedhelic cinna, from
which nom. cenn, dat. ciunn, or breicheu (brachia), stem breich,
instead of brechi ; 2, most words in -ion (or -on), e.g.: deneon,
dynyon (homines), from the stem dini (instead of dinia, as the
Gaedhelic duine shows), or meibion (fihi), along with which appear
likewise after numerals the forms meib, dyn, and all Welsh plural
adjectives, e.g. meirwon, along with meirw, from marw (mortuus)
= Gaedhelic marb, plural mairb (moirb). The -n consequently
takes exactly the same place here as in the German adjectives
and many feminines. 3. The endings -et, -ot, -ieit, -eit^ and -ed, yd,
oed, which otherwise occur as derivatives, and in this respect have
been already compared above with the Gaedhelic -ad, -id, likewise
join many stems as determinatives, in which respect they are
parallel with the -ad, in Irish bogadha, already compared, if I do
not err, by Kuhn. (Both forms are related to one another, as
Xfip'^T is to iXiriS in the Greek.) Compare the following words
in -t: merchet (filiae), from merch (is this identical with Li-
thuanian, merga ?), Cornish denys (homines), Armoric bretonet
(Britanni) with those in -ed : Welsh, bydoed (mundi) from byt =
Irish bith, Cornish e/e^/i = Armoric aelez (angeli). On the other
hand, the favourite suffix of the Gaedhelic -adh is not employed
as a determinative in Kymric.

In the representation of my results, I have altogether followed
the same analytical method ^hich I had struck out in the inves-
tigation itself, in order to render the verification easier to the
reader. Many things will require completion and correction. On
the whole, I hope that the results obtained will show themselves
to be correct.

2. ON THE ARTICLE IN MODERN IRISH.

IN the modern Irish article an, about the relation of which to
the old int, ind, I could not hitherto come to a satisfactory-
conclusion, I now recognize, with certainty, an intinision of the

tas

f

On the Article in Modern Irish. 107

neutral form, as tlie most colourless and weakest, precisely as the
Middle Higli German had formed to its neuter daz a masculine
and feminine der, diu, and the Lithuanian and Slavonian (to to) its
tas, ta, tUy ta. The English use of that (pronoun) and the (article)
" r all genders is especially important in this respect.^

It is a fact worthy of attention, but one hitherto scarcely
ticed, that, besides the coarser, I may say the material, action
languages upon one another, which shows itself in the evident
borrowing of words and forms, a finer, a more spiritual influence is
exerted. Again, that certain words, without being borrowed, are
preserved hving and active, by the neighbourhood of other lan-
guages, and that many forms of thought and sound, words, ex-
pressions, conversational phrases, attach themselves, so to say, to
the soil. A comparative syntax would bring many examples of
tliis kind to light, especially in the languages which have grown
up on Celtic ground, and determine how much may be ascribed
to accident, and how much to intellectual influences. In the
Phonology, for example, the Kymric ui, oi, representing the
Gaedhelic ^ (even in loan-words like cera, W. 2. kuyr, 3. kwyr,
Cornish V. coir, Armoric coar) is parallel with the French o^,
representing the Latin e (avoir —habere) ; again, the Celtic action
of the final sound on the following word is parallel to the for-
ward attraction in les amis, etc. Among the words and word-
forms which have been preserved on Celtic ground, we may
mention: English, witness =z Gaedhehc fiadnisse (testimonium),
and the English names in -ton, along with the Gaulish in -dunum.
Of importance in the Syntax are: the French intercalation of
the pronoun in je faime, je ne faime pas, as in both branches of
the Celtic; the French c'est moi and the English it is me=
Gaedhelic isme; the English leaving out of the relative in, the
man (whom) 1 saw, as in the Gaedhelic. Now, in this respect the
English that, the, for all genders, are not without importance for
the Celtic also, and permit us to conclude, that in the Modern Irish
an fear for the Old Irish in fer, an analogous process has taken
place. The relative an (a, no, n) appears to belong to the same
stem ; we may compare the fluctuation between the relative and
the demonstrative in the Homeric language, the peculiar use of
the Old Persian A?/a, which Bopp also,^^ as I myself did,^^ now
looks upon as an article, and our antiquated relative so.

^^ [xxxi. This is an ingenious error. The neut. article is quite lost in
Middle Irish, and the Modern Irish article an {an t before a vocalic anlaut),
bears the same relation to the Old Irish in (int) that the Modern Irish preposition
an (written a n-) does to the Old Irish in ; or the Modern Irish interrogative par-
ticle an does to the same particle in the Old Irish, viz., in. But here, as elsewhere,
more is to be gained from Ebel's mistakes than from many another man's truths.
The relative an, a, is doubtless identical in form with the neut. article =*sa-n.']

*' Vergl. Gram. I. 473. 2nd Ed. ^^ Zeitschrift f. Vergl. Sp. v. 305.

108 Celtic Studies.

3. ON THE SO-CALLED PROSTHETIC 71.

Mr. Stokes, in liis valuable observations on the Irish declen-
sion, has agreed with my remark, that the n of the inflexion has
been preserved in teora nguttae, and here and there also
besides the article, and has communicated several examples.
Zeuss, curiously enough, has altogether misunderstood this w,^^
and everywhere looked upon it either as a superfluous addition
or as a shorter form of the article, e. g., before atle, although
there it appears only in the nom. neut. and ace. sing, and gen.
plur. of all of the three genders, — often in combinaiions where
no article is possible. As a relic of the article I have met with
this n, only in very few places, and then as the remains of the
shortest forms: ax (a-x-) in tresngne, Z. 611, where the e of
TRES still indicates an a di'opped out, and Ni epur nisin (non
dico hoc, instead of anisin) 352; in (ace. dual) in etarxdi-
RAiNN 278, 614, probably as gen. dual in cechtarnai, nkch-
NARXAi i)Q'd (compare the plur. innan ai). The n in lasin
NGUTAT (instead of lasinx gutai) 619, 1017. The most of the
other examples are clear enough. I shall give here some proofs,
which may easily be increased. Nom. and ace. neut. folad /iAiLL,

OLCC nAILL, J)ES.(i.e., DESIMRECHT) WAILL, TROXOMEN 71AILL 363,
IMBELRE 7iAILL 580, MOR WAMRI 596, 889, GRAD ^EPSCUIP 1048,

AM. XACH AxxsE nBuiB (ut nou diflicile vobis) 703, huare

ISDILMAIX TiDOCHECHTAR 369, AXD:^DE mSIU 319, 704, AXUA-
THATH 7dsiV 353, AXDLlGED JllsiU 353, MOOR 72IMXITH 21, MoR

nuiLE 609, 889, dligeth wimmogxama 984, cach ?;iBELRE 489,

FRI OACHrtAE 319, MIXD ^ABSTALACTE 229, RAD TtBt 55, ATA
DECHOR 71AIMSTRE 1037, ATA DECHOR r/ETARRU 374, ISSAIX CACH-

72AE (previously: ilsexmax) 367, dered wbetho 985, is-fuath

yiEPERTA 985, SAIXRETH 72AXMMAE 1025, ARACUMACTTE ^^AXGID

xi ARMISOM ARCHUMACTTE ([nam] potestatem ncquam non nume-
rat ipse pro potestate) 247, nifail xach waiccidjt (non est
ullum accidens) 1016, xicumscaichthi cumacht^ ?iAiRi (non
mutanda potcstas propterea) 1015, xi fitir imorro olc ?ietir
(nescit autcm malum omnino) 1003, laa jV/bratha 479, allaithe

nDEDENACHDlUD [no doubt ALLAITHEX DEDEXACH DIDDirdie

extreme (ace. temp.) in line] 316, isnoichtkch re ;?iuil (est
undetricenale spatium Julii) 1075, isgxath gag et fir ha'sd
359. So also : arindi atreba toxal 7iAXD 359 ? Ace. masc. co rig
h ILAINGLECH Colmaus hymn — Lib. Hymn. 10 (to the many
angel'd king), according to a friendly communication of J\lr.
Stokes, COFER nAiLE Z. 884, marudbaitsius xach«aile 434,

^^ [xxxii. Not so. See Zeuss G. C, page 263, where he conjectures that
the very form cited here by Ebel, teora n, may stand for teoran.']

On the So-called Prosthetic n. 109

^■tbith 7?uile 366, tresinnoedecde wuile 1074, fochosmuiliu3
iiADAiLCJE 481, INFOGUR nisiN 1014, Without the article besta-
TiDwisiN 611, AES wESCi 1074 (three thnes), nifail chumscdgud

JiHUIRDD AND 369, TAR RECHT ?/AICNID 613 RECUT 7ZIMBIDI 229,

LETH 7iG0TH0 1013 (consefjuently leth is also masc. like recht),

CONROIGSKT DIA 7/AIRICI13SI 1076, AIRTHECH. CACHGUT.E AGUTH
7aNDI 966, TODDIUSGAT GUTH WIXTTU 1017, CEN RIAN ?iETROM

616. So albo no doubt: nach uail^ 368, toiniud ^uressach 229,
NERT ?iAixMNEDO 975, ATTLUGUD mBUiDE 1048 (the acc. instead
of the dat.?), cach?/oen crann 999? I am not quite certain of
the gender in: fri cdmtach nECOLSO 260, cumtach wirisse

1045, ECOSC 71ABSTAL 585, TAIBRTTH ATEICHTE UDOIB (nO doubt

neuter) 56. Acc. fern, fricach ??aimsir 367, cech ??aidche
(instead of aidchi) 888, isarnach 7?indocbail moir 2i52^ hi cach
?iDEiLB 7 HI CACH TARMORCENN 367 (translated by Zeuss as the

dat.), I TERSIN 71AILL 363, FRIRAINN UAUA 608, CEN GUTAI W.E-

TARRU 1017; also doubtless: roscarsam frib denus mBEicc

310, HIRES WABARCHE 229, SERC TJDEE 55 (just aS NE3I, DELB

occur in the acc), gen alpai wetarru 616,^" frialpai jidesiu
595. Gen. plur. masc. innamball ?iaile 229, fern, na liter
71AILE 1012, liter waile 1012, neut. anman nADiECHT 433.

Some spurious propositions, it would appear, may be recognized
as accusative forms 1 )j the n, most distinctly taresi in : u. tar-
HESi ni (u for i) 1012, olcc taresi ?iUiLCC 617, but indegaid
also: indegaid nm: 619, indegaid ?zgutt^ 1013, and dochum:
DOCHUM iiDtE 620, DOCHUM «iRissE 461 (bis).

The n of ainm-n belongs to the stem in: ainm wapstil 229,

AIN3I WHETHA 255, AINM JlGNt^SO 975, AINM WDILES 1025,

DOBERR AINM iiDOiB 457.*^^ According to this my observation
(p. 89), " probably derived, however, fronii m^ and not formed
from a primitive «", must consequently be cancelled, and the
single example with an aspiration ainm thriuin Z. 249, con-
sidered as an irregularity.^^ As yet I have failed in finding for
the masculine and feminine 7?-stems an example of the aspiration,
or of a mortified s,/; I have also, however, nowhere found an n;
it consequently appears as if the neuter only preserved the n as
in the Latin and Slavic, *anmen like nomen and ime, while the
masculine and feminine dropped it ; *britiiema like homo and

KAMY.

^•^ According to Stokes (Beitriige zur vergleichenden Sprachforschung I. 468)
the n of ALPAi-N and inrindlde-n belongs to the stem.

^' See last note.

®^ [xxxiii. The n in ainm napstil does not belong to the stem, but (as in
pronomen naill cited by Ebel himself, supra) is simply an example of the
natural tendency to prefix after all neuters in the nom. and acc. sing, an n {m
before 6) to the following adjective, if this begin with a vowel or a medial.]

110 Celtic Studies.

The n is much less clear in cechtarnai, nechtarnai Z. 369
(which I consider to be a relic of the gen. dual of the article in,
on account of dochechtar nhai, evidently the dative, and of the
genitive plural innan ai), sliab nossa 888 (perhaps ace. ?), sirid
iNRiNDiDE NUiLE (scc note 60) 366, 586, arbertar as noen

TARMOIRCIUNN 592, far NOENDEILB 670, AM. INLOCHAIRNN

NAFFRACDAi 676, whcrc it appears to be in part actually er-
roneous; coTiR NEREND 74, appears to indicate a change of
gender (comp. recht, leth, nert) ; even there, however, Zeuss
also gives fir nerend (viri Hiberniae) with a problematical n.
There is probably a threefold preposition do-air-in contained

in TAIRNGIRE, DURAIRNGERT, DORAINGRED Z. 56, 868; in the

same way that con became mutilated in frecndirc £cndirc.

But, very remarkably, the n appears very often after verbal
forms; mostly, perhaps exclusively, in dependent sentences,
frequently after the so-called relative : aswoindae inspirut 360,

ASWED 675, AM. ASnt ASSPLENDOR 333, ASniRESS 456, ASWOIPRED

476, AM. As?iiNDEDUR 580, ORE AsnDiUL 703, c:^iN bas??ib:6o
infer 230, 675, hore as?lamairessach 705, lasse bas nuain
(nuair?) do 229, as?idirruidig[the] anainmsin 266, ammi
weulig 252, consechat tlulgu 457, ata tianman sidi 894, ni
cumcat camaiph ille 7 iste beta waithfoilsigthecha dondi
as ipse 667, intain bes winun accobor lenn 603.^^

Notwithstanding that several examples still remain unex-
plained, the preponderating majority show quite clearly, never-
theless, that the n is prosthetic, if at all, only in exceedingly
few cases; for instance, the forms assumed by Zeuss, naill,
NAILE, NAiLi, NisiN, nIsiu, and NAND for AND decidedly fall out.

4. ADDITIONS TO THE ARTICLE ON DECLENSION.

According to a communication of Mr. Stokes, that has reached
me through Professor Kuhn,^* the a-stems show in the Old Ogam
inscriptions not only the gen. in i — MAQVP^ (a form which ex-
plains by its qv not only the Kymric map, but also the Gaed-
helic masc. without aspiration), but also the nominative in -as
(CORPIMAQVAS— Cormac). This highly interesting form
may accordingly be placed by the side of /xapfcav, Pausanias, x. 19,
11, in which we are now justified in recognizing the true Gaulish
accusative of marcas* ( = gen. marc, w. 3, maj^cJi, plur. meirch).
The Ogam secondary forms in -os, show us at what a remote
period the obscuration of the a to o was already common. I

^3 May it be, that as in Greek, an v ^eKkvotikov existed ? Stokes also compares
am/tti-/i with iafikv.

^* [Published in the Beitriige z. t. Sp. i. 448.]

^^ [Given in Mr. Stokes' paper, " Bemerkungen uber die irischen declinationen"
— Beitr. z. v. Sp. i. 333.]

Additions to the Article on Declension. Ill

would not, with Stokes ,^^ deduce the length of the dat. plur. from

the single form sceldib, as even feminine a-stems fluctuate between

p-a6, -ib, aib, which indicates a short vowel; and the ia-stems

[variably show -ib, instead of the -ib to be expected.

That the neutral aill rests on a vocaHc fundamental form, the

or (i being di'opped (like Greek aXXo), as was already suspected

fp. 90), is confirmed by the mortification of the s in alaill sain,

According to an observation kindly communicated to me,
[r. Stokes now recognizes in Zeuss' Ordo posterior Ser. iv.,
iree kinds of stems, in -d, -t, and -nf. The latter, to which dinu,
idu, cava, ndma (ndmae), belong, correspond accurately to the
)articiples in -ant,^'' as, for instance, cara (from cairim, amo),
Jiadu) = vSdant — Stokes) ; dinu appears to be connected with the
Sanskrit root dhe (" suckling") ; cara and ndina likewise occur in
the nom. in Zeuss, who has mistaken the true relation, and led
me astray: imcara fd aescare (sive amicus, sive inimicus), 674,
831, and ba7inamae (inimica), together with the ace. bannamit
(hostem), 820, the ace. carit, 1055, 1062, escarit, 1056. These
stems appear to be of the common gender like the Latin participles.
On the other hand, the -it in nebcongabthetit stands no doubt er-
roneously for -ith (as generally in all abstracts). That traig is a
neuter appears to be confirmed by traig cethargarait, 1018 (Gl.
proceleusmaticum, consequently an ace.) ; it looks Hke a participle
(^ = Tpixov), but inflects the dat. plur. traigthib, ace. plur. traigid;
traigtliech (pedes, pedester), and traichtechdae, instead of triag-
thecJidae {Tp^destev), are derivational; the neuters have, therefore,
probably thrown out the n, and taken a weak form (traigthib =
tragitdbis). The Kymric troet, plur. tract appears to rest on
stem ' extension, — compare Welsh, 2. cilid, 3. cilyd, with
Gaedhelic cele; at least, a Kymric car, tan, stands parallel with
the Gaedhelic cara, tene, so that we have to look in the Kymric
forms rather for the nominative, than, as in the Roman lan-
guages, for the accusative (see further on). The comparison made
m the article on declension (p. 92) between the Kymric guiliat
and the Gaedhelic filed agrees with the explanation of Zeuss ;
see the emendations to pages 149 and 806, at the end of the
Grammatica Celtica.

I cannot as yet make up my mind to give up my former view
respecting the feminines in the Ordo Prior, Ser. 5 of Zeuss,
namely, that an almost complete fusion of the i- and a-steras
took place, and that only few relics of a purer separation of
foims have been preserved. Along with the ace. plur. in -i, to

«« [Idem, 336.] «7 ^Iso, Stokes' view, Beitr. i. 457.

112 Celtic Studies.

wMcli suli Z. 339, likewise belongs, there occur, however, forms
with -a from undoubted z-stems, as gahdla ; along with the
dative in -aih, forms occur in ib from a-stems, as airmib from
dram, sUbib from sliab; so that nmiib also does not prove a stem
*nami (the nom. nim along with nem, ace. nem, the adjective
7iemde= *'nimaiya and the Kymric nef appear to speak for *nimd,
which perfectly corresponds to the feminine of the adjective in the
Welsh, while i, u, fall out without umlaut in the Kymric ; further,
that nem- never occurs before the endings with e, i, but always
nim-; the gen. plur. nime is however remarkable). But I cannot
adopt Mr. Stokes' view about the gen. sing, in -e, -a ; for, in the
first place we should not start from Sanskrit -^s, but from the
fundamental form -ais (or ajas?), out of which -a (o), and -e
could be developed in the masculine stems ; but -7/ds is a special
pure Sanskrit form, which does not again occur in any European
language (for that ttoXewc is not to be explained from it, but
from *7roA£yo<,', is proved by the Homeric TroXriog, the unjustly
attacked masc. fiavrriog, and the neuter aarEwc, which, although
questioned, is a permanent form with the Tragic Poets) ; secondly,
because umlaut is as little known before a (o) among z-stems as
a-stems: compare JlatJia, Jlatho, or even focheda, fochodo; a
occurs even before -e in ergabale; we could not consequently
lay down as a basis any such form as -jas, and must, as I believe,
assume that the umlaut in both classes has only been introduced
inorganically with the change of the a into e.^^ The analogy of
the gen. plur., especially the invaluable nandula,^^ appears even to
speak in favour of our starting, both here and in the masculine of
Ser. III., from -ajas (not from -ais).

As regards the ^-stems, it appears to me more and more pro-
bable, that they have almost throughout passed, as in the Greek,
into the m-class (worvta) =patm, etc.

I have found the umlaut in the dative of the w-jstems, in
immognom, Z. 984.

III. Appendix.

TRANSLATION OF THE PART OF THE SECOND CHAPTER OF ZEUSS' GRAMMATICA
CELTICA CONCERNING THE INFLEXIONS OF THE NOUN IN IRISH, REFERRED
TO IN THE ESSAY OF DR. EBEL.

[One of the most remarkable featiires of Zeuss' work is the large number of
examples taken from MSS. which he has brought forward as the basis upon
which his grammatical canons are founded. Thus the examples given in the
part of the chapter here translated fill considerably more than thirty pages.
All these examples not being necessary for the purposes for which this transla-
tion was made, only a small selection of them has accordingly been given. Th

68 [See notes 51, 52.]

6^ [xxxiv. Dula is, unfortunately, only found in a Middle Irish MS. : in Old
Irish MSS. it is always either duh or duile.^

Appendix^ On the Inflexions of the Noun. 113

following are the abbreviations which Zeuss uses to distinguish the MSS. from

which each example has been borrowed : —

1— Sg.=Codex Pris(!iani SanctI Galli, No. 904 ; 2— Wb.=C. Paulinus Bib-
liothecae AVirziburgensis M. th. f. 12 ; 3— M1.=:C. Mediolanensis Bibliothecae
Ambrosianae C. 301; 4— Cr.=C. Bibl. Carlisruhensis, 83; 5— Pr. Cr.=C.
Prisciani Bibl. Carlisruh. 223 ; 6— Incant. Sg.=C. Sancti Galli, 1395 ; 7— Co-
dex Camaracensis, 619. Gl. signifies Gloss.]

(A) Declension.

In the old Irisli language, the nouns of which have preserved a
great variety of forms — in this respect far surpassing the Welsh even
of the same period — we find two orders of declension, of which the
first, on account of the prevalence of vowels in the inflections, may be
called the " vocalic", and the second, for a similar reason, the " con-
sonantal order". To the former belong the adjectives, which do not,
as in other languages such as the German and Sclavonic, possess pe-
culiar forms of their own ; substantives alone are found in the latter,
though in less number than in the first. In both orders the flexional
vowels are either exterior, apphed to the end of the word, or inte-
rior, placed immediately before the final consonant, whether it be a
radical or derived. There are, moreover, some anomalous nouns
differing from the usual forms of declension, and developing others
peculiar to themselves.

FIRST ORDER,

Substantives and adjectives of the masculine and neuter genders
agree in their declensions. Those of the feminine gender follow
their own forms. I shall give first a scheme of all the forms
of declension, which I call series, with examples of each ; and
then substantives and adjectives from the codices confirming the
forms of all the series here exhibited, or even such as present any of
their varieties,

DECLENSION OF NOUNS MoscuUne and Neuter,

Paradigms : I. — Cele (a companion). It has not appeared so neces-
sary to give derivative examples of this first series, such as echire (a
horseman, a muleteer?), tectire (an envoy), as of the follomng, on
account of the internal vowels inflected : II. hall (a member), pri-
mitive, tuisel (a case), derivative example. III. bith (the world), pri-
mitive, dilgud (forgiveness), derivative.

The neuter dififers so far from the masculine, that the accusa-
tive and vocative are formed like the nominative ; and, in the
plural number, the same three cases take their own flexions, dif-
ferent from the masculine, as will be rendered evident by
the examples v^hicli follow : —

I. Series. II. Series. III. Series.

Nom. cele baU tuisel bith dilgud

Gen. cell baill tuisil betho dilgotho

Dat. c^iu bauU tuisiul biuth dilgud
III. 8

4

Celtic Studies.

I

. Series.

II.

Series.

III.

Series.

Sing. Ace.
Voe.

cele
ceU

ball'^
baill

tuisel
tuisil

bith
bith

dllgud
dilgud

Plur. Nom.
Gen.
Dat.
Ace.
Voc.

celi

eele

celib

celiu

celiu

baill

ball

ballib

baullu

baullu

tuisil

tuisel

tuislib

tuislin

tuislui

betha

bithe

bithib

bithu

bithu

di'lgotha

dilguthe

dilguthib

dilguthu

dilguthu

DECLENSION OF NOUNS — Feminine.
Paradigms : TV. — ^ware (food). Y. rann (a part), primitive, hriathar
(a word), derivative.

rv. Series. V. Series.

Nom.

tuare

rann

briathar

Gen.

tuare

rainne

brethre

Dat.

tuari

rainn

brethir

Ace.

tuari

rainn

brethir

Voc.

tuare

rann

briathar

Nom.

tuari

ranna

briathra

Gen.

tuare

rann

briathar

Dat.

tuarib

rannib

briathrib

Ace.

tuari

ranna

briathra

Voc.

tuari

ranna

briathra

Sing.

Plur.

I. Series. — Of nouns externally inflected, and ending in -e,
wliich in the different cases becomes -e, -m, -ib. Neuter nouns in the
nom. ace. and voc. plural vary from -e to -i.

SINGULAR.

Nominative. — Substantive Masculine — cele (a companion, husband), Wb.
Sg., duine (a man), Wb. dalte (a disciple), etc.

Subs. Neut. (I give examples only of such as are met with the article),
anesseirge (the resurrection), Wb. 30^. atrede (trinitas), acetharde (four), Wb.
cumachtae (power), Sg. 6*.

Adjectives. Masculine, ceetnefer (first man), Wb. 7^ intathir nemde (the Hea-
venly Father), Wb. 4^; derivative adj. in de, te, the, are of frequent occurrence.

Adjectives. Neut. anuile (all), anuilese (all this), Wb. 16^, ni nnae hdo anatrabsiu
(this possession is not new to him). Ml. 17^.

Genitive. — Subst. Masc. corp induini (the man's body), Wb. 12*.

Subst. Neut. claar cridi (table of the heart), Wb. 15% comalnad sosceli (fulfil-
ment of the Gospel).

Adj. Mas. comalnad indhuili recto (fulfilment of all the law), Wb. 20*.

Adj. Neut. dinsid cetni diil (a^cvLsaXive of the first declension), Sg. 91^.

Dative. u occurs frequently instead of -iu.

Subst. Masc. do duiniu (to the man), Ml. 20^^, donduini Cto the man), Wb. 4^

Subst. Neut. dondediusin (to these two), Wb. 9*", hi farcridiu (in your heart ),
Wb. In esseirgu, in heseirgiu (in resurrection), Wb. 4^ 13^ iarnesseirgiu (after
resurrection), Wb. 3*.

Adj. Masc. donchoimdid nemdu(to the heavenly lord), Wlb. 27*^.

Adj. Neut yar cetnu diidl (in the first declensionj, Sg. 90^.

AccusATn^E. — Subst. Masc. imfolngi induine firian^ imfolngi induine sZan (facit
hominem justum, salvum), Wb. 4*.

Subst. Neut., ni dilgaid anancride (you forgive not the spite), Wb. 9 pred-
chimnii soscele (we preach the Gospel), Wb. 14.

Adj. Masc. lasinnathir nemde (with the Heavenly Father), Wb. 19*.

Appendix^ On the Inflexions of the Noun. 115

Adj. Neut. cen imdibe stdrtde (without bodily circumcision"), Wb. 2**.
Vocative. — Subst. and Adj. Mas. a iudidi (O Jew !), Wb. l*^. a mar ihormachtai
(gl. macte, magis aucte) Sg. 76*.

PLURAL.

Nominative. — Subst. Masc. comaiyi (co-heirs), Wb. 19".

Subst. Neut. e in Nom. and Ace, ataat ilchenele (there are many kinds),
Wb. 12d.

Adj. Masc. d€mmdni (heavenly gods), Sg. 39*.

Adj. neut., na accobra colnidi (the carnal desires), Wb. 20*'.

Genitive. — budid innammiled talmande (victory of the worldly soldiers), Wb.
11*.

Dative. — donab huilib doinib (to all men), Sg. 189^.

Accusative. — Subs. Masc. friarceiliu (against our companions ; i. e. against
others), Wb. 33'' ; eter doini (amongst men), Wb. 28^.

Subst. Neut. same as Nom. ; ruchualatar ilbelre (they heard many tongues),
Wb. 12^.

Adj. Masc. farnuili baullu (all your limbs), Wb. 3^.

Adj. Neut. na hidi dorigniussa (all that I have done), Wb. 24^.

Vocative. — No instances occur for this series in the MSS. Elsewhere, how-
ever the Voc. plural agrees with the Ace. ; and here it may be fixed for the
masc. -iu, and for the neut. -e, -i.

II. Series. — Internal inflection, wherein several cases, especiaUy the
Gen. Dat. sing, and Nom. plural, the signs of the cases — i and u either
accompany or suppress the final radical or derivative vowel. The
vowels which are most frequently so affected are a and e. A in those
cases either becomes ai (oi, ui) and au, or disappearing leaves the i
and u. But e with i and u becomes i and lu. The vowels o, o', a, of
more rare occurrence, and sometimes a in position, never admit of u
by their side, but with i they become oi (ui) 6i, di ; <?, for which eu is
sometimes met, with i becomes eiai, lui, eoi ; with u m ; 6i and di
are nowhere changed, Substantives and adjectives neuter take a
in the nom. ace. voc. plural.

SINGULAR.

Nominative. — Subs. Masc. inball (the limb), Wb. 12**. inmace (the son), Wb.
Sg. infer (the man), passim.

Subst. Neut. anaccobor (the will, desire^), Wb- 3**. anderbad (the certainty^,
Sg. 90^.

Adj. Masc. inspirut ndib (the Holy Ghost), Wb. 4*. derivatives in ach, ech are
very frequent.

Adj. Neut. atir romanach (the Roman land).

Genitive — Subs. Miisc. ainm thrmin (a hero's name), Sg. 96«i, di muntir
Ceasair (of the family of Cassar), Wb. 24*'.

Subst. Neut. imrhloud diill (change of declension), Sg. 31*'. recht haicnid (law
of nature), Sg. 217*'.

Adj. Masc. isinanmim inHjnrnto noib (in the name of the Holy Ghost).

Adj. Neut. asainreth indanJiia dilis (that is peculiar to a proper name).

Dative. — Subs. Masc. dondaum (to the ox^, Wb. 10^., dofiur, donfiur, do oen
fiur (to the man, to one manj, Wb 1U^ IP. 21''.

Subst. Neut. /ar cetnu diuil (in the first declension; diallj, Sg. 90*'.

Adj. Masc. on spirut noib (from the Holy Ghost^, Wb. 14*=. Adjectives in ach
are not changed : donbrdthir hiressnch (to the faithful brother^, Wb. 10**.

Adj. Neut. ar anmmaimm dilius (for a proper name), Sg. 27*.

Accusative. — Subst. and Adj. Masc. ar oen fer ffor one man), Wb. 4*'.

Subst. and Adj. Neut. ataidlech (the satisfaction), Ml. 23*. cen sdithur (without
labour), Wb. 27.

Vocative.— a yir (oh man !), Wb. 10*.

8b

116 Celtic Studies.

PLURAL.

Nominative. — Subst. Mas. adimmaicc (you are sons), Wb. 9*. Itcorp
inhoillsin (these limbs are a body), Wb. 3 ;

e is changed, as in gen. sing. : asherat mo heiuil (my lips say), Wb. 12**.

Adj. Masc. slain (saved, sldn), Wb. 28^. adib iressich (you are faithful), Wb.
\2\

Subst. and Adj. Neut. differ by the termination a : dtercitla (their prophecies ;
tercital) Ml. \^^.

Adj. Neut. cecha dethidnea domundi (all worldly cares), Wb. 3*^.

Final i is also met, especially in derivatives : itsaini inna rinn (there are dif-
ferent stars), Ml. isU (gl. sunk, stars) Cr. 18"^ ; isli doibsom itijechtsa innahi rup-
tar ardda dunnai (those [stars] are now low for them, which were high for us),
Cr. 18^

Genitive. — Subst. Masc. irchre flatho romdn (the decline of the Koman
Empire), Wb. 26*. Riagoil sengrec ([the] rule of the old Greeks ), Sg. 1*.

Subst. Neut. : airitiu na forcetalsin (the reception of these doctrines), Wb.

Adj. Masc. esseirge innanuile marh (the resurrection of all the dead), Wb. 13^. ;
indochdl inna noib innim (the glory of the saints in Heaven), Wb. 13'^.

Adj. 'Neut.foragab duaidinna anman adiecta cen tabairt anman trenfriu (David
assigned to them nouns adjective, without the addition of appellatives), Ml. 30*.

Datfv^e. — Donaib ballaib ailib (to the other members), Wb. 12'^.

Accusative. — Subst. Masc. far7iuili baullu (all your members), Wb. 3^.

Adj. Masc. la marbu (with the dead), Wb. 25^

Subst. and Adj. Neut., same as in the nom. fodaimimse imnetka (I suffer tribu-
lations), Wb. 23^.

Vocative. — Subst. and Adj. Masc. a RSinanu (oh Romans!), a Galatu hurpu
(oh foolish Galatians), Wb. 19'' ; aJudeu et geinti hireschu (oh Jews and faithful
Gentiles), Wb. 3*.

Adj. Neut. i7ina anman adiecta (the noims adjective). Ml. 30*.

III. Series. — Of nouns externally inflected, except the dat. sing., in
wliicli the internal u occasionally disappears. Endings pecnlar to this
series, besides w, ib dat. and u ace. and voc. plural, are : -o gen. sing, for
which a is of frequent, and e rare occurrence ; -a nom. pi., for which
-e and -i are met -with ; -e gen. pi. : neuter substantives do not take
an ending, but present their naked form in those cases of the plural
which differ from the masculine. I have met -with no adjectives of
this series, unless it happens that tualang, pi. tuailnge (gnari"''), be
one, Wb. 17^

singular.

Nominative.— Sub. Masc. bith (the world) ; mug (a slave), Wb. And deri-
vatives in as, chas, ad, id, thid, ud, igud.

Subst. Neut. atir (the Earth), Sg. 33*.

Genitive — M.as,Q.,imnetha inbetlio (tribulations of the world), Wb. 14^, mdrad
daggnimo (magnifying of a good deed), Wb. 6*.

Neut., ainm renda (name of a constellation), Sg. 73*. ,

Dative. — Masc, isinbiuthso (in this world), Wb. 12**, do mdrad doe (to the
magnifying of God), Wb. 15*=.

Neut., di thir (of tlie Earth), Wb. 9''.

Accusative. — Masc, tri den pheccad (through one sin), WT). 3*.

Neut., crenas tiir (who purchases land), Wb. 29*^.

Vocative. — I do not know an example of the vocative of this series.

PLURAL.

Nominative. — Masc. adib mogce (you are slaves), mogi sidi uili (these are all
5^° [Tualaing properly means able, competent.]

r

^■Tslaves'

Appendix^ On the Inflexions of the Noun. 117

slaves), Wb. S**. 7^. The ending i is only found in sub. masc.in -tW, -thid:
foglimthidi (disciples).

Neut., itsaini inna rinn (there are different stars), Ml.

Genitive. — log apecthe (the reward of their sins), Wb. I**.

Dative. — diamogaib (to his slaves), Wb. 22'*.

Accusative. — Mas., 7ia ddnu diadi (the divine gifts). Wb. 28''.

Neut., inna mind (gl. insignia, celebramus nostras redemtionis), Cr. 41",

Vocative. — Does not occur ; by analogy, bithu, gnimu, etc.

IV. Series. — Of nouns fern, externally inflected, ending in -e and
-I, and, therefore, corresponding to mas. and neut. nouns of the first
series in -e, -i, and -u.

singular.
Nominative. — Masc. : lane, lance (fulness), Wb. 26'*, 27% firinne, (truth),
Wb. 2'*.
A6'].Jirinne rectide (righteousness of the law).
Genitive. — Maicc soilse (sons of light), Wb, 25".
Adj. hifoirciunn na cetnae rainne (at the end of the first part), Sg. 18^.
Dative.— Subst. cofailti (with joy), Wb. 24**.

Adj. iconiairbirt nuidi (in understanding the [New Testament]), Wb. 3".
Accusative — Subst: cenfirinni (without truth), Wb. 2*.
Adj. tresinfuil spirtaldi (through the spiritual blood), Wb. 20**.

PLUBAL.

Nominative. — Subst. cit sochudi (though there be many), Wb. 4'*.

Adj. inna ranna aili (the other parts), Sg. 22*.

Genitive. — Subst. do airbirt biuth inna tuaresin (to enjoy this food), Wb. 10".

Adj. etarcne naruun diade (knowledge of the divine mysteries), Wb. 26".

Dative. — Ibartolaib [Inbartolaib ?] marbdib (in your mortal wills), Wb. 3^

Accusative. — Subst. inna lobri (the infirmities), Wb. 6".

Adj. adciamni na runa diadi (we perceive the divine mysteries), Wb. 12".

V. Series. — Of nouns fern, inflected both externally and internally,
and corresponding at once to Series II. and III. mas. and neut. Special
vowel endings are : -e in gen. sing., -a in nom. and ace. pi. ; besides
internal -i in dat. and ace. sing., if the last syllable admit of the in-
sertion.

singular.

Nominative — Subst. (of frequent occiu'renceinthe codices): ess, tress (faith),
nem (Heaven), lam (the hand), etc.

Adj. also numerous : sere mor (great love).

Genitive. — Subst. tuag nime (rainbow), Sg., 107''.

Adj., airde serce more insin (this is a sign of great love), Wb. 24".

Instead of -e, the regular case-ending, -o and -a occur (or vice versa -e for -o,
-a in Series III. mas. and neut.), whether by affinity or dialectical variety; luct
inna cecolsa (those who are of the church), Wb.

Dative. — Subst., isindinducbdilsin (in tliis glory), Wb. 4", isinbliadinsin (in
this year), Cr. 32^.

Adj., laim deiss (on the right hand), Sg. 17^

Accusative, — Subst., iri hiris (through faith), Wb. 2", pridchossa hiris (I
preached the faith), Wb. 7\fri toil de (against the will of God), Wb. 4",yri etdil
(against Italy), Wb. 6'*.

Adj., isarnach nindocbdil moir (it is for every great glory), Wb. 23**.

Vocative. — A ndib ingen (oh holy virgin !), gL marg. Sg. 112*.

PLURAL.

Nominative. — Subst., lama et cossa (hands and feet), Wb. 12^, na bretha (the
Gudgments), Wb. 17^ inna ranna (the parts), Sg. 22*, 26^, na briathrasa (these
words), Wb. 28" ; -e and -i also occur in many, as the result of assimilation ;

118

Celtic Studies.

octhdelhce andsom (gl. sunt formge octo), Sg. 166*, na litre (the letters), Sg. 10»,
inhertar epistli udin (shall the letters be sent from us ?), Wb. 15*, athissi (gl. con-
flictiones; sing. nom. aithiss, Wb. 13^ compos ut iress?) Wb. 29^ teora bliadm
(three years), Cr. 32^.

Adj. in -a: heisti oka (evil monsters, or reptiles), Wb. 3W Adj. in -i: itne-
phchumscaichti na teora litreso (these three letters are unchangeable), Sg. 10*.

Genitia^e, — Subst., etarcne naruun (knowledge of the mysteries), Wb, 26*.

Adj., inna teora liter (of the three letters) Sg.

Dative. — lid Idmaib (from hands), Wb. 9*, donaib teoraib personaib uathataib
(of the three persons singular), Sg. 186*.

Accus'ATivE.— Subst., adciamni na runa (we perceive the mysteries), Wb. 12%
fri tola inhetho (against worldly desires).

Adj., nigette {nigente^'\ na britheinnachta becca (you would not form slight
judgments;, Wb. 9^

Subst. and Adj. in-i; acosmiligmer dull ecsaml{(we compare things dissimilar)
Sg. 211*.

Vocative. — ni riccim forless a chossa (I require not your aid, oh feet!),
Wb. 12*.

SECOND ORDER.

Nouns of this class end for the most part in consonants, or rather
have such endings as, being originally, no doubt, derivatives, show
traces of an internal derivative inflection, with the mutable vowels a,
e, and i preceding them. The final consonants are the liquids 7?i, w, r,
and the mutes d, ch, which with the internal vowels form a series of
terminations — ir, ar, ir; in, an, in; id, ad, id, etc. One of the sub-
stantives in -m and -m, which I place first, developes certain special
forms. If e obtain instead of a, two divisions are made : (a) an, in,
ad, id; (b) en, in, ed, id. Which discrepancy of vowels can scarcely
be ascribed to assimilation, in the face of such forms as senman,
menman, foirbthetad, orpamin, and others.

Examples of the liquid series (I.) (II.) (HI.) : ainm (a name), heim
(a stroke), menme (the mind), ditu ditiu (a roof), athir (a father).

Examples of the mute series (IV.) (V.) druid (a Druid), cathir (a
town).

I. Series. II Series. III. Series.

(

r

\

/<*-\-^

a.

b.

a.

\>.

Sing. Nom.

ainm

beim

menme

ditiu

athir

Gen.

anma

heme

menman

diten

athar

Dat.

anmim

bemim

menmin

ditin

athir

Ace.

ainm

beim

menmin

ditin

athir

Plur. Nom.

anman

bemen

menmin

ditin

athir

Gen.

anmau

bemen

menman

diten

athre

Dat.

anmanib

bemnib

menmanib

ditnil

)

athrib

Ace.

anman

bemen

menmana

ditne

athm

IV. Series.

V. Series.

f ^ — \

< —

^>

Sing.

Nom.

druid fiU

cathir

Gen.

druad filed

cathrach

Dat.

druid filid

cathir

Ace.

druid filid

cathrich

Plur.

Nom.

druid filid

cathrich

Gen.

druad filed

cathrach

Dat.

druidib filidib

cathrichib

Ace.

druida fileda

cathracha

Appendix^ On the Inflexions of the Noun. 119

I. Series consists of some substantives in /m, wi, taking in the gen.
sing, -a or -e; in the dat. -im^ with duplicated m ; and in the plural
either an or e/z, these two endings forming two distinct classes. In the
first (a), the noun nuim, of constant occurrence, is proved to be of the
neut. gender, from the passage (Sg. o^) : ashclirruidig. anainmsinJ^ (this
noun is derived). Of the same gender, no doubt, are all other nouns
of this form. Of the second class (b) but few examples occur, and these
not uniform. There is no instance of a vocative in this or any of
the other series.

SINGULAR.

NoM. — (a) ainm, ainmm (a name), Wb. Sg. passim.

(b) beim (a blow), ingrehn (persecution), Wb. IS*^.

Gen — (a) indanma dilis (of the proper name), Sg. 26*', (b) no example found
in codices.

Dat. (a) isinanmim inchoimded ihu. cr. (in the name of the Lord J. Ch.),
Wb. 9«.

(b) ocmingraimmaimse (at my persecution), Ml. 33*.

Ace (a) cen ainm (without a name), Sg. 211*.

(b) ni agathar dingreim (his persecution is not acted), Wb. 1*.

PLURAL.

NoM. — (a) asbertar ananmon (their names are mentioned), Wb. 28*.
(b) bemen digle (the strokes of revenge), Wb. 17^.
GEN.=^(a) diall nanmann (declension of nouns), Sg. 27*.
(\))foditiu nan ingremmen (endurance of the persecutions), Wb. 23".
Dat. — (a), inanmanaib lait. (in Latin names), Sg. 6* ; (b) no example known ;
b€mnU> in the table is, therefore, hypothetical.
Ace. — (a) tre anman (by nouns), Sg. 29*.

II. Series. — Consists of nouns taking in the oblique cases an, in, and
in en, whence two divisions. To the first belong derivatives in -mm,
-man, -mn (which is reduced, however, in the nominative to -me, or -m
only), and nouns of later derivation in -la which also in the nom. be-
comes -m, -w. In the oblique cases singular, likewise, especially the
dative, other curtailed forms are found by the side of the fuller.
These fuller forms of derivatives appear in the case of secondary
derivatives: menmml/l (gl. dissensiones, from the sing, menmniche;
menme), Wb. IS*", hritheninacht, hrithemnact (judgeship), Wb. &*.
hrithemandu (gl. judiciali, from the nom. brithemande ; brithem),
Ml. 26^ anmanda (pertaining to the soul ; anini), Wb. 13^. talmande
(pertaining to the earth ; talam), Wb. S'^. noidenacht (infancy ;
noidiu, an infant), Wb. 24^^. caintoimtenach (Avell-thinking ; toimtiu),
Ml. 31^ ermituech (gl. reverens; erraitiu), Ml. 32\ For the vowels
a. e, I add brdtharde, brotherly, from brdtldr.

To the second division (b) of this series belong numerous nouns in
tu, derived from verbs (tu for tiu, not to be confounded with mas-
culines in -tu, gen. -tad, of the fourth series, and derived from adjec-
tives). There are other feminines of the second class in -tiu, and in
siu, derived also from verbs. In the first division are met both mascu-
lines, as, brithem, and feminines, as, talam, anim.

'* [Uncontracted form ashdirruidigthe anainmsin.'\

120 Celtic Studies.

SINGULAR.

NoM. — (a) isheo indanim (the soul is liying) Wb. 4*.
(b) toimtiu (supposition), Wb. 23*.
Gen. — (a) roscfornanme (eye of your soul), "Wb. 21*.
(b) dUged remcaissen, dliged remdeicsen, (law of Providence), Ml. 19**.
I) AT. — (a) inim et ialam, inim et il.alam (in Heaven and Earth), Wb. 21*.
(b) oc tuiste duile (at the creation of the elements, i.e., of the world), Wb. 5".
Ace. — (a) accobor lammenmuin (desire in the mind), Wb. Z^.
(b) nerild ar/rescsinni (he strengthens our hope), Wb. 5^.
The final iu, u of the nom. seems to have disappeared from some nouns in t^
as, fortacht (help), bendacht (benediction), Sg.

PLURAL.

NoM. — ^a) matuhe ata horpamin (if these be heirs), Wb. 2^
(6) derbaishdisin (the very pronunciations), Sg. S"*.

Gen. — (a) do ice anman sochuide (for the salvation of many souls), Wb. 24'*.
(Z>) dedliguth innan iltoimddensin (in right of these several opinions), Sg. 26^.
I) AT. — (a) diarnanraanaib (for our souls), Wb. 24^*.
(h) huajoisiinib (from confessions), Sg. 33'\

Ace. — (a) aforciial iccas corpu et arjiiana (the doctrine which heals bodies and
souls), Wb. 30^.
(6) for genitne (gl. by genitives), Sg. 45a.

III. Series. — Of nouns of relationship, mas. and fern, in -i'r, there
is but one class, as e never occurs for a in the interior.

SINGULAR.

NoM. — Athir (father), mathlr (mother), hrdthir (brother), Wb. Sg. passim.

Gen. — BrdtJiir alhar (gl. father's brother), Sg. 56*.

Bat.— Donda/Jiir (to the father), Wb. 13''.

Ace. — Lasinnaildr nemde (with the Heavenly Father), Wb. 19*.

PLURAL.

NoM. — No instances in the codices, aihir by analogy.

Gen. — 3faic indegoid anaihre (sons after their fathers), Wb. 30^

Dat. — Uambraiihrib (from their brothers), Wb. 33^^.

Ace. — Does not occur. I supply mas. aihru, brdthru — fem. mdthra.

IV. Series. — Of derivatives in -/c?, forming in the oblique cases with
the mutable internal vowels two divisions (a) ad, id; (h) ed, id. To the
first belong very frequent nouns in -«, shortened fi'om -id, as -w, -iu,
from -in as above. The ending id, has been preserved only in the word
druid, in the others becoming -e, as : ienge (a tongue), ume (brass). The
terminations of the second class have also become in the nom. -iu, -i,
or -e. The full form of the derivatives here also, as in the second series,
appears in nouns and adj. of secondary derivation: filedacht (poetry;
fill, g^n. filed), Sg. 213'*; oigedaclit (hospitality), ogiWh. 26'' ; to which
I add, Temdon (tene, tened), a GauHsh topographical name. Further
traigiliecli (gl. pedester ; traigid, Wb.) Sg. 38'', 50''.

The nouns of both divisions are masculine.

SINGULAR.

NoM. — (a). Abstract Nouns in u from adjectives are very frequent. The end-
ing is either -ii simple, or the fuller -atu^ -etit.

Adj. of different form taking -u: ar^M (height) ; = arddit, ardu (from art^
ardd, ard), domnu (depth, from domun) Incant. Sg. So also -atu, -etu: ddnatu
daring) Sg. 90*.

Adj. in -ide, -de, -te, taking -« ; oeniu (unity ; adj. Sente, oencfe, Wb. 7**.), corpdu

Appendix^ On the Inflexions of the Noun, 121

(corporality, adj., corpde), Wh. So also, -atu, -etu: fliuchaidatu (humidity,
adj., fl'mcJiaide), Cr. iS^.foirbthetu (firmness), Wb. passim.

(6) colmdiu (Lord), Wb., tene (fire), Sg., 69^

Gen. — (a) tech nebmarbtath (house of immortality"), Wb. 1 5*.

(6) bandea tened (goddess of fire, Vesta), Sg. h'd^.

Dat. — («) ondnephpiandatu (from the impunity), Ml. 28*.

(6) dofilid (to a poet), Sg., 14^

Ace— <«) cen torbatid (without utility), Wb., 12*.

(b) lassincoimdid (with the Lord), Wb., 25'^.

NoM. — (a) dorigensat druid (druids made), Wb. 26*.
(h) intan labraiar indjlid (when the poets speak), Sg., 162*.^
Gen. — (o) from the Irish Annals : Muiredac na iengad (Muiredach [professor]
of the languages) Tlgern. ap. O'Con. 2, 275.
{b) dolbudjiled (poetic fiction), Sg. 71^.
Dat. — sechdapthib (to the agents), W. 19"*.
Ace. — (a) lamafiledasin (with these poets), Sg. 63^.

V. Series. — Of certain feminine nouns in -r, to which are added the
suffixes -ach, -ich^ -ig. The cases, though not all, of the noun Cathir
(a to-\vn), are met with in the codices, and are foUoAved by nathir (a
serpent) with the article in Sg. : indnathlrsin (gl. natrix, i. e. serpens
hie) 69*. doubtlessly, with others in ir. Vestiges of this formation
appear to have been preserved in the modern Irish : caora (a
sheep, old fomi : cdir^ cder ?) Gen. caorach, pi. nom. caoirigh, gen.
caorachj dat. caorchaibh, voc. (ace.) caorcha. It is certainly preserved
in some others in -«>, as : lair (Old Irish ldv\ a mare, Sg. 49b=la-ir),
lasair (a flame), gen. Idrach, lasrach, pi. Idracha, lasracha. Here, also,
the derivative cA, appears in the adj. cdirchuide, Sg. 37 (ovine) ;
compare the Gaulish name Caeracates in Tacitus, and also Car-
acella the name of a Gaulish robe, (for caeracaUa?), but it is want-
ing, however, in trechatharde (gl. tripolites), Sg. 38^

SINGULAR.

NoM. — Cr. dim [din] issi inchathir (therefore Christ himself is the city):.
Wb. 21«.

Gen. — aitribtheid inna cathrach asb. tibur (gl. Tiburs : an inhabitant of the
town which is called Tibur), Sg. 124''.

Dat.— One would expect -ich, -ig, by analogy, but the contracted form of the
nom. obtains in Wb. 13^. : robot issinchaithir (he was in the city).

Ace. — Romuil doforsat [folsat] inca^^rai^' (Romulus founded the city), Sg. 31**.

PLURAL.

NoM. — ilchathraig (many cities), Sg. 13*.

The other cases must be suppUed : Gen. cathrach. Dat. catkrichib (or cathrib?}
Ace. and Voc. cathracha.

Dual Number.

After the twofold formation of the Irish declension, we may here
add a few words concerning this number, on account of its rare occur-
rence in the codices used for all the series given above. It does not,
of itself, denote two persons or things, as for instance in Greek, but
constructed with the numerals dd, di, dihy it presents in the language

122 Celtic Studies.

of our codices mixed sing, and pi. forms, relics no doubt of more
ancient forms peculiar to this number.

The only form of the article in any case or gender, is, in before d,
the initial letter of the numeral, which in one of the following
examples is written dd, hard.

We shall give, first, paradigms of the series of the first order, and
then such examples as occur in the codices. The forms enclosed in
brackets are hypothetical, or formed by analogy.

i&ASC. and neut.

1. Seriea. II. Series.

III. Series.

Nora. cele (i?) bull

bith

Gen. cell (baill)^^

betho

Dat. celib (ballib)

bithib

Ace. cele ball

bith

FEMININE.

IV. Series.

V. Series.

Nora. tuari

rainn

Gen. tuare

rann

Dat. tuaiib

rannib

Ace. tuari

rainn

I. SERIES.

NoM. — The Nom. Masc. appears to occur in the adj. dadiuith cegeptacdi (two
Egyptian Druids) Wb. 30^

Neut. indagne (the two forms), Sg. 1 68*.

Gex. and Dat. — Gen. and diit. are not met.

Ace Mase. or Neut. : dobir dasale. dahir imduda are (llnal, Xtyonepa)

Incant. Sg.^^

II. SERIES.

No3i — Masc. : da mod, (two moods) Sg., IBS'*.

Neut. : comescatar da renH iudib (gl. two genders are mixed up in them), Sg. 6I*.
Gen.— Of the gen. no instances.

Dat. — Neut. : frisgoir hneallininse dolidib dfigedib remepertJdb (this testa-
ment answers to the tvro previous laws), Sg. 193''.
Ace. — imbir indamer (ply the two fingers), Incant. Sg.

III. SERIES.

Nom. — Met da atarcud and (there will be 2 relations there), Sg. 198^

Gen Cechtar da lino (either of the two parts), Sg. 1G2'\

Dat. — Coins. 6 dib nogaib (eonipased of two part.-^), Sg. 98».

Ace. — Andiall foadanog (the declension in both its parts), 98''. Sg.

Neut. : indd err end (gl. stigmata, porto), Wb. 20^*.

IV. SERIES.

Nom. — It digutai bite indeog (there are two vowels in a diphthong), Sg. 18«.
Gen — Fogor dagutoe indeog (the pronunciation of two vowels in a diphthong),

Sg. 18^

72 [xxxv. Recte hall, which aspirates,* must, therefore, have had a vocalic
auslaut (-«3 -«m?) and so cannot possibly be (as Ebel supposes, Beitr. IL, p. 71)
identical with the gen. plur.]

■• We say (e.gf.), athair an da vmcfhionn (father of the two fair sons), caUleach an da adharc
fhionn (hag of the two Avhite hoi nf).

73 [xxxvi. Da sole is salivain tiiain (da for du, do) ; im du da are, '* around
thy two temples" ; are (tempus capitis) gen. arach, is a c-stem. These examples
are, therefore, improper.}

Appendix^ On the Inflexions of the Noun. 123

Dat. — Evidently do dlh guttibJ*

Ace— Adj. in Sg. T^i', indl rainn ingraidi (into two intelligible parts).

V. SERIES.

NoM Di huair (two hours), Cr. 3R

Gen —Cechtar indarann (either of the two parts), Sg. 7i\
Pat.— iVi' chen dliged anephdiall 6 dib rannaih (gl. alteruter, alterutrius non
absque ratione non declinatur ; i. e. non declinatur e duabus partibus), Sg. 75^.
Ace— Coitchenaso etir di drim (common to two numbers^, Sg. 72**.

Duals of tlie second order are very rare. The following are in-
stances : —

Tuicsom inda nainmso (he understands these two names), Wb. 21"^ ; da druith
ageptacdi (two -Egyptian Druids), Wb. 30c.

A nomalous.

Which do not follow a fixed rule and form like all those above
enumerated, but have peculiar and shifting forms of their own.
Of this kind are : dia (God), dla (a day), diune (a man), ben (a
woman), rig (a king). Id (a day).

I. Dia (God), sing. gen. etargne ndee (knovrledge of God), Wb. 21*; dat.
dia (from God); ace. fri dia (Avith God), Wb. 20*^; voc. a due (oh God).
Wb 5^ plur. uom. de iiemdai sou (Heavenly Gods), Sg. i>9'^; dat. do deih (to the
Gods), Sg. 39^; ace. tarma deo (by the Gods), Sg. 217^; Fcm. sing. c?ea,— in
composition bandea (goddess), Sg. 60-' ; plur. bondve (goddesses), Sg. 53^^.

II. Dia (day), each dia (daily), AVb. 13'. ; indlii, hindiu (to day), Wb. ; fride^
fridei (hj day), dia bnUha (in the day of judgment), Wb. 23°.

III. Duineimim) — the radical ui becomes o7in tlie phir.; sing. gen. rorp duini (a
man's body), Wb. 12-^ ; dat. dondnini (to the man), Wb. 4"'; ace. imfohuji indnine
sldn (he saves man), Wb. 4"^ ; voc. a duini (O man), AVb. I'' ; plur. nom. indoini
bi (the living men), Sg. 39** ; gQW. ice iucheueli doine (the salvalion of the race of
men), 20'; AVb. ace. corcefii dia et duini (peace towards God and men), Wb. 20'^

IV. Ben (woman) — interchanges with the forms ban., mnd: iccje inumdi (thou
wilt heal the woman), Wb. 10".

V. Rig (king), sing. gen. ilaig rig (in the king's house), Wb. 23^^; dat. ainm
diarig (gl. Lar rex Vejentorum, i. e.', the name of their king), Sg. 64^1; plur. gen.
hi lebraibrig (in the books of kings), Ml. 30'^; a<x. conroibtis ocdemtm rectche^
la riga (gl. volente? esse legis dof'tores,i. e., to the kings),Wb. 28=*.

VI. Za(day)i^ inflected from the form^- /«, iae, and loilhe, lotJie (neuter). Sing.
n. alaithe, Ml. 21'' ; gen. annni maiec lai (we are the sons of day), Wb. 25° ; dat.
illau baiss (in the day of death), AVb. 2!)'= ; acc./zi laa bruiha (to doomsday), Wb.
29'*; plur. gen. ar lin laithe (in the number of days), Ml. 17'*.

(3) Dlmimdives,

Common to both subst. and adj., like the declension of the first
order. The instances that occur, especially in codex Sg. present the
following terminations, -dn^ -en^ and -that., which are more usual in
the mas. and neut., and -ene^ -ne, -not, -net in the fern.

Masc. and neut. AN in substantives: duindn (a mannikin), Sg. 47^*. tdiddn
from tdid (a thief), 47^. In adjectives becan (gl. pauUulus), Sg. 48'', trogdn
(gL misellus), 48*.

'* [xxxvii. Rather do dib hguttib, where dibn= the Sansk. dwdbhydm^ Greek
ivdiv (from ^uo^tv).]

124 Celtic Studies.

Numerous old proper names have the same endmg : Tresan, Gibrian, Veran
Abran, Petran (vita S. Tresani, Boll., Febr. 2, 53).

En : duinen (mannikin), Sg. 45*.

That: srdthathat (gl. a sting), Sg. 47*. centat (gl. capitulum), 47*. Chat,
Nat, Net, are less frequent : duinenet (gl. a mannikin), 45^.

Fem. Ene : larene (from lair, a mare), Sg. 49^.

Nat in subst. : siurnat (gl. sororeula), 46''. talamnat (gl. terrula), 48*.

Net, Nit i fochricnet (gl. mercedula), 47*. tonnait (gl. cuticula), 46^

(O Degrees of Comparison,

Comparative and superlative. The forms of the first, in the old
language, are the more copious, these are either regular or irregular.

COMPARATIVE.

Of this there are two forms, -ithir, -iu, -u, — ^the first of which may
be compared Avith the Greek orspog, and the second mth the old
Latin -ios, -ius, the 5 of which passes into r. It is indeclinable.

Ithir I have only met in one codex Wb., and in one passage 27^ : islerithir.

lu and u are used indifferently, though the former is more usual in mono--
syllables, the latter in polysyllables. The particle de is often met after the com-
parative, corresponding seemingly to the Latin eo.

lu : nibia di mutaib bes huilliu moemifl. (there cannot be more of mutes in one
syllable), Sg. 7*. leriu (gl. more industrious), 41*. semiu (gl. more slender), 14''.
goiriu (gl. more pious), 40''.

U: oillu oldate cdiccet for (more than fifty men), Wb. IS"*; isassii, ba assu
(easier), Wb. 15'=; atalobru (that are weaker), Wb. 12'' ; gliccu (wiser), Wb. 26"^ ;
istairismechu infer (the man is stronger), Wb. 28''. There are some anomalous
comparatives either in a, which sometimes becomes o, or with peculiar forms of
their own. Of the former the principal are : — mda, mdo, mda, moo (greater),
messa (worse), nessa (nearer), tressa (stronger). Besides da (less), Ua (more),
ire (ulterior), /e/7- (better).

Mda from adj. mar (great), for which mdr also occurs. From the form
mar are produced mda, md, mdo : asmda alailiu (greater than another), Wb.
12*. From mdr are made mda, mdo, md : mda leu sercc atuile (greater with
them is the love of their own will), Wb. 30'' ; Jresciu fogchricce asmdo (hope
of the reward, which is greater), Wb. 10"=.

Messa (worse) : fodaimid nech asmessa duih (endure one who is worse to you),
Wb. 17''; crehmechsin asmessa ancreitmech (this believer is worse than an
infidel), Wb..28d.

Nessa (naarer) : isnesa do geintih (he is nearer to the Gentiles), Wb. 2* ; innahi
ata nessa (those which are nearer), Cr. 44*.

Tressa (stronger) : combad tressade hiress apstal do fulung (th&t the faith of the
Apostles might be stronger to suffer), Wb. 25*. ishe dim [din ?] ambes adi inti diib
bes fresa orcaid alaUe (it is their habit that the stronger kill the weaker) Ml. 19'*

The three following comparatives, on account of the verbs accompanying
them regularly in the sing., appear to have been originally substantives, with
a comparative signification. They also sometimes act as adverbs in their naked
form.

Oa (less) : acoic indid oa q. xxx (gl. by the fifth less than thirty) Cr., 33*.

Lia (more, a greater number) : nabad Ua diis no thriur dam (let there be not
more than two or three) ; itlia sillaba a illitrib (there are more syllables of many
letters), Sg. 71*.

Ire (ulterior): aither. ni ashire olddtam. ocus aui (patronymics no further thsm
sons and grandchildren), Sg. 30*'.

Ferr (better) : niferr nech alailiu and (no one better than another there), Wb.
2a; nipatforr de (they are not better of it), Wb. 12*.

In the majority of the foregoing examples, the particle as^ preceding the com-

Appendix y On the Inflexions of the Noun. 125

parative, is evidently the verb subst. 3 pers. sing, in dependent position. It is
often, however, a different word, increasing the sense of the gradation, ex. gr.
the comparative : ni asse acleith rafitir aslia (it cannot be easily concealed, many
know it), Wb. 23'^, or of the superlative : asmaam. The comparative is still
further increased by its repetition with the intervening formula ass : corrop moo
assa moo et ccrrop ferr assa ferr donimdigidesseirc [donimdigid desseirc] de et
comnessim (so that it may be better and better, you increase your love of God and
[your] neighbour), Wb.23^ -.ferr asaferr (better and better), Wb. 15^

SUPERLATIVE.

There are two endings, -em and -am^ the former of adjectives
which form their comparatives in -m -w, the latter of anomalous
adjectives ending in a in the comparative. Internal inflexion in
-am occurs.

Em : fa'illsem (gl. most clear, lucid, from foUus, open, clear), Cr. 40*, tdisigem
(gl, the first; in the verse: primus de Danaum magna comitante caterva),
Sg. 42».

The following are instances of the fuller form, -zwem, -ihem, -hem after a double
consonant or diphthong radical : huaislimem (the highest), Ml. 28^^, itdoini saibi-
bem dogniatinso (they are most false men who do this, — from saib false, or pro-
perly delusive), Ml. 8*.

Am : oam (gl. the least), Wb. IS*', asmaam rosechestar arsidetaid (it is he has
followed the greatest antiquity), Sg. 208^, ata nessam (the nearest) Incant. Sg.
comnesam (the neighbour [lit. " nearest]). Ml. 36*. Gen. : desserc de et comnessim
(love of God and our neighbour), Wb. 23b. Dat. : ho chomnesam (from the
neighbour), Ml. 36*. Ace : galar bess fairechomnessam (the disease which is
over one's neighbour), Cod. Camar. athis forachomnesam (reproach against his
neighbour), Ml. 36*.

[Just as the preceding pages were going to press, the Archasological
and Celtic Society's new volume was published : " Irish Glosses ; a
Mediasval Tract on Latin Declension, with examples explained in
Irish", to which are added the " Lorica of Gildas", with the gloss
thereon, and a selection of glosses from the Book of Armagh. Edited
by Whitley Stokes, A.B. I much regret that this work had not
made its appearance sooner, as it would have enabled me, in drawing
up my introduction, to introduce illustrative examples from the Irish,
along with those from the Gothic, Greek, and Latin, and thus ren-
dered it more directly useful for the object I had in view in pre-
paring it. As the book contains much that illustrates the subject of
the preceding pages, or that is actually supplementary to them, I
cannot help describing it for the information of such of the readers
of these pages as may not be members of the Archaeological and Celtic
Society, for the members of which it has been exclusively printed.

The book consists essentially of three parts: 1. of the tract on
Latin Declension ; 2. of the commentary upon it ; and 3. of the
indices verhorum. The tract on Latin Declension is of itself of no
value whatever, and was selected for publication solely because of
the " large number of Irish Avords which are placed as glosses to the
Latin vocables exemplifying the different declensions". These words,

126 Celtic Studies.

many of wliicli are not given in our dictionaries, amount to 1139.
The commentary consists of a discussion of the meanings of these
words, in most cases of their grammatical analysis, and of comparisons
with other Celtic dialects, and with the Indo-European languages
generally. Every word which occurs in the original MS., and those
with which the Irish words have been compared by the commentator,
are to be found in the indices verborum^ which, from their complete-
ness, form a most important feature of the work. A mere enumera-
tion of the separate indices will best convey an idea of the character
of the commentary from the point of view of comparative philology.
They are : 1. Old Celtic index ; 2. Old Irish do. ; 3. Middle Irish do. ;
4. Welsh do. ; 5. Cornish do. ; 6. Breton do. ; 7. Latin do. ; 8. Me-
diaeval do. ; 9. Greek do. ; 10. Sanskrit do ; 11. Zend do. ; 12. Gothic
do. ; 13. Anglo-Saxon do. ; 14. English do. ; 15. Old High German.

In point of varied learning, skill, and cautious discretion in the
grammatical analysis, the work is unquestionably the best contribu-
tion to the comparative philology of the Celtic languages which has
yet appeared in the English language, and may fully rank with any
similar works by German or French scholars. It is at once a valuable
and a timely contribution towards the materials for making an Irish
dictionary, and as such the Archaeological and Celtic Society has well
expended its funds in the publication of it.

The most valuable feature of the work in question, so far as regards
the Celtic studies of Dy. Ebcl, is, however, the large number of para-
digms of the dec^lension of Irish nouns and adjectives which it con-'
tains. For the purposes of reference, I think it will be useful to
enumerate them all.

Masculine, neuter, and feminine a- and a-stems : nora. sing, cenn, stem cinna
(masc), p. 39 ; nom. sing.forcetal (h), stem forcitala (neut.), p. 51 ; nom. sing,
masc. 7jiall, an adjectival stem, p. 97 ; nom. sing, rami, stem rannd (fern, or «-
stem), p. 38 ; nom. sing, t/m, a masc. a-stem, p. 45.

Masculine and feminine la- stems: nom. sing, rannaire, stem ranndria (masc),
p. 37 ; nom. sing. ca/7e, stem calid (fem.), p. 54 ; nom. sing. masc. nwe, an adjec-
tival m-stem, p. 97.

Masculine and neuter i-stems; nom. sing, faith, stem fdthi (masc.), p. 36;
nom. smg. Jiss, stem Jissi (neut.), p. 117.

Masculine t(-stems : nom sing, bithf stem hithu (masc), p. 62.

Masculine (/-stems : nom. sing.Jili, stem Jilid (masc), p. 36.

Masculine _9-stem : nom. sing, rig, a masculine f/-stem, p. 119.

Feminine n-stem : nom. sing, talam, stem talamany p. 48.

J,?i^-stems : nom. sing, caro, stem carat, from carant (masc), p. 65. A para-
digm of the declension of ainm (ii) which was probably originally an an^-stem,
but which, Stokes says, was in Old Irish a neuter ann-stera, is also given at p. 116.

Masculine r-stem : nom. sing, atlm; stem athar, p. 39.

C-st€ms : nom. sing, cathir. According to Ebel (see p. 94), cathir is an r-
stem, taking the determinative suffix c, but Stokes considers it to be a c-stem,
p. 38.

Anomalous nouns : nom. sing, ben, all the singular and plural forms of which
are given, p. 121.

At p. 45 a paradigm of the declension of the article is also given.
What renders these paradigms the more valuable is, that in almost

Hieroglyphic Studies. 127

every case the forms of the dual number are also given. As several
of the words declined by Zeuss and Dr. Ebel are also declined by
Mr. Stokes, the corresponding paradigms of each writer may be in-
structively compared.

Dr. Ebol's papers are frequently referred to in Mr. Stokes's book,
and as each may be said to, in a measure, supplement the other,
the almost simultaneous appearance of the preceding translation of
the Celtic Studies, and of the admirably edited book in question, may
be deemed a fortunate coincidence. I hope, also, that the introduc-
tion which I found myself compelled to prefix to the papers of Dr.
Ebel may likcAvise enable a larger circle of readers to appreciate the
importance of Mr. Stokes's contribution towards our more perfect
knowledge of the language of Ancient Erum.]

Art. IV. — Hieroglyphic Studies, No. II. — By P. Le Page

Rexouf.

HORAPOLLO tells us,' in the first book of the Hieroglyphica,
that the sun was worshipped at Heliopolis under the form
of a Cat. This statement is confirmed by the " Book of the Dead",
in a very curious passage, of which I here give a translation and
grammatical analysis.^ These, as will at once be apparent, are
not intended for the enlightenment of those learned Egyptolo-
gists, to whom this pas.^age has long been familiar, and to whom
it presents no greater difiiculty than the commonest sentence
in their mother tongue. The present paper, like my two pre-
vious articles, is intended for a class of readers who are not yet
able fi^illy to profit by the more learned labom*s of the masters of
the science, in whose writings much information is presupposed,
which has never been brought together in a grammar and dic-
tionary, but lies scattered in a hundred different French, Eng-
lish, German, and Italian publications, many of them not gene-
rally accessible.'*

"O0€j/ Kai TO sv HXc'ou TroXei ^oavov rov Qfov aiXovpSfiopfov virapxfi' 1, 10.
^ For an explanation of the transcription of the hieroglyphs into Roman
characters, see Atlantis, No. iv. p. 339.

Most of the hieroglyphic texts quoted by way of illustration in this article,
are taken from the Todtenbuch (Leipzig, 1842), a book of reference more con-
venient, both for the reader and for myself, than the splendid but expensive and
unwieldy collections of Rosellini, Champollion, and Lepsius. The Abbreviation
" Chapter" (or Chap.) will, therefore, always refer to a chapter of the Todten-
buch. The numerals inclosed within ( ) are references to the first lithograpliic
plate accompanying this article.

128 Hieroglyphic Studies.

The passage of the " Ritual", or " Book of the Dead", to
which I refer, is found in the 17th Chapter, described by Mr.
Birch* (in accordance with its title), as containing " the portion
requisite to be known, in order to let the blessed out of the
Hades, to enter the service of Osiris, and to enable him to make
the requisite transformation, or transmigration. This remarkable
part", he adds, " contains a number of singular mystic interpreta-
tions, which the deceased had to answer when asked — a kind of
theological examination of his knowledge and faith". In tliis
strange catechism, the deceased seems, at least in certain portions
of it, to be addressed by a number of speakers, each of whom pre-
dicates something of himself, as *' I am the great Pho3nix residing
in Heliopolis". " I am Min ( ?) in his two manifest a tions — two fea-
thers are placed upon his head". " I am the great Cat in the grove
of Persea trees in Heliopolis". The deceased then, in obedience
to a rubric, explains, that " the Phoenix is Osiris, residing in
Hehopolis" ; or that " Min is Horus, the avenger of his father ;
that his two manifestations are his births, and that the feathers
upon his head are the goddesses Isis and Nephthys walking".
In many places, however, explanations are given, without having
been called for in the manner just described, and rubrics are left
out where they might have been expected. Invocations are ad-
dressed to various gods in diOferent parts of the chapter, sometimes
imploring for protection against terrible divinities, which were sup-
posed to inflict punishment upon evil doers, and the desciiptions of
which remind us of the " fiera compagnia", described by Dante in
the fifth bolgia of his Inferno,^ A formula, of which the terms
vary, whilst the substance remains the same, frequently occurs,
stating, that " this is a day", or " a night" for doing battle, or
inflicting injury upon the enemies of Osiris. The explanations
given are sometimes, as Mr. Birch says, of a singularly mystical
description ; they are, however, sometimes very plain and straight-
forward, and in the passage presently to be noticed of a rather
rationalistic character.^ The 17th Chapter, Hke almost every

* Introduction to the study of Egyptian hieroglyphs, p. 272.

* Cantos XXI. and XXII.—

E Ciriatto, a cui di bocca uscia
D'ogni parte una sanna, come a porco,
Gli fe sentir come I'una sdruccia:
Tra male gatte era venuto '1 sorco.
The " male gatte" of the Egyptian Inferno were not necessarily evil spirits
like Ciriatto, Graffiacane, and their fellows. In the 125th Chap. (1. 36) of
the Ritual, the deceased prays to be delivered from a god who is elsewhere
(Chap. 63, 2) described as the eldest son of Osiris, and (Chap. 18, 30) as one
of the principal divinities of the city of Narotf.

6 Two words of constant occurrence in inscriptions, are thus explained : —
HeH PU HeNA T'eTa AR HeH HRU PU AR T'eTa KeR HU
Ever and ever, " Ileh" is day '^ T'eTa" is niyht.

TLATJi: 1.

AR

5ckAV

TTI

r-^ cirri"
OD *-

2^

TV

Sc-iiV

5^ cX-T

3

bn r'*''

^3

i '*'

-M

±i.

}*«.-N'

JJL

Altl-

tVPtX

S.VAU

P

rC

L

I /

SA.I

T

■ye

*n

Hieroglyphic Studies. 129

otlier in the " Todtenbuch", is full of various readings, between
which, the scribes who Avrote out copies of the Ritual, thought
it no part of their business to discriminate.' These different read-
ings, however incoherent or contradictory, were simply incorpo-
rated into the text, and are only distinguished from each other
by the words KI T'aT, " otherwise said". Thus we find " his
eyes are the two feathers upon his head", after the explanation
just quoted in favour of Isis and Nephthys. All these readings
were probably looked upon as equally sacred. The first part of
our 17th Chapter is found on the walls of a tomb, as old as the
eighteenth dynasty, at el Kurnah, and that inscription^ contains
the very same text and different readings as the Turin Papyrus
Copy.

This short introduction will suffice to give the reader an idea,
of the context, or rather absence of context, in which the passage
is found which I now proceed to explain. Its purport is this.
" The great Cat in the Persea grove at Heliopolis, is the Sun-
God Ra, who, in consequence of his calling another divinity
Schau instead of Sau, was himself nicknamed Schau, the Egyp-
tian word signifying Cat".

Our text^ (See Plate I., A) is naturally divided into the three

propositions of which it is composed ; the first consisting of the

first fourteen groups, which must be read and literally translated

as follows . —

(1) (2) X3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10)

AR SchAU PFI Aa eNTI HeR Pe-ScheT ASchT eR-Ma-F eM
Est felis ilia magna quce (est) in luco Persearum, hi loco ejus, in

(U) (12) (13) (U)

AN RA PU T'eSeF
Eeliopoli Sol ..., ipsa (sc. felis).

' These various readings must not be confounded with the " variants" so fre-
quently mentioned in these pages, and which are simply different ways of writing
the same word, with signs phonetically equivalent. The various readings alluded
to are hke the " varias lectiones" of the Bible, or the Classics. One reading may
be "Osiris", another "Ra"; for " CheNT" walk, another reading may have
•'CheNF" loork: sometimes the same word maybe written in two different
readings with different determinatives, and therefore with different meanings.
Sometimes the differences between the readings are much greater than I have
stated. All, however, are incorporated into the text of the Ritual. Some MSB.
are less rich than others in various readings, but it is doubtful whether this is to
be attributed to the critical taste of the scribe.

^ Lepfiius Denkmiiler III. i38. The most remarkable variant furnished by the
text of this tomb, is that (30) of the name of the ithy phallic Ammon, which I
have read " Min", like Dr. Brugsch and (at one time at least) M. de Rouge. It
must be confessed that this variant is favourable to none of the readings hitherto
proposed, but seems rather to point out some name ending in S, like that of tho
t>^'' AS, frequently represented on the monuments.

Todt. Chap. 17, lines 46, 47, 48. In the vignette, a cat is seen seated under
a Persea tree, and in the act of putting its paw upon the head of a serpent.
III. 9

130 Hieroglyphic Studies.

The simple proposition " ^ is ?/", may be expressed in Egyp-
tian by the form AK os y. An equally common form is
AR X y PU, to which may be added the pronoun T'eSeF ipse,
referring to the subject of the proposition, and the whole AR x y
PU T'eSeF may be translated " ^, the same is y'\ Such is the
form of the sentence now to be analysed.

(1) The use of the particle AR, which corresponds to the
Coptic epe, was to some extent illustrated in the last number of
this journal. It represents the *' substantive" verb, stands at the
beginning of a proposition, and remains invariable, whatever
be the gender or number of the subject. According to Cham-
pollion, it accompanies the third person only. This rule appears
to be true, with respect to purely categorical propositions, but
in hypothetical, optative, imperative, and interrogative phrases,
the particle in question discharges a very remarkable function,
of which the rubrics of the Ritual aiFord numerous examples.
Such phrases as " Is any man called being uncircumcised ? let
him not procure uncircumcision". " Art thou bound to a wife?
seek not to be loosed", are equivalent to '* ^/any man is called",
etc., " if thou art bound", etc. In all such sentences in Egyptian,
the word AR, which begins them, appears to be really changed
into the conjunction if.

Thus, in the rubric of the 86th Chapter (1. 8) : —

ARKeCh SchA TeN AU-F PiR-F eM HRu eM NeTcR-KeR

Is known hook this ? i j- ^i ^ ^7 j • tt j

i.e., If this hook be known. \ ^^ goes forth from the day m Hades,

AK-F eM-CheT PiR-F AR CheM Ra PeN AN AK-F

Ac enters after .oin, cut,'' { ,e.,'?/-ML&Slf4 *^ '"''" »'''
eM-CheT PiR-F

after going out. ^

Again (Chap. 101, 6):—

AR TaTa-TU-NeF NeN UT'-U" eR CheChU-F UN-NeF AM eM
If there be placed to him these talismans at his neck he becomes there like

"^ This was one of the great privileges of the beatified. The Chapter (No. 13,
Cf. c. 121) " of entering after going out", begins

AK-NA eM BAK PiR-NA eM BeNNU

I entered as the Hawk, Iwentforth as the Phanix,
that is, in the forms of the divine Hawk and Phoenix. (Cf. the vignette to Chap.
46). In the 77th Chapter, the deceased makes his transformations in the form
of " the beautiful Hawk of gold with the head of a Phoenix", to hear whose
voice the sun pauses on his course. A transformation less flattering, to modern
ideas at least, is that into a golden monkey. It is said of the deceased (Chap.
42, 22) -
eNTeF KeFTeN NuB eN NeTeR^U AN A(?)UI-F AN RaT-(TI)-F

Hie (est) simius aureus deorum, non (sunt) brachia illi, non pedes illi.

See the group KeFTeN, Sharpe Eg. Inscr., pi. 57, 1. 36, 2nd series.

* ' Coptic CCX^Ij sanare, salvare.

Hieroglyphic Studies. 131

Fu-T NuTeR-U SAM eM ScheS-U HoR AU SMeN-NeF

the gods, he is gathered to the ministers ofHorus, and there is set up for him
ChaBeS-eFi2 AN HeSe^a eM PeT eR-Ma NeTeR SoPT Sche SeF
his Lamp through Isis in Heaven where the divine Dog-Star is, he serves
HoR AM NeTeR SoPT
Horus in the divine Dog-Star.

In another Chapter we are told (130, 27) : —

AR ARi-TU-NeF NeN UN-N Ba-F ANCh eR HeH AN MuT-eF eM

If there be done to him thus, becometh his soul living for ever, he dieth not for

NeM
a second time.^*

In the following example, which is not the only one of its
kind,^^ the subject (ChlJ, the departed) of the apodosis is thrust
into the protasis. (Chap. 136, 12) : —

AR ChU ARi-TU-NeF NeN AU-F eM MA ANCh-U AN

The departed, if there be done to him thus, he will be in the place of the living, he
SeK-eF T'eTa

suffereth not for ever.

In the examples just quoted, it might seem that the use of AR
in no wise differed from that of the auxiliary verb in other
languages, or from that of its synonyms AU or UN in Egyptian.
We have a parallel passage in which UN seems to play the same
part (Chap. 140,12):—

'2 Or Star. See Brugsch, Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenliindischen Gesell-
schaft, ix. p. 514 on the CheBaS-U, or Decans.

'^ Since the pubHcation of the last number of the Atlantis, I have received an
important communication with reference to the reading of the hieroglyphic name
of Isis, from a scholar, whose lightest word in a matter of this kind is of the
greatest weight. I have also seen M. Deveria's " Notice de quelques Antiquites
relatives au basilicogrammate Thouth ou Teti", containing a note on the hiero-
glyphic name of Osiris. I am myself in possession of other evidence wliich I
have as yet been unable to verify. I retain, therefore, provisionally, the readings
HeS and HeSARi, until I can discuss the whole evidence on the question.

** The 44th Chapter of the Ritual is entitled " The Chapter of not dying for a
second time, in Hades". The promise of not dying a second time, or for ever,
but of renewing one's life like the sun daily, is extremely frequent in all texts
referring to the condition of the dead.

The deceased says (Chap. 38, 2) —
PeTHU-A Re-A AM-A eM ANCh ANCh-A eM TaTaU NeM-A ANCh-A
I open my mouth, I feed upon life, I live in Tattu (i) Irenew my life
eMCheT MuT RA Scha Ra NeB
after death like the Sun, every day.

The fine sarcophagus in the British Museum, which was supposed by Dr.
Clarke to have been that of Alexander, contains the following assurance : —
ANCh ReN-K AP To AN SeK-eK AN HTuM-K eN T'eT T'eTa
Vivit nomen tuum in terrd, non noceris, non peribis in corpore in ceternum
And in another line —

AN MuT-eK T'eTa
non morieris in ceternum.
See the engraving— Description de I'Egypte Antiquites, v , pi. 40, 5. 6.

^^ '^ Compare (Chap. 148, 4) AR ChU NeB ARi-TU-NeF SchA TeN

"Every dead man, if there be made for him this writing", his soul goes forth, etc.

D B

132 ' Hieroglyphic Studies.

UN T'aT Re PeN eM UA eN RA AU STa-TU-F HeNA NeN

Being said^^ this chapter in the bark of the Sun he is towed along with these
NeTeR-U UN-NeF SchA UA AM-SeN
gods he becomes like one of them.

Many instances, however, occur, in wliich AR seems altogether
to lose its character of auxiliary verb, and Champollion's rule
about the third person ceases to hold good. Some examples
may be seen in M. de Rouge's " Essai sur im Stele Egyptienne",
p. 108.

AR ABeK SeCheR eM KoRaH HaP-To AU-F ChePeR

Si velis excogitare in nocte diem ipsejiet.
AR T'aT-eK eN MU
If thou saidst to the water.
AR T'aT-eK T'eSeK eN TeF-eK HaPI-MU ATF-NuTeR-U'^
If thou saidst thyself to thy father, the Nile, the father of the gods.
AR Ta-K HRa-K eR CheNSu.
Si converteris os tuum ad Chons.

Or, as Mr. Birch translates it, " Would you lift up thy face to
Chons ?" M. de Rouge calls it a " formule de priere polie".

Some few clear traces of the optative use of AR are still to be
found in the Coptic: Sitir} <joi 6 Qiog (Gen., xxvii. 28), has been
translated by epe cj)^ "j" It^LK, and aTroort/Xai Kvpiog (Deut.,
xxviii. 8) by epe n6c OTCDpU. But, in fact, wherever we
find the particle e implying a condition, we may be sure that its
true hieroglyphic equivalent is AR, the consonant R having
been dropped here as in a multitude of other words. The Coptic
conjunction ecyooil if, is really made up of e, and the verb
cgcon, ^0 6e, in hieroglyphics AR ChePeR, i.e., " Should it be?"
So, again, the negative forms eojTeJUL, ^.peajTeJUL, the
Sahidic epeTJUL, and the Bashmuric ^XeojTeJUL correspond
to the hieroglyphic AR TeM, as in the 7th Chapter of the
Ritual (1. 3).

AR TeM-K KANN AN KANN-A-NeK's
If thou dost not wait (9) I loait not for thee.

(2) SchAU, a Cat, Coptic cy^T. This word is written with three

'^ The rubric of Chapter 18 (1. 39) begins with a participle put " absolutely".
T'aT-TU Re PeN UBe PiR PU eM HRu . . .
Being said this pure chapter, he goes forth from the day.
Cf. 19, 14—

TaT-TU Re PeN HeR MAHU NeTeR eRTA eM HRa eN SA
Being said this Chapter over a divine Crown placed upon thejace of a person.
^"^ Prisse Monumens Egyptiens, pi. xxi., 1. 21. Compare Mr. Birch's transla-
tions Archaeologia, vol. xxxiv., 368.

'** I am not sure that I have hit the sense of the verb KANN, the determina-
tive of which (a^man at rest) points to some verb like the Coptic KHIt, quiescere,
permanere, etc.

Hieroglyphic Studies^ 133

letters and a determinative. The first letter of the word was iden-
tified by Cliampollion with the Coptic Clj, in consequence of the
evident identity between certain hieroglyphic groups containing
it, and well knoTVTi Coptic words. This kind of proof, however,
is not sufficient, as a comparison between Coptic words and their
more ancient forms, has proved that in many instances the hiero-
glyphic sign corresponding to Clj is not Sch but Ch. Most of Cham-
poUion's successors have, in consequence, transcribed our sign by
Ch. Other very strong reasons have been given for this tran-
scription, particularly by M. de Rouge. ^^ None of them, how-
ever, are absolutely conclusive, whilst, on the other hand. Dr.
Brugsch has shown that in very ancient times, a certain substance
called " Sche SeT" (31) was written (32) with the sign in question
as its first letter. This authority, even if it be not supposed to
settle the question, is sufficient to justify us in continuing to use
the value assigned by Champolhon. The difficulty of attaining
absolute certainty in the present case arises from the fact, that
at all periods of the Egyptian language, the closest affinity,
and even interchange, existed between the sounds Ch and Sch.
There are variants in which the word ANCh, life, is written
ANSch ; and the word AChoM, an eagle, ASchoM. The months
called JUiexiP and m^XP^^ at Memphis, were called JUteojip
and n^LOjOnc at Thebes, and the later inhabitants of Egypt
have kept the double forms Emschir and Mdchir. The city
called by the Greeks, Chemmis, is written in Coptic both
Schmin and Chmin. The Greek ^ ^^ ^^ words apxi-
liav^pirriQ, yzLpoTovia, is found in Coptic texts transcribed by a

In Hne forty-five, the word SchAU is followed by the picture
of a Cat, as its determinative. In our text, this ideograph is
replaced by the linear hieroglyph representing the skin of an
animal. On referring to Champollion's Grammar (p. 82), it will
be seen that this sign is found after such words as ape, pig, lion,
y^olf, etc., and is, therefore, rightly considered as the generic
determinative of quadrupeds.

The use of these non-phonetic signs, which Champollion's
opponents represented as offiaring insurmountable difficulties,
really render the most precious service in the decipherment of
texts. This is true, not only of the direct ideographic represen-
tations of the idea expressed, as when a cat is drawn after the
word SchAU, or a horse after HToR, but in the case of generic
determinatives, like that which applies equally to all quadrupeds.
1 he group ACheM (33), for instance, is found with three determi-

'^ Tombeau d' Ahmes, p. 84.

134 Hieroglyphic Studies.

natives. Of these, the arm, with the hand grasping a weapon, is
known to be attached to all words expressive of energetic and
successful action. The small cross above the arm is found under
the same circumstances. The three lines are expressive of water.
The first time then that we meet this group before a word meaning
fire, we may be perfectly sure that the action exercised by water
upon that element, and expressed by the word ACheM, is that
of extinguishing, and that this sense will be borne out by the
context. Thus, in the negative Confession of the Ritual (125,
10)-

AN ACheM-A CheT eM UNNuT-S

I have not extinguished thejlame in its hour.

Or, in the 22nd Chapter (1. 2, 3)—

I-NA AEi-A MeR-TU HeT-A eM HRu eN Ne SeRT ACheM-A
I am come, I do the will of my heart in the day oj fire^ I quench

URT eM PiR-S
the flame on its coming forth.

In another chapter of the Ritual (149, 55), we find the verb
before another substantive, but with the same fundamental sense.
It is said of one of the infernal abodes^® whose waters are of flame,

TeM SAU MU-S AN ACheM eN ABU-SeN eNTI eM-S

non hibitur aqua ejus, non extinguitur sitis eorum qui (sunt) in ea.

And, in the next line —

AN ACheM eN ABU-SeN AN HoTeP HeT-SeN

non extinguitur sitis eorum, non requiescit cor eorum.

In this particular instance, it is easy for us to identify ACheM
with the Coptic OOjeJUL ; but even if this were not possible, the
meaning would be undeniable. Still farther light is thrown
upon the word when we meet it with the determinative of fire,
and consequently with the meaning consume.

(3) PFI, the masculine demonstrative pronoun, on which see
ChampolHon's Grammar, p. 182.

'" The 13th. Although the waters are described as being of an intolerable heat,
and also full of " weeds and filth", the deceased invokes (1. 57) the presiding deitj
of this abode to enable him to prevail over those waters and to drink of thera.
In the same way, the ninth abode (1. 33, 37) is so terrible that the dead tremble
to mention its name ; there is no entering in, or going out of it ; iti gate is of
fire, and the air within it, which destroys the nostrils, cannot be breathed. Yet
the deceased invokes the god within it as follows : —

ANeT'-K NeTeR PUl AS eM SUH-F I-NA CheR-K UN-NA eM
Hail to thee, Oh venerable god in thine egg, I have come to thee, I have become

ScheSe-K PiR-NA AK-NA eM AKeN UN-NA Re-U-S

thy servant, I have gone out, I have come into the abode, I have opened its doors,
SeNSeN-A NiF-U AM-S ANChA eM HoTeP-U-S ChU-A AM-S

I breathe the airs in it, I live upon its bread, I shine (?) in it.
(I have kept the words " weeds and fllth", on the authority of Mr. Birch.
Introduction, p. 275. But I suspect that the word translated ^/M, is one
which I should rather render stubble or thorns, Copt. pCIOOTI or^pCOOTl).

Hieroglyphic Studies. 135

(4) Aa, great. The meaning of tliis group is ascertained from
the Rosetta Inscription, where ChampoUion found it to corres-
pond with the Greek jueyag. It was for this reason that he read
it n<L<L. The first sign of the group is, however, often written
as the initial sign of the well-known name APeP. The value
A is also proved by the variants of the royal name Nepherites
(NAIF Aa RoT), and the Greek transcription ^ (that is, a vowel
letter) is constantly found in the Gnostic papyrus of Leyden.^^

(5) eNTI, the relative pronoun of both genders and numbers.
— ChampoUion, Gram. p. 306.

(6) HeR, in or at On the different significations of this pre-
position, see Champ. Gram. p. 298.

(7) Pe-ScheT. Tlie Grove. The first sign of this group,. Pe
is the masculine article. — Champ. Gram. p. 173. The Coptic
word eye wood is used in the Pentateuch in the sense of forest.
Our hieroglyphic group, however, must not be identified with it,
for ScheT is not only applied to trees, but to stone, natron, fire,
water, and milk.^^ Its real meaning, therefore, probably is
" enclosure", and it is only in a derived sense, like the Greek
rljuEvoc, that it comes to signify grove. The Red Sea was called
ScheT eN PUNT. One of the names of Osiris was FeNT
ScheT Aa, " Dweller in the great enclosure".

(8) ASchT. The last sign in this group is the generic deter-
mination of trees. The group ASchT is generally translated
" Persea tree", though botanists are not unanimous as to the
exact species of tree intended. It often appears on the monu-
ments as the tree upon whose leaves and fruits Thoth, or Safch
the goddess of letters, inscribes the names of the kings of Egypt.^'

(9) eR-Ma-F. This group is compounded of the preposition eR
in, Ma a place, and the pronominal sufiix of the third person.
The sense of eR-Ma has been perfectly well explained by
ChampoUion (Gram. p. 499), who rightly compares it with the
Coptic eriJUUL, which is often used adverbially in the sense of ibi,
ubi. The first part, however, of the paragraph of the Gram-
maire Egyptienne to which I refer gives, I believe, an erroneous
view of the extremely important particle MA (34), the right use
of which deserves to be illustrated at some length, for although
I have more than once* seen the particle rightly translated, I am

^] Cf. Dr. Hincks. Trans., K.I.A., vol. xxi. p. 230. Mariette, Bulletin Archeo-
logique, 1. p. 57, note 34, de Rouge Essai sur une stele Egyptienne, p. 9.

" Compare the following passages of the Ritual— 17, 17. 45. 66. 122, 6. 142,
4. 144, 30.

^' See e. g. Wilkinson, Ancient Egyptians (second series), vol. iii. pi. 54, and
for further information, Brugsch, Geogr. Inschr. I. p. 258, 259.

* [This was already in print when I received (Dec. 14) the very remarkable
paper by Dr. Hincks, " On the grounds for supposing that the name of the tribe

136 Hieroglyphic Studies.

not aware tliat any one has called attention to its use, and even so
recent and accurate a work as Mr. Birch's Introduction to the
study of Hierogl3rphics (p. 257, 258) assigns no other meaning
to it than " in place of".

Champollion's words are as follows: "On emploie dans un
sens h, peu pres analogue [to eNSU after] le mot MA, JUL<L, lUUL^
nom commun signifiant le lieu^ la place, et dans les memes oc-
casions oil les textes Coptes ofFrent le mot eilJUL^ a la place^\
(The real hieroglyphic expression corresponchng to " in the place
of", is eM MA). He then quotes several examples in which Ma
may, indeed, be translated "in the place of", but where it is
equally susceptible of another and more correct interpretation.
One of these examples is taken from the Rosetta Inscription —

CheP-NeF SuTeN-I MA TeF-eF which Champollion translates
// regut les attributions royales a la place de son pere.

The Greek translation is Tra/oeXajScv Tr]v fiamXeiav irapa tov
narpog in which 3IA is rendered by wapa followed by the geni-
tive, a preposition whose equivalents in Coptic must be sought,
not in JUUL but in eKoXg^^ and cognate words, corresponding
to the English from, or rather the Anglo-Saxon fram which
had a more extensive use than its modern derivative. On
comparing together the numerous passages in wliich MA occurs,
it will be found after such verbs as to take away, seize, deliver,
protect, repulse, receive, come, etc , and very frequently in such
a context as to leave no doubt as to its signification.

Thus at the 64th line of 17th chapter of the Ritual, we find
the following invocation —

A NeB HaT Aa ATI NuTeR-U NeHeM-K HeSARi

Oh Lord of the great dwelling, sovereign of the gods, deliver thou Osij-is

(N) MA NeTeR PFI eNTI HRa-F eM TeSeM

(the departed) from that god who his face (is that) of a leopard,'^*

ANHU-F eU ReT ANCh-eF eM CheRI-U

his eyebrows (those) of a human being, he lives upon the damned.

Several invocations of the kind occur in the chapter. Thus the
Sun-God, who " emits breezes of fire from his mouth, and who
illuminates the earth with his light", is entreated (line 51) —

NeHeM-K HeSARi (N) MA NeTeR PFI ScheTA ARU-F

Deliver thou Osiris the departed from that god who conceals his transformations
UN ANHU-F eM eR-MeNMeN MAChl.

his eye-broivs are as the beam (V)^^ of the balance.

of Issachar occurs in Egyptian inscriptions.'' In this essay (p. o), I find the
true meaning of our group, as a preposition, briefly but distinctly recognized,
as I am certain it would be by all other high authorities, if they had an occasion
of speaking about it]

2* The word here translated "leopard" is the name of the animal depicted in
Bunsen's Egypt, vol. i. p. 514, (Ideographics, 252) from a papyrus in the British
Museum. The animal belongs to the genus felis, but its species is not easily

Hieroglypliic Studies. 137

So again at line 73 —

NeHeM-K (N) MA NeTeR PFI T'a BA-U NeSBU HaTI-U

Deliver thou the departed from that god who seizes upon souls, devours hearts

ANCh eM HAU-U
(and) lives upon evil-doers.^^

In the 72nd chapter the departed invokes the Lords of Truth —

NeHeM- TeN- UA MA AT

Deliver ye me from the crocodile.

So again, 136, 6 —

NeHeM-K (N) MA ARi-T eR-F BeHeN"

Deliver thou the departed from there being done to him hurt.

And again in the 148th chapter, line 16 —

A TeF NuTeR-U A MuT NuTeR-U eM NeTeR KeR NeHeM-
Oh Father of the Gods, Oh Mother of the Gods, in Hades, deliver

TeN (N) MA CheT NeB TU

t/e the departed from all things evil.

Elsewhere we meet such examples as these.

eR-TA-NeF-NA AN NeHeM-F MA A^*
He has given to me, he takes not from me.
NoK NeHeM TeF-eF MA-SeN^^
/ (it is) who deliver his father from them.
NoK UR Si UR NeSeRT Si NeSeRT eR-TA-

/ (am) a prince the son of a prince, aflame the son of aflame, there is given
NeF APe-F eM-CheT SchAT-eF AN NeHeM-TU APe eN HeSARi
to him his head after it is cut off: not taken away (is) the head of Osiris
MA-F AN NeHeM-TU AP-A MA-A.^^
from him, not taken away is my head from me.

identified. The " leopards (?) of Horns" are mentioned in the 13th chapter, 1. 2.
Horapollo (1, 17) speaks of the lions of Horus.

2^ The sense beam is a mere conjecture. I have not sufficiently studied the
word, which is commonly written eR-MeN (sometimes with a final -NU), the
latter part of it signifying the forearm. eR is the verb facere. The group
occurs agahi 17, 88. 64, 12. 71, 11. 105, 5. 124, 4. 5. If, as some of these passages
would seem to indicate, the word refers to animals connected in some way
with the balance^ the pictures of the judgment scene point out the cynoce-
phali. See Todt. pi. L. (Cf. the top part and centre of the picture.)

^^ The Coptic ^OOT is one of the common translations of irovripbg or KaKhq,
but the determinative of the group HAU seems to point out the notion
" corrupt", as in the phrase (154, 5) —

SaH-U-F TeM HUAU-SeN
ossa ejus non corrumpuntur.

At (33. 1) we have—

AxM-NeK PeN-(NU) BoTU eN RA AU USchA-NeK SaH-CJ
Thou hast eaten the rat detested of Ra aud hast devoured the bones
eN SchAU HUAUU
of a cat putrefied.

'^ Compare Sharpe, Egyptian Inscriptions, 57, 41. where this invocation
occurs with the feminine suffixes. NeHeM-K-eS MA ARi eR-S, "Deliver
thou to her from there being done Aer mischief", etc.

" ro(/Ml,3. 49,4.

'^ lb. 32, 2.

'° !>>. 43, 1.

138 Hieroglyphic Studies.

It is needless to quote other examples in which the verb
NeHeM (35) occurs.

Passages in tne Ritual, parallel to those abeadj quoted, will
be found under the following references, 17, 56. 75. 29, tit. 125,
13. 36. 42. 146, 9. 148, 20. 163, tit.

The verb Te, (36) one of the synonyms of NeHeM, takes MA

after it as in the title of the 28th chapter —

Re eN TeM eRTA Te-TU HaT eN SA MA-F eM NeTeR-KeR
Chapter of not being taken the heart of a person from him in Hades.

One of the very next chapters, the 30th, is entitled —

Re eN TeM eRTA CheSeF(37)-TU HaT eN SA MA-F eM
Chapter of not being repulsed the heart of a person from him in

NeTeR-KeR.

Hades.

Let us now now look at passages in which other verbs occur

The verb NeT' (38) is interpreted in the Rosetta Inscription by

the verbs atoZ^iv and afivvuv. We find Horus saying, in the

128th ch. (1. 5) of the Ritual—

HuI-A-NeK ChaFT-U-K NeT'-NA-TU Jkf4-SeN.

/ have smitten for thee thine enemies^ I have been avenged upon them.

In the same way Horus speaks of himself, on a sepulchre now
in the British Museum, as —

NeT'-eK MA ChaFT-U-K^i

Avenging thee upon thine enemies.

The verb ChU, (39) to cover ^ to protect^ is found in the phrase

ChU Si RA RaMeSSU HiK AN MA CheT

Guarding the Son of the Sun, Ramses III., ruler of An, from all
NeB TUS2
things evil.

The deceased says in the Hall of Truths —

AU-A UBe ChU-K-UA MA T'eNTI-U^'

lam pure, guard me from revilers.

The ordinary preposition in the phrase " justified against the

enemy", is eR. In the 124th chapter, however, of the Ritual we

have (fine 10) —

AU MACheRU (N) MA NeTeR NeB NeTeR-T NeB eNTI

Is justified the departed against every god (and) every goddess who is
AMeN eM NeTER-KeR'*
hidden in Hades.

31 Sharpe, Egyptian Inscriptions, pi. 75, 1. 4. Cf. Todt. 17, 90. 69, 1. At
78, 9. I am doubtful whether the first MA should be translated from or by,
€ manu, or simply manu.

32 ChampoUion, Monumens, pi. 214.

33 Todt. 125, 63.

34 On the other hand eR is found where we might expect MA, as in the com-
mon phrase, "pure from iniquity", UBe eR TU. The fact is, from is one of
the significations of eR, as in the following passages —

Hleroglypldc Studies. 139

^In the 15tli chapter (1. 9) we have the words —
r AMeN(40>TU-F MA-SeN

' Abdkus ilh ab illis.

The 94th chapter is entitled —
Ke eN TeBHU MeSeT PeS MA TuT

Chapter oj praying Jor a slab (and) inkstand from Thoth.

(M. Deverla translates this : adresser une priere a Thout . . .
avec une palette et un godet a la main.)

In every one of the passages quoted the Coptic language
would employ the preposition efi.oX^<L or one of the words
nearly related to it, and never JUL*^. In fact the three examples
cited by Champollion ought to be translated " from his father".

The particle MA has, however, like its Coptic equivalents,

a more extensive sense than our present word from?^ ^CJofi.-

niKen ^.TajCJOUI e^oX^ITOTq, is the Coptic version of

'* All things were made hy Him", in the Gospel. In like manner,

for " Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth", we have

eEioX^^n JULnei m"eqT^.npo. This should lead us at least

to examine whether MA were not used as before the ablative

of the instrument. I find it so used in the following sentence

from the tomb of Ameni at Benihassan —

BeK-U NeBeN SuTeN Pa HeR-ChePeR MA-S?^

The labours all of the royal dwelling were accomplished by me,

AN T'eNA-UA eR MAA-NA NeB-U TIAU (1, 18.)
/ am not prevented from seeing the Lords oj the starry dwelling.
AN RAAU eN Ba-F eR Cha-F (89, 7.)
non tolletur anima ejus a corpore ejus.

CheM-A eM HaTI-A CheM-A eM A(?)-UI-A CheM-A eM RaT-(TI)-A
J prevail with my heart, I prevail with my hands, I prevail with my feet,
eR-A MeR Ka-A AN ChNAM-TU BA-A eR Cha-A HeR

/ do the will of myself, not taken away (is) my soul from my body at
TIAU-U eN AMeNTI (26, 5.)
the gates of Hell.

AN ChNAM eN NuTeR-U HoTeP-U-TeN eR-A CheR-SeN eR-A HeR
Non rapiunt dii panes vestros a me' procidunt coram me in

HRa-U-SEN (29, 2.)

Jaciebus eorum.

The " Chapter of eradicating the dGceitfulness (or baseness) of heart" ends
thus (U, 4)-

TeR SchePTI NeB eNTI eM HeT ei2-S

Delentur turpia omnia guce (erant) in corde ab illo.

^* That our word /rom once had a wider signification than at present will be
seen from the following passages of Bang Alfred's Orosius —

Fifty men were slain in one night, ealle trnam hiona aji^nufti rtjtitim, all bu
then- own sons. i o i » ./

Ic eac -p^Aiii him o^e|\-wtinr>en eom, I also am overcome by them.

Carthage that was built, fi^am ehfann, etc., by that woman Elisa.

'° Lepsius, Denkmaler, II., Bl. 121. Compare Mr. Birch's translation,

140 Hieroglyphic Studies.

Dr. Brugsch, in Kis recent History of Egypt, translates the last
words *' par mon bras", wliich is, of course, perfectly unobjection-
able if it be not meant (as it miglit easily be understood) as a
literal translation of the group MA-A, or as implying a different
group eM (A ?)A,^^ in wliich the arm is taken in its ideographic
value. There are passages in which this latter interpretation is
impossible. In the Hall of the Truths, for instance, the Floor
refuses to let the departed pass over it —
HeR-eNTI AN ReCh-eK ReN eN RaT-(Ti)-K CheNT eK

Because thou tellest not the name of thy two feet <- ^71 h h th

HeR-A MA-Se-N^^
upon me with them,
wouldst tread upon me.

In the 49th chapter (1. 2) it is said —

AN eRTA-NA CheR MA-K ChaFT-U-A PU

iVon[-ne?] datur mihi prqfligari a me ininricos meos.

In another reading of this passage (11, 3) the verb used is
TeR, to destroy.

I conclude these notes on the signification of MA with the

following passage from the 42nd chapter (1. 13) of the Ritual —

eRTA- NeF ANCh-eF 3/^-SeN KI-T'aT MA-Te^.
Datur ei vita ejus ab illis [aliter a vobis.^

(10) eM in. — Champ. Gram. p. 450.

(11) AN. The hieroglyphic name of Heliopolis, which is
found on the most ancient obelisk that is known, that of Seser-
tesen I., was first read with certainty by Dr. Brugsch,^^ although
it had been rightly guessed at before the proofs were forth-
coming. The Biblical name of the city is 1^, and this name is
proved to have been the same as the Egyptian by the comparison
of such variants as (41) and (42) of the name ReAN"(TI). Two
cities bore the same name : Hermonthis was called AN ReS, " An
of the South" ; HehopoHs, AN MeHiT, " An of the North". The
Greek name of the latter town (like the sacred names Pa-Ra,
Aa-Ra, " house of the Sun, city of the Sun"),^" is derived from
the worship of the Sun-god Ra, under the names of HoR-eM
AChU " Horus of both horizons", as the rising Sun, and TUM,
or ATUM, as the setting sun.*^ The " Spirits of An", by whom
Sesertesen is said upon the obelisk to be beloved, are, according

" All the work of the king's house was done by me". (On a remarkable Inscrip-
tion of the 12th Dynasty, p. 19).

^'^ As in the passage (Rosellini, Mon. Stor., p. xlir), " His bow is in his
hand'\ eM A (?)-F. The plm-al of this group is by far more common than the
singular

38 Todt 125, 59.

39 Geographische Inchr. I. p. 170.
*o lb. p. 254, sqq.

*' See a representation of Ra-Hor-m-achu-Tum .Belmore Papyrus, pL III.

Hieroglyphic Studies. 141

to the Ritual/^ Ra, Scliu, and Tefnet, tlie two latter divinities
being, as we know from other texts, the son and daughter of Ra.

(12) RA. The sundisk ideographic of the god Ra (Coptic
pH) followed by the hatchet as the determinative of Gods.

(13) PU. The use of this particle, as a copula, was illustrated
in the last number of the Atlantis as far as was possible by the
mere quotation of examples. It is, however, found attached to
verbs as well as substantives, and to substantives which are
neither subjects nor predicates of prepositions. In the latter case,
at least, its use is analogous to that of the pleonastic ooi of the
Syriac Grammar."*^ And on comparing variants of the same
text, PU will be found in one, whilst it is left out of another.

(14) T'eSeF. The particle T'eS has the signification ipse, and
takes the suffixes of the personal pronouns,** thus —

UTeN-NA NeCheB-eK eM AK-UI-A TeS-A«

Describo titulum tuum digitis meis ipsa ego.

Se-UT'A-K-UA SchA Se-UT'A-K-TU TeS-eK«

,-■ , r J {as thou hast been made } .j i_c

Make me whole < i i > thyself.

The third person masculine T'eSeF will be found in innumer-
able places ; the feminine T'eSeS, and the plural forms occur less
frequently.

The second part of our text will be better understood with an
English than with a Latin translation —

(15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22)

T'aT-TU SchAU eR-F eM T'aT SAu SchA SU

(It is) said Cat to him ) /. /i- n • o tj v • o i

i. e., he is called Cat (Schau)\ /^^^ ^^''^ ^«^^"^ '^^^ ^^^^ *^' ''^- ^'^''^'

Sau is the name of a god which Ra pronounced like the
Egyptian word meaning Cat, and in consequence of this he was
himself called by the name of that animal. Our text does not
explain the circumstances which led the Sun-god to indulge in
a vicious pronunciation similar to that which at the present day
characterises the Jewish mode of speaking EngHsh and German,
and the reverse of that which proved so fatal to the men of
Ephraim on a memorable occasion.*' We have here, however,

The 15th chapter of the Eitual (the most poetical in the book), which consists
of a hymn to the Sun, shows that the names of that deity were not rigidly con-
fined to the occasions mentioned in the text. — See, e. g. line S6.

" Chap. 115, 7.

*^ See examples of this in the Lexicon (p. 126) of the Syriac N. Test., edited
by Leusden and Schaaf, and the obstrvations of Michaelis, Gramm. byr. §. 133.

** See Birch, Introduction, p. 254.

*^ Ve Rouge, stele Egyptienne, p. 51.

*^ Todt. 71, 1.

*' Judges, xii, 6. It is a very cutious fact that the Hebrew S almost invari-
ably corresponds to the Arabic Sch, and the Hebrew Sch to an Arabic S in the
words common to both languages.

142 Hieroglyijhic Studies.

a specimen of those etymological myths for which the Egyptians
seem to have had a predilection. Myths of this kind, which are
not the spontaneous growth of popular imagination, but the
result of rationaHzing reflection, seem to have been much more
common among the ancient Romans than among the Greeks.

Although the sounds S and Sch are naturally allied in the
Egyptian as in other languages, the affinity cannot be said to
have been very great. Nor does the preference for one of these
sounds rather than the other characterize any of the different
ages or dialects of the language.

(15) The word T'aT wliich occurs twice in this sentence is
the most frequent of all hieroglyphic groups, and corresponds to
the Coptic forms X^-^., Xe, XCJO.— Champ. Diet. p. 174. The
final syllable TU, which, in some inscriptions, that of Kosetta
for instance, is written UT, is the participial termination, and
corresponds to the Coptic OTT. — Champ. Gr. p. 429.

I have elsewhere spoken of the Egyptian habit of writing
vowel letters after consonants before which they were probably
pronounced. According, however, to the system of transcription
adopted in these articles, each sign is transcribed exactly in the
order in which it comes in the hieroglyphic text, without pre-
judicing the question which may arise as to the real order in
which these signs are read.

(17) ell-F to him. The phrase, " Simon who is called Peter",
is translated into Coptic neciJULCOIt ^HeT" OTJULOTi" epo-q
Xe nCTpOC that is, " Simon who it is called to him Peter".
In the same way we find OtK^KI GTJULOT'f epo-C Xe
n<L^<LpeO, "a city it is called to it Nazareth". This form of
expression exactly corresponds to that used in aU the Semitic
languages.

Woe to them who say to evil good, and to good evil !*^
that is, " who call evil good, and good evil !" In like manner

the Arabic ^jjI i^ Jli> "it is said to him Abraham",*'

i.e., "he is called Abraham". This idiom, however, is not
peculiar to the Eastern languages, though I am not aware of its
being classical in any other. There are parts of France and
Switzerland in which the peasants say, " On lui dit Jean", for
'* he is called John".

A text quoted on account of the paronomasia contained in it,
in the last number of this JournaP" from Brugsch's Geography,
ought, I think, to be read as follows —

*» Isai. V, 20. ■*» Koran, xxi, 61.

^" Atlantis, IV., p. 366, n. 70. Brugsch Geograph. Inschr. I. p .165.

Hieroglyphic Studies. 143

KA-TU eR ReN HeSPTeN TeB eM TeB HoR TeBH.

It is called to the name of this nome Teh Jrom wounding Horus Typhon.
i. e., The name of this nome is called Teh because here Horus wounded Typhon.

In otiier passages the particle eN^^ is used instead of eR, as —
Pe MU eNTI AlJ-T'aT-NeF TA-KeT-eN-TA-TeBT-U.»2

The water which i. ^/ '^ «?'^ ^« *^ I the 'Tool-of-the- Fishes".
( 1. e., IS called > "^

The " Spirits of tlie West", according to tlie lOStli chapter of
the Ritual, are Turn, Sebek the Lord of Becha^ and
HaT-HoR eM MaSclieR T'aT eR HeSe.
Hathor (goddess) of evening {iJ'''a name by thkh Isis is called.

(20) SAu. The sitting figure at the end of the group
is the determinative placed after the name of a god. The
first sign of the name^^ is found with the value S in the
names and titles of Roman emperors. It is also found^* in the
variants (43) of the name To-SeN, Esne. These authori-
ties are, indeed, of late periods, and ought not to have
much weight if earlier evidence were available in support of
another reading. But I am not aware that convincing proof has
ever been brought forward in favour of an other value. Words
in which the sign occurs may be explained by Coptic equiva-
lents, beginning with S as well as with any other letter. Nothing
short of a well-established variant of a respectable date can decide
the question.

The god SAu is mentioned several times in the Ritual, and
his name is written with and without the final U. It is said in
the 17th Chapter (1. 24):—

HU SAU .... UN-NU eM-CheT TeF-U Turn

Hu (and) Sau they are with their father Turn.

Sau is one of the three gods or " spirits" of HermopoHs,^^ and

^' Compare ChampoUion's Diet. p. 173.

52 Brugsch, ubi supra, p. 166 (697).

5^ Calligraphic varieties of this sign are found. Compare Todt. 80, 1 , with
the corresponding passage of the Cadet papyrus (Description de I'Egypte —
Antiq. ii., pi. 74, 1. 20). Salvolini, after Chanipollion, assigns to it the value S.
Mr. Birch distinguishes between the different periods, and gives it the value Ka
in the earlier periods, S in the later. I do not know what arguments there are
in favour of the value Ka, though I think ^I can guess at one or two of them.
Brugsch keeps to the value S or Sa. The sign itself seems to represent a tissue
—(See Rosellini Mon. Civili, pi. xlii., and the corresponding text vol. 2, p. 27.

Compare Todt. 110, a. 4), which points tothe Coptic COJ^e (or CCO^I) and to

^e. These words are so extremely like each other, that I am almost tempted

to look upon the former as a compound word implying the root CCO, to
weave (?).

5* Brugsch's Geogr. Inschr. i., p. 168. Cf. 145, 81. 83.

" TodMU, 4; 116,3.

144 Hieroglyphic Studiea.

he is found on monuments both alone and in company with liis
brother Hu.^^

(21) SchA like, is the Coptic aj<L, but the sense of it lias
been best preserved in the doubled cy^.cy, Cljecy, cyojctj.
similis, par, wqualis. It has been copiously illustrated in Cham-
pollion's Grammar, p. 477.

(22) SU is a personal pronoim he, him, it, they, th^mi, and in our
text refers to the substantive SchAU. Champollion describes
this pronoun as a " complement direct du verbe".^^ Dr. Brugsch
expresses the strongest approbation of this view, and at first sight
Mr. Birch's " Introduction" seems to agree in looking upon SU as
a mere accusative form.^* A translation, however, which occurs
in the last mentioned work,^^ leads me to think that Mr. Birch
only insists upon the accusative use of SU, without denying that
it may be taken as a nominative. In the translation to which
I refer, we find it said of the tower built by Ramses II. —

*' Su er shua Taha er a Merter It holds Taha for Egypt

" Su kha skhar Annu rasu It is like a picture of South Anu.

The most recent works of Dr. Brugsch may also be cited in
favour of Su as a nominative as well as accusative form. The
celebrated inscription of the Vatican speaks of Darius^" —

AS HeN-F eM AKAM AS SU eM UaR Aa eN SeT
Whilst his holiness was in Aram, when he became the Great King of the whole
NeB
world.

In the Anastasi Papjrrus (No. 1) we read of —

TeSchAeMPelUMaT'aReN MeRU ReN-eF AT'A-TU-F MU eM

A fortress in the sea, Ti/re of the waters (is) its name, it receives water in
BARI-U SeSeR SU eM RaM-U eR SehA-U
barksy rich it (is) in fishes for food.

The same papyrus contains other examples of Su as a nomina-
tive —

I . . . RAI eM-SchA SU SchA Ach.

I . . . rai likewise, it (is) like what ? i.e. nothing can be
compared to it.

SU RoT eM UN-TU^i
It {is) blooming with (?) trees.

^•^ See Sharpe Egyptian Inscr.,2 series, pi. 19. Lepsius, Denkmiiler, iv., pi.
17. I know of no reason for suspecting an identitj'- between the god Sau and
the god Ka {Todt. 105, 1), or between either of these and the god whose
hieroglyph occupies the third place on the Egyptian cubit. No reason has yet

been given for confounding the latter sign with the alphabetic sign K Cf.

Lepsius, Ueber den le Gbtterkreis, p. 1 85.

S7 Gramm., p. 287.

*^ Introduction, p. 253.

69 lb., p. 267.

60 Geogr. Inschr. i., p. 68 (354).

61 lb. ii., p. 43 (128)., p 54 (1G3).

Hieroglyphic Studies. 145

Many other examples might be quoted, but I have thought
it better to confine myself to the passages already translated by
authorities which might be supposed .to tell against the view I am
maintaining. It may readily be granted, on the other hand, that
the number of passages in which SU appears as an accusative, is
apparently far greater than that of such as have already been
cited. Two examples will suffice : —

HoR PU (N) MeS SU HeSe IteNeN SU NeBT-HA ScliA
(The departed) is Horns, hringeih him forth Isis, nurseth him Nepthys, as

ARi-SeN eN HoR^^
they did to Horus.

SeCheR-eF SU CheNuR-eF SU SchA TeHA-U eR-HaT PeNiF-U^'
He overthrows them, he disperses them like reeds before the winds.

The third part of our text merely repeats the statement, that
in consequence of the Sun-god's mis-pronunciation of his son's
name, he received the nickname of " Cat".

(23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30)

eM NeN ARi-NeF ChePeR ReN-eF PU eN SchAU
From so _ he did ? j^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^
t.e.jrom his doing so ^ \ y ^

(24) NeN. The reading of this group is proved by the
variants of such names as ToNeNT^*, Totunen, Tanen, Senen,
etc. The two lines (N, N) are, therefore, the phonetic equivalents
of the initial signs, which are also interchanged with the sign
(46). The word NeN has been explained by M. de Rouge.
*' Its first meaning is likeness; as an adverb, it corresponds to
sic; as a demonstrative pronoun, it is found either with a plural
substantive, as nen neteru ' these gods' ; or by itself, signifying
this, that, these things, viz., those which have just been men-
tioned, as in the usual phrase of the papyri Ha-sa-nen ' after
that'". The compound form " SchA-NeN" like, has also been
explained by the same illustrious scholar.

Several passages have already been quoted, in which NeN
occurs. A few more will still farther illustrate the use of the
word : —

NoK HeSARi NeB ReSTi NeN(-NU) eNTI eM APe CheT^a
/ am Osiris the lord ofResti, the same who (is) at the top of the stah-case.

^ Todt. 134, 6.

«3 Rosellini, M.R., pi. 108.

" See Variants (44) and (45). Lepsius, Te Gotterkreis, p. 198.

®^ Stele Egyptienne, p. 150. Compare "Notice de quelques textes hierogyphi-
ques recerament publics par M Greene", p. 28, 31.

^^ Todt. 22, 2. Some light will be thrown upon the expression " at the head
of the staircase", by such pictures as Descript. de I'Egypte, Antiquites, plates 58
and 64, or by such as Champ. Mon. III. 272. In the last of these pictures
Osiris is depicted as forming the prop of the balance, which is placed at the top
of a staircase which men are ascending.

III. 10

146 Hieroglyphic Studies.

So again, " the gods behind Osiris are, Amset, Hapi, Tiaumu-
tef, Kebsenuf: —
NeN PU eNTI eM-Sa Pe ChePeSch eN Pe MeHiT^^

the same wlio are behind the " Thigh'"* of the northern sk?/, i.e., the con-

stellation of the Great Bear.

Among the privileges enjoyed by the departed, we are told in
a rubric, of which a part has already been quoted : —

UN-NeF eM NeTeR eR HeH SeRuT HA-U-F eM NeTeR-KeR

He becomes a God for ever, made to flourish are his limbs in Hades

AN TeT ARi-T NeN T'eSeF eN HeSARi eR eRTA UBeN MUU
through Thoth who did [this or thusi himself to Osiris^ to make a ray of light
HeR Cha-F68
with his body.

The 99th chapter speaks of com and barley seven cubits high

in the fields of Aanur, reaped by the ministers of Horus ; of the

beatified soul it is said : —

USchA CheR-F eM NeN KeTTI BoTI
Edit autem ille ex illo tritico et hordeo.

(For the reading KeTTI compare lines 4 and 8 of chap. 149).
SchA-NeN is found in passages like the following : —

Ta-K HA-A eR HeH SchA-NeN-(NU) ARi-NeK HeNA TeF-eK

Grant (that) I may go on for ever as thou hast done with thy father

TUM c. 154, 3.^

Tum.

SchA-NeN ARi-TEN eN ChU SeCheF AP-U AM-U ScheSe NeB-SeN
Quemadmodum fecistis spiritibus septem illis qui sunt in ministerio Domini eorum
c. 17, 33.

(25) ARi-NeF 7ie did. We have here the verb ARi,
to do, the final F is the sign of the third person singular
masculine, the N which precedes it indicates the perfect
tense. As all traces of the original pronunciation are irre-
coverably lost, it is impossible to say whether the ancient

67 Todt. 17, 35.

6^ Todt. 101, 8. I am not quite sure about the true sense (in this passage) of
the group eRTA. If it signifies make, as it does in many places, the preposition
HeR means " out of, with", as in the phrase " made with wood", See the
description of the taMsmans (155, 2 ; 156, 3), MeNCh HeR CheT eN NeH,
" made out of the trunk of a sycamore".

^9 Compare hue 4 —

SchA-NeN ARi-NeK eR NeTeR NeB NeTeR-T NeB
As thou hast done to every god (and) every goddess.

I am not yet able to follow Mr. Birch in reading MA everywhere, instead of
Ta, for the Arm supporting a pyramidal object. Yet many passages of the
Todtenbuch, on being compared together, would seem to confirm Mr. Birch's
transcription. Compare, e.g., the first and second lines of Chap. 57. But com-
pare also 54, 1, and 56, 1. Synonyms may often be mistaken for v^ariants. And
that synonyms frequently occur in passages otherwise identical, is generally
admitted. Compare 136, 24 (or 164, 15) with 165, 15. The texts signify "he
drinks water out of the depths of the river", but in one text the preposition
HeR is used for " out of", in the other the preposition eM.

Hieroglyphic Studies. 147

Egyptians made a distinction between the sound of eRTA-NeF
dedit ille and eRTA-NeF datur illi, N, in the latter instance,
no longer being the sign of the perfect, but the particle N
signifying of, to, etc. The termination NA (or NeK, NeF,
etc., according to the person) is often found in a sentence
with both significations. Nothing but the evident sense of the
passage can enable us to distinguish between them. Thus —

CheSeF-NA APeP Se-HeM-NA EaT-U-F eRTA-NA RA

/ repulsed Apophis, I made to retrograde his feet, lent to me Ra
A(?)-UI-F AN CheSeF-UA KeTI-U-F^o
his arms, did not repulse me his divine satellites J ^

70 Todt., 100, 3. Very nearly the same text is found (Ch. 129, 3), only with
the third person, instead of the first. It is interesting to compare the parallel
forms. CheSeF-UA, "repulsed me'\ corresponds to CheSeF SU, "repulsed
him". So M AA-SeN-UA (Ch. 78, 26), *' they see me", answers to the frequent
phrase, MAA-SeN-SU "they see him". It follows, that UA indicates the
reflected form when it comes after the verb in the first person.

7^ " Satellites" is here given as a mere provisional translation of the proper
name KeTI-U, which requires some explanation. It is not without considerable
hesitation that I venture for once to abandon a reading supported by the autho-
rity of M. de Rouge, even though it be in order to follow one which has in its
favour the names and arguments of men like Lepsius, Birch, and Brugsch. The
names of the Decan Seket and the city Rakoti (^Alexandria), in which the sign
(47) occurs, appear to counterbalance the fact, that it is often found preceded by
an initial A. (Cf. de Rouge Notice de quelques textes hieroglyphiques, p. 28).
This initial A may be accounted for exactly in the same way as that suggested
by M. de Rouge for the A often found before the group Chu; "je sais quece
radical ainsi que beaucoup d'autres, se presente souvent dans les rituels antiques,
avec une ou deux voyelles initiales. C'est ce qui a engage, sans doute, M. Birch
a lire ach ; mais la valeur de, etc., etant certaine, il ne faut voir dans ces exam-
ples quune voyelle initiale ajoutee au radical simple; ce que les- langues
egyptiennes et coptes admettent tres facilement". (Essai sur une stele

^gyptienne, p. 95.) It is interesting to note that the Coptic root KT", build, is
precisely one of those which are found with an initial vowel. See Tattam Lexic.
jEgyptiac, p. 78. The Coptic and Egyptian resemble the Semitic languages in
their frequent use of the prosthetic vowel. Compare Gesenius, Lehrgebaude d.
hebr. Sprache, p. 139.

The gods called KeTI-U, are repeatedly mentioned in the Ritual (3, 2. 15, 26.
130, 15. 22. 140, 9. 144, 20. 149, 31). They were attached to the Sun, and fol-
lowed him in his course. The deceased addresses the Sun (101, \) : —
HeFT-eK HeR MAHU eN UA-K AU-ChNuM-NA eM KeTI-U-K
Thou restest on the oar of thy hark, I am joined to thy satellites.
In the previous chapter (100, 7) we had been told about the deceased, that —
eRTA-ChN uM-eF eM PuT NuTeR-U AM-U CheT RA Se-HaT'

He is joined to the cycle of gods who are with the Sun, he enlightens
Ta-(Ti) ChaFT-SeN
the earth together with them.

In one of his "^gyptische Studien", Brugsch quotes a passage from the 130th
chapter (1. 21), to the efiect, that the Decans "in grosser Freude seien indem sie
ergreifen die Spitze der Sonnen (Barke)". The quotation stops short of two im-
portant words, and the end of the sentence is literally —

CheP-SeN HaT eN RA MA KeTI-U-F
Captant caput solis ex satelliiibus ejus.

10 B

148 Hieroglyphic Studies.

One of tlie most interesting parts of M. de Rouge s invaluable

These gods are frequently alluded to under the name of the "limbs of the
Sun", as when it is said of the departed (ubi supra, 1. 28), that " he sees the Sun-
god in his members". In the 17th chapter, the interrogation "I am the great
god, self created", is thus explained (line 4) —

RA PU KeMa HA-U-F ChePeR NeX NeTeR-U AM-U-CheT RA
The Sun it is who made his limbs, ivho created those gods which are with the Sun.

Here the parallelism of the sentence (Cf. de Rouge, Tombeau d'Ahmes, p, 110.
Birch, Memoire sur une patere egyptienne, p. 9) requires that the same relation
should exist between the accusatives of KeMa and ChePeR, as between those
verbs themselves. Now, these verbs being synonymous, it follows that " those
gods which are with the Sun", are " his limbs", and they are so thoroughly iden-
tified with him that, from having made them, he is said to have created, or given
birth to himself. Another text bearing, I think, on the subject, is found,
Todt. 17, 74,

ChePeRA HeR-HeTUA-F PTU-U TeT-eF

The Creator in his bark, the gods (are) his body.

(I omit the initial interjection, and the various readings T'eSeF and T'eTa at the

end. ChePeRA, the Creator, is, as we are told at line 79, Hormachu, one of

the forms of Ra.)

In a passage already quoted from the Ritual, it is, I think, said, that the body
of the departed was made into a ray of light. Are we to interpret by the solar
rays these KeTI-U, or " gods which are with Ra'', and repulse bis enemies, " his
divine limbs'', one with himself, to which the beatified spirit is united after
death, in company with which he illuminates the earth, and from which the
constellations catch the first glimpses of the Sun-God ?

It is, perhaps, unsafe to look in the Coptic for the etymological affinities of the

word KeTI. Still it is worth noting, that i<(JO"| signifies " encircling", and is
found in numberless passages of the Coptic scriptures with this sense. " Going
round", and " carrying or bringing round", are derived meanings, of which the
hieroglyphic Se-KeT offers numerous examples in the Ritual, beginning at chap.
1, line 18 (where the deceased sees Orion go round), and continuing all through
the book, the most frequent instances referring to the bark of the Sun.

In the well-known text, in which it is said of the god Chnum, who is repre-
sented as fashioning man with a potter's implements,
KeT-NeF SU eM A(?)-UI-F
He made him with his hands,

KeT, perhaps, corresponds to the Coptic KCT", cedijicare. It is no argument
against this, that to form and to build, are diflPerent notions ; for if so, it would
equally tell against the evident relationship between the English build, the
German bilden, and the corresponding Dutch, Flemish, and other Teutonic
words which are used with reference to painting and sculpture. A still stronger
argument is the fact, that the group KeT is really found replaced by the ideo-
graph (PI. II. 76) of a man building a wall. See, for instance, the legend at
Philae (ChampoUion's Mon. I. pi. 89, or Rosellini M, del Culto, pi. 77), where
the god Chnum " builds the divine limbs of Osiris".

Another important word, in which the sign (47) occurs, is KeT-TI, wheat,
Todt., 149, 8. This word has certainly as much resemblance to the Hebrew
ntih and the Syriac JA.A^ as the Sanskrit godhu-ma from which von Bohlen
supposed the Semitic names of wheat to be derived, and from wliich he would
certainly have derived the Egyptian name had he known it. Other Semitic
names of wheat, however, are the Arabic Xla^rs* and the Chaldaic "p'jsn, and
the question has naturally been raised, whether the letter N in these words is
radical, and has only disappeared from the Hebrew and Syriac in consequence of

Hieroglyphic Studies. 149

Memoir on the inscription of Ahmes, is tliat in which he has called
attention to this point/^ He has shown how in many instances
N is replaced by the particle AN {hy^ through) which leaves no
doubt as to the function it discharges. Perhaps we are as yet
very much in the dark as to the real nature of the Egyptian
tenses, and the darkness may be greatly increased by a wish to
identify them with the tenses of European grammars. eM
NeN ARi-NeF cannot literally be translated into good English
or Latin, if ARi-NeF be taken as a mere perfect tense, but it is
possible that ARi is taken substantively as in the cases cited by
M. de Rouge, and that the whole should be translated " from this
doing by him".

(26) ChePeR. The Beetle is found in several names of Roman
emperors, and in all of them with the value T or D. Mr. Birch
has, however, shown that, in the earlier times, its value was
ChePeR.^^ This is proved by variants of all ages, from the time
of the Pyramids downwards, and is now generally admitted.
One solitary piece of evidence which has been asserted^* in favour
of another value during the Pharaonic ages has never been
verified. It is to Mr. Birch also, and M. de Rouge after him,
that we are indebted for the full illustration of the different

its being assimilated in those languages by the stronger sound of the T. Such
is the opinion of Gesenius, who, in his Thesaurus, is disposed, like Celsius, to
refer all these names to an Arabic root signifying red. On the other hand, it
would seem hazardous to lose sight of a very decided and well-known tendency
of the Chaldaic, Arabic, and ^thiopic languages to interpolate the letter N in
places from which it was originally absent. Thus the Greek word fitjxavv is

transcribed manguane in JEthiopic, and the Arabic J^j^ a pig, is the equi-
valent of the Hebrew -iith and the Syriac j^pw* The Sadducees are called
in the Arabic Versions X^5>U*J\ (Cf. Gesenius, Lehrgebiiude der hebr. Sprache,
p. 863; Dillmann, Gramm. d. iithiopischen Sprache, pp. 88, 110.) If we look
beyond the Semitic languages, we find the Persian name ^JsicJ gandhunij

a form intermediate between the corresponding Arabic and Sanskrit words.
It is found in the Turkish, Hindustani, and Malay languages, and, with
slight modifications, in the Kurd, Afghan, and other dialects. The English
wheat, the German weizen, the Scandinavian hveiti, the Massogothic hwaitCj
the Lithuanian kweti, have generally been held cognate to the Hebrew
ntah. If this relationship were once securely established, it would appear
that the many different names of wheat are reducible to a single type. As I am
unable at present to state the earliest date of the word KeT-TI, I am not pre-
pared to assert that the type had its origin in Egypt ; though, as that country
was aheady the granary of the world in the patriarchal times, and as the use of
wheat was known there in the very earliest ages of its history, and for centuries
prior to the remains of any other language, it is hardly supposable that the
Egyptians should have dropped an indigenous for the foreign name of so impor-
tant an article of food.

^^ Tombeau d' Ahmes, p. 170.

^^ Revue Archeologique, vol. 5. De Eouge Tombeau d' Ahmes, p. 51, sqq.

^* By M. Poitevin (Rev. Arch., vol. XI., p. 596), who says, that the Beelet
stands in ancient rituals for the T in Atum.

10*

150 Hieroglyphic Studies.

meanings of tlie word, the Coptic form of wliicli is Ctjeil,
ttjcwni = yiveaOai. We have already seen the affinity between
the articulations Ch and OJ. Another remarkable phenomenon
in the history of the language is the loss in many words of the
final R, a change similar to that from the Latin frater, mulier,
to the Italian /raie, moglie. ChampoUion had already noticed this
phenomenon, and more recent inquiries have only confirmed his
views. The Coptic has preserved traces^^ of this change, princi-
pally in the double forms (with or without the final R) often found
of the same word. ^2>op, fi.epB.ep, JUiepe, Ta5JULep,
^OKep, ^T"(JOp are found concurrently with the more recent

forms ^.^o, Kefie, JULe, TCJOJULe, £,ko, ^xo.^^ j^^^ ^^ ^^^

other hand, hieroglyphic and demotic texts are not wanting to
prove that this change began with reference to some words at an
earlier period of the language than the Coptic. Mr. Birch has
quoted a variant ChePI as an equivalent to the group made up
of the Beetle and the two Reeds. At Edfu, the common expres-
sion ChePeR T'eSeF, self created, is written CheP T'eSeF.^'^

It is impossible in an article like this to quote examples
in sufficient number to illustrate the various uses of the word
ChePeR. We must be content with noting, that its primitive
sense is " becoming", and that it is employed both transitively
and intransitively.

As an example of the intransitive use of the word we have —

ChePeR CheEI-U eM NuTeRU eM CheRI-U-F^s

Fiunt boves deorum boves ejus

The transformations which the departed is represented through-
out the Ritual as constantly undergoing after death, are called
ChePeR-U, a word which M. de Rousfe has shown^^ to have been

'* It is interesting to observe, that Peyron, in his Coptic Grammar, is some-
times obUged to have recourse to a paragogic p, to explain the identity between
forms which really represent the more ancient and the more modern ages of the
language. His classification of some of the forms in R as irregular plurals, is
untenable in fact ; and, at all events, the fact would still remain to be explained.

The simplest explanation of the form ^TUOp is surely found in the hieroglyphic
HTR, written over a horse, on a large number of monuments.

^^ Compare, also, such forms as the Sahidic^P^pO, whi/, with the Memphitic
A.^O^ or the Sahidic ^pA., a face, with the Bashmuric ^^, and
Memphitic ^O.

^'^ See Brugsch, Geogr. Inschr., i. Taf, xxxiv (700) c.

78 Todt, 112, 6.

'9 Tombeau d'Ahmes, p. 110. Another synonym of ChePeR-U is AR-U
(Todt., 17, 51), Avhich, perhaps, points to ARifacere, as a synonym of ChePeR.
That ARi is = MeS, was explained in a former article.

Hieroglyphic Studies. 151

used synonymously with MeS-TU, hirth^ coming into being. To
the examples quoted by M. de Rouge, it may be added, that the
phrase MeS T'eSeF, " giving birth to himself", is used synony-
mously with ChePeR T'eSeF.*^" Hence, the sense produce^
create^ as in the following passage —

ChePeR-NeF SeM-U RuT-NeF UeT'-UeT' NeB^i

He made to grow the grass, he made to flourish all things green.

If we add that, in the phrase " he made his enemies not to he'\
eM TeM ChePeR is found as the synonym of eM TeM UN,
it will appear that^er^, facere, and esse^ are three different signifi-
cations of the word ChePeR. From these three principal signi-
fications all the others are easily derived.

(27) ReN-eF, his name. This word is the Coptic p^.n with
the pronominal sufl&x of the third person masculine. The group
is followed by the pleonastic PU, and the final group (eN
SchAU, of Cat) requires no farther explanation. A phrase
precisely similar to that just explained, is found in the 112th
chapter (1. 7) ChePeR ReN-eF eN HoR . . . His name became
that of Horus.

It is not likely that this paper will be read by any one who
believes that the secret of the hieroglyphic writing is lost for
ever, and that the latest as well as the earliest attempts at de-
cipherment and interpretation have been made in vaim The
paper is more likely to fall into the hands of readers who, with-
out any decided disbelief in the success of ChampolHon and
his successors, are yet in a state of absolute uncertamty as to
the degree of confidence which may be placed in such transla-
tions as have been given in these pages from hieroglyphic texts.

To such persons I can only offer the test which they would
probably themselves adopt, were they obliged to form an opinion
as to the fidelity of a translation from a language unknown to
them ; and that is the testimony of independent witnesses. A
person ignorant of Greek, and therefore unable to judge whether
his son correctly reads and translates a given passage, ought
surely to feel satisfied when the passage is read and translated
m precisely the same manner by the first six or seven persons
consulted by him, if it be impossible to suspect any collusion be-
tween them, although he is as incapable of judging their powers
even of reading the language as in the case of his own son. The
certainty arrived at in this instance is not derived from the facts
that Greek is a language supposed to be known by many educated

«" See a text in Lepsius Denkm. III. 229.
«' Todt., 149, 59.

152 Hieroglyphic Studies.

men, and that tKe persons consulted have the reputation of being
educated men, but from the no less certain fact that any person,
professing to read and translate a passage of a language really
unknown to him must necessarily fall into a multitude of errors,
and from the extreme improbability, not to say impossibiHty, that
six or seven different persons should independently err into
exactly the same combination of errors.

In applying this test to hieroglyphics, it must be observed that
the greater parts of the texts quoted in this paper have, up to the
present moment, remained untranslated. Yet I have no hesitation
in saying that, were these texts put before any of the scholars
whose names are held in estimation among Egyptologists, such as
Dr. Hincks in this country, Mr. Birch in England, M. de Rouge
and M. Chabas in France, Dr. Lepsius and Dr. Brugsch in Ger-
many, not to mention others,

1. These gentlemen would, one and all, divide the texts into
exactly the same groups as mine.

2. They would (saving certain restrictions, presently to be
noticed), read and translate these groups as I have done.

3. If the translation of any of the passages quoted from the
Book of the Dead were put before the scholars I have named,
they would easily point out the chapter and line from which it.
was taken.

4. I do not profess to be able to translate every passage in the
Book of the Dead ; but if any passsage in it be translated by any
one of the above-mentioned scholars, I mil undertake to point
out the original text, determine the beginning and the end of it,
divide it accurately into groups, and assign to each the same
meaning as that given to it by its translator.

And I humbly submit that all this would be impossible if the
science of Egyptology were an illusion.

One of the first steps in the process of reading, namely, the
division into groups, is by no means an easy one.^^ The most

8^ It is worth while comparing Dr. SeyfFarth's division into groups with that
followed by the school of Champollion. The last two groups, for instance, of
Todt. 88, which Champollion and all who follow him would read eM SeCheM,
of or in Sechem, are divided by Dr. S. into four groups, which he reads and
translates as follows ;

crocodiloruin in hypogei cedijicio urbis
In the first plate attached to this article I have given at C the last line of the
Book of tlie Dead. The Coptic transcription is that of Dr. Seyffarth, that in
Roman letters is my own. The correct translation is as follows —

SAU-F MU eM HeBBe eNT AUR PeST-eF SchA TIAU-U eM
He drinks water from the depth of the River, he shines like the stars in
HeR-T
heaveru

Hieroglyphic Studies. 153

perfect knowledge of the Greek alphabet will not enable a person
totally ignorant of the Greek language to divide the lines in the
Codex Alexandrinus or the Codex Vaticanus into the right
words, nor could two such persons independently divide a page
of these manuscripts so as to produce an identical result. They
might, it is true, proceed upon one and the same false system,
but if this enabled them to identify a certain number of imaginary
grammatical forms, it would render them no assistance whatever
in arranging those portions from which these forms were absent.
The vocabulary suited to one page would have but little in
common with that of another, and the portions of a word wrongly
divided would enter into new combinations, which, in company
with all the other " disjecta membra", would tend to increase
the vocabulary of the language to an indefinite extent.

I have alluded to certain restrictions which somewhat modify
my assertion that all Egyptologists would read and translate
the hieroglyphic groups exactly as I have done. With regard
to the reading, it must be borne in mind that Egyptologists are
not agreed as to the best means of transcribing hieroglyphs into
Roman characters. But this is not peculiar to hieroglyphs.
Although the Arabic is a language tolerably well known at the
present day, there are not two Orientalists who transcribe it in the
same way. One reason, indeed, for this is, that Arabic is a
living language spoken in very different localities. Still, the
fact remains the same, and it is quite certain that in general the
differences in transcription between Egyptologists, however im-
portant in themselves, are not greater in kind that that which
exists between the respective pronunciations of two Arabic pro-
vinces, or even of two German towns. There are, it is true, cases
in which scholars have assigned values to certain hieroglyphs
without having succeeded in getting their views generally recog-
nized. But this merely proves that the science is as yet incom-
plete, as every one allows, not that it is baseless or but little ad-
vanced. As to the translation, I have here and there intimated
that I was not quite sure of having caught the sense of a word or
a phrase ; I gave the sense which appeared most probable ; but
in all the cases referred to, I should not be surprised if a different
interpretation were given by higher authorities. Besides these

Br. Seyffarth's translation is :
Potum dantis potoribus Jiuminis fulgentis gloriosi Zodiaci, qui flammas dejicit
similes stellis Ononis caelestis.

The words of the two translations which agree do not necessarily refer to the
same groups. What I translate from the depth, corresponds to the *^ Jiuminis
fnlcjentif of Dr. S., and the word PeST-eF, " he shines", is broken by Dr. S. into
three distinct words signifying "qui flammas dejicit". Other coincidences
in the translations are due to Champollion's Dictionary.

154

Hieroglyphic Studies.

instances of possible errors, of whicli I am perfectly conscious, it
is not improbable that I have unsuspectingly made otber blunders,
just as I might in translating Latin or Greek. I am certain,
however, that these are comparatively few, and that, all reserves
being taken into account, I may confidently appeal on behalf of
the translations in question to those eminent scholars who are
daily extending the boundaries of the science.*^

PLATE II.

This plate contains most of the hieroglyphic texts quoted in the foregoing article. Such as are
wanting were not introduced into the article until the plate was already engraved. The
following table may serve as a concordance between the plate and the article.

Transcribed and translated.

Tex

t. Whence taken.

1.

Todtenbuch, 86, 8, . .

2.
3.

6.

101, 6. . . .
130,27, . . .
136,12, . . .
140,12, . . .

6. Prisse, Monumens, PI. 21, line 13,

7. „ „ ^1, ), -I'j

8. „ „ 21, „ 21,

9. De Rouge, Stele Egyptienne, PI. 108,

10. Todtenbuch, 7, 3, .

11. „ 125, 10, .

12. „ 22, 2, .

13. „ 149, 55, .

14. „ 149,56, .

15. Rosetta Inscription, line 10,

16. Todtenbuch, 17, 64, .

17.

t)

17, 51,

18.

>»

17, 73,

20.

)t

72, 2,

21.

>j

136, 6,

22.

})

148, 16,

23.

t>

11, 3,

24.

t)

32, 2,

25.

»

43, 1,

26.

>»

28, tit.,

27.

n

30, tit..

28.

i»

128, 5,

29. Sharpe, Egypt. Inscr., PI. 75, line 4,

30. ChampoUion, Monumens, PL 214,

31. Todtenbuch, 125, 63, .

32. „ 124, 10, .

33. „ 15, 9, .

34. Lepsius, Denkmaler II., PL, 121,

35. Todtenbuch, 125, 59, .

36. „ 49, 2, .

( Atlantis, Vol. III.,
( page 130, line 24.

>»

, 31.

131,

, 8.

5,

, 15.

132,

, 1.

»

, 10.

M

, 12.

n 1

, 14.

)t 1

, 16.

M 1

, 33.

134,

, 11.

, 14.

j» >

, 21.

J» 3

, 24.

136,

, 14.

5) J

, 28.

M >

, 37.

137,

, 2.

i> )

, 7.

M 1

, 10,

J> >

, 13.

» >

, 18.

>1 T

, 20.

>» ■>

, 22.

138, ,

, 8.

H J

, 11.

, 19.

M >

, 23.

)) )

, 26.

» 1

, 31.

>, »

, 36.

139,

, 2.

"

, 22.

140, ,

, 9.

J> s

, 15.

83 It -was not till this article was ready for the press that I had the advantage
of seeing the fifteenth volume of the Revue Archeologique, containing several
valuable articles by M. Chabas. I have altered nothing m consequence of those
articles.

Hieroglyphic Studies.

155

37.

Todtenbuch,

42,13, . . . .

page

140.

line 21.

38.

De Kouge, Stele Egyptienne, p. 61, .

}>

141,

JJ

15.

39.

Todtenbuch

71, 1, . , . .

))

1)

J,

17.

40.

Bmgsch, Geogr. Inschr. Bd. 1, Taf. 34,

No. 6

84,

}>

143,

J,

1.

41.

„ No.

697, . , . .

)>

n

,1

5.

42.

Todtenbuch, 108, 10, .

i»

»

,,

9.

43.

j»

17, 24, .

»•

»

JJ

27.

44.

Bmgsch, Geogr. Inschr. Bd. 1, Taf. 9, 1

sTo. 3^

>4,

J,

144,

JJ

22.

45.

Todtenbuch

134, 6, . . ,

}>

145,

JJ

8.

46.

}>

22, 2, . . .

>,

5>

JJ

35.

47.

)»

17, 35, .

M

146,

JJ

3.

48.

)>

101, 8, . . .

JJ

»»

JJ

8.

49.

j>

99,33, .

J)

J,

JJ

17.

60.

)»

154, 3, . . .

))

»>

JJ

21.

61.

)>

17,33, . . .

»>

'»

JJ

25.

62.

j>

100, 3, . . .

1>

147,

JJ

8.

63.

)}

112, 6, . . .

»

150,

JJ

25.

64.

1)

149, 59, .

»

151,

JJ

6.

65.

»>

112, 7, . . .

>>

j>

JJ

18.

56.

j»

17,11, . . .

;>

128,

note

6,

JJ

2.

57.

»>

13, 1, . . .

J,

130,

j>

10,

JJ

3.

58.

91

42,22, . . .

»)

»j

,»

10,

JJ

11.

69.«*

38, 2, . . .

j>

131,

J)

14j

JJ

6.

60.

Description

de I'Egypte, Antiquites, V.

P1.4

0,

>>

J?

>>

14,

JJ

12.

61.

„

Ibid, .

»>

»>

14,

JJ

15.

62.

Todtenbuch

148, 4, . . .

»

»

,j

15,

JJ

1.

63.

5»

18,39, .

»>

132,

j>

16,

JJ

2.

64.

))

19,14, . . .

,>

5»

»>

16,

JJ

5.

65.

>>

149,36, .

;t

134,

?i

20,

JJ

8.

66.

Sharpe Eg.

Inscr. PI. 57,41,

M

138,

»»

27,

JJ

2.

67.

Todtenbuch

, 1, 18, . . .

5»

139,

J)

34,

JJ

1.

68.

>>

89, 7, . . .

5>

.,

•J

34,

JJ

3.

69.

])

154, 4, . . .

5>

146,

M

69,

JJ

2.

70.

»

101, 1, . . .

»

147,

»>

71,

JJ

24.

71.

j»

100, 7, . . .

J)

,)

J)

71,

JJ

27.

72.

11

130,21, .

»

»

}>

71,

JJ

35.

73.

3>

17, 4, . . .

J>

148,

JJ

71,

JJ

5.

74.

>J

17,74, .

1»

»»

J>

71,

J,

15.

75.

Champolhon Diet. p. 222, .

Ji

)>

5>

71,

JJ

35.

76.

lb. p. 31,

Cf. Rosellini Mon. d. Culto PI. 22,

J>

»

JJ

71,

JJ

43.

^* In the first group PeTHU-A of this text, the sign of the first person sin-
gular, a seated figure (=A), has been omitted in the engTaving.

[As the Revue Archeologique of the present year is publishing a series of
valuable papers, by M. le Vicomte de Rouge, on the Ritual of the Ancient
Egyptians, it is important, for obvious reasons, to state, that the preceding
article was written in the course of last summer. It was already in print
early in December, and, but for the unavoidable delay in the publication of this
number of the Atlantis, would have appeared on tlie first of January. — Ed.]

MATHEMATICAI., PHYSICAL, AND NATDKAL

SCIENCES.

Art. V. — On the general solution of Cubic Equations, and the
reduction of what is called the Irreducible Case of CardarHs
Rule. By W. G. Penny, M.A.

The solution of a cubic equation may in all cases be effected ;
but, inasmuch as different metbods are employed for tliis purpose
according as all tbe roots are positive or not, no solution which
is considered a general one, that is, one which is applicable to
all cases, has, I believe, been given. It would appear, however,
that by a shght variation of the methods already in use, we may
obtain such a solution; one, that is, which will include both
cases, viz., where the roots are all possible, and where two of
them are impossible. To make what follows more clear, it may
be well if I give briefly the methods above spoken of. There
are two of them, and the first is of Cardan.

Let the equation, when deprived of its second term, be

x^—qx—r-zz^.

Now let ^=:a + &, therefore

a'+6'+3a6(a+6)-^(a+5)-?'=0

We have as yet only supposed that x is divided into two parts,
a and 6, we may now make the further supposition that it is
divided into two parts in such a way that

K>ab—q shall equal 0, or b=-^

substituting this value of b in the last equation, we shall have

«^+2b-^=«

Solution of Cubic Equations. 157

whicli will give

<^'=i-N/i-|

3

27

We shall obtain a similar value for 6', except that when the
positive sign is taken in one, the negative is taken in the other,
so that we shall have

Now when the quantity under the sign of the square root is
negative, that is, when the roots are all positive, the quantity

W ~A~iy7 hecomes impossible, and Cardan's solution is said to

fail ; and the following method is had recourse to.
Let the equation be as before

oc^—qx—rzzzO.

Let now ^=m cos

. • . m'cos^0— gmcos 0— r=0

now cos ^0 = 1 cos 0-i-:| cos 30

. • . by substituting this value of cos '0

fm^cos Q—qmco^Q-\-\m^co^2>d—r=.0

Let us now, as before, make a further supposition as to the
relation between m and cos 0, and suppose that

fw*— ^'=0 or 7n = 2\/ I
then also we shall have

COS 30 = — 3=^ \/

27
m^~2^ q"

158 Rev. W. G. Penny on the

• . o\)— cos ^ttV -t
= icos ^^^V ^

cos

0=cosrjcos-^|V -j^
^=m cos 0=2 a/ I^cos (J cos ~^^\/ —A (B)

This solution requires that « V — ^ should be less than unity,

since a cosine is always less than unity, and applies, therefore, to
the case in which Cardan's rule is said to fail, viz., to the case
where all the roots are possible, and is called " the irreducible
case of Cardan's Rule". We have, therefore, obtained two
distinct solutions for the two cases which may occur.

Now, if a general solution can be found, it is manifest that it
must be such that the values of x given in (A) and (B) shall

be particular cases of it, according as-j is greater or less than^

or, in other words, such a value of x must be obtained, as may
be put into either of the forms given above, as may be most
convenient. Now the one is in the form of a binomial, obtained
by the substitution of a binomial for ,27, and the other is in the
form of a cosine, obtained by the substitution of a cosine ; also
the sum of two exponential quantities will be of both forms,
namely, of a binomial and a cosine. Let us therefore suppose

let now 3c— 2^=0 or c=~

then e^^ + 97^"-^ — r = 0, which will give

e»=^+x/^+|7, or

Solution of Cubic Equations. 159

i/=i%f U+ V f —Ij) ^^^ therefore

x-^e^ + ce"

^ilog,(^^W^i\)^q-Vo9.C,^V'-^¥7) (C)

o

Now tliis is a quantity wliicli may be put under either of the
forms given above, as may be found most convenient, for we
must first put it under the form

^=e^°^^5+^?-|7+ q_

3/"^^5+^^M;

W 2+^4-27

and if we multiply the numerator and denominator of the latter
fraction

h V 2" V J-I7 ^* becomes

v|-V ^-|7»sothat

which is the same as Cardan's solution. We may also reduce
it to the form given in equation B, for equation (C) may be put
under the form

"^ijd)'"'''' '"'''+(i)<*"''''""'"''*

I

v|{.'°''(*>/'°^'(5+^^MT)+,H(D/H(i-^^-i;j

160 Rev. W. G. Penny on the

Let now %,^| ^ -^+ ^ _ _,^ _ij =^,^1^l

r 727 . /r'27 ,

also = ■ zze~'*V-

r /27^ /r'27 .

multiply numerator and denominator of tliis latter fraction by

r 727 /'^^7
2V ^-V 4^-1

and it becomes

r 727 /r'27-l=e-W-'
. by adding and dividing by 2

|y|=i(«v-+.w-)

= COS u, by trigonometry

^ 7 27

wV — 1 = V — 1 cos -^^ V -J

also equations (a) becomes

p

Solution of Cubic Equations. 161

which is also the value of x obtained by the second process.

The solution (C), therefore, above given, will include both
cases, and may be put under either form, as may be most con-
venient. Also it is evident that Cardan's solution may be re-
duced to the form (B), for by the inverse process to what has
been given, it may easily be reduced to the form (C), and
thence, as has been done above, to the form (B).

Also, since the expressions (A) and (B) are each equal to the
expression (C), they are equal to each other; so that in the case

when J is less than ^

27

= 2V |cos ^icos-^|v ^j

These latter, therefore, are nothing more than equivalent forms
of the same expression.

The equation just given may also be proved as follows :

vi+\/J-|J+\/i-\/J-^

i,r /27~ n n 1^ /^

let-v — T= cos V or t/= cos'^tcV — r
2 ^ ^3 2^ q^

then the expression becomes

= V K^cos »-i->v/^ sin o) + V |(cos 0- v^^^sin Bj
III. 11

162 Rev. W. G. Penny on the

= V |(cos ^e + V-i sin ^e) + V |(cos e-V-^l sin iO)

(by Demoivre's theorem)

= 2y I cos i = 2 y| cos (icos -|v/|J).

Cor. By exactly the same process we may prove the more
general equation

(x + V^^^^'Y + (x--Vx^- ay = 2a'' cos Cti cos "^-V

This, of course, supposes aj to be less than a, otherwise the
assumption = could not be a legitimate one.

It would appear, therefore, that the solution given by Cardan
is always true; and therefore if it can be said to fail, it is not
because it is untrue, but merely because it is an inconvenient
form in which to put the value of x, and one which without
reduction would give us but little idea of the actual numerical
value. This reduction, moreover, may always be easily eiFected
by the process just given.

It might, indeed, at first sight, seem as if Cardan's expression
would give an impossible value for a', when the quantity under
the radical sign is impossible, but it does not do so in reality,
for though each of the parts of the binomial, taken separately,
is an impossible quantity, yet their sum is not ; for, on expand-
ing each of them by the binomial theorem, and then taking
their sum, it is easily seen that the impossible quantities will
disappear; just as in Trigonometry, where an expression for
cos is

cose = 4(^-'«+e-^~'*)

which is not an impossible quantity, although the two parts of
it are each of them separately impossible, for on expanding

e etc., and taking the sum, the impossible parts cancel

each other. And this suggests another method, in addition to
that given above, of reducing the expression given by Carden,
reducing it, that is, to decimals, which is what is generally re-
quired in practice. I am still supposing the case where all the
roots are possible.

Solution of Cubic Equations. 163

Let us then for shortness put = ^5 ^^^ V 'T~^7~^*
then the expression will become

=-'('+3'+-*(>-I)'

+

"" \ Sa 9^ 81a^ 243a^ )

o , ^ Iv^ 10 V
^"^ ^^~9^~243^

The odd powers of - therefore, that is the impossible quan-
tities, disappear; and if v is a proper fraction, we shall have
a converging series, of which a very few terms will give us the
value of the root in decimals to great exactness.

Suppose, for example, that we have the equation

a?3-4^-3=0

here we shall have r-^iS, 5'=:4

r^ 13 , . , . . .

J — = — i-o7v> also m the series just given,

__r_3 'o^J^ir' q^\__ 13
^"2~2' a^~T\^~2V'^ 243

hence the series becomes

^^ 5Jr + 9 243 243I243J +

which, when resumed, will give for the value of x^ 2.3027.
This being found, the equation may be depressed to

a:^+2.3027^ + 1.3027=0

11 B

164

Rev. W. G. Penny on the

whose roots are —1 and —1.3027, hence the required roots
are 2.3027, —1.3027, and —1. Here, then, is an example of
a cubic equation having all its roots possible, and found by

v^ .

Garden's rule. In the above case, however the quantity — is

a small fraction. It might, however, have happened that it was
a large quantity, in which case the above expansion would not
have been available, inasmuch as the series formed would not
have been convergent. When this is the case, therefore, we
shall have to vary the method of expansion, as follows : —

x='^a-\'V-{'^a—v

a\^

=,*(i+«)*-.*(i-g

iA , la la\ 5 a'

2>v W ' 81^;' 24:2>v

10 a\ 22 a* \

la la? 5 a' 10 a^

22 g^

729tr*

)

, i/la , 5 a» 22 a" \
_„/'la , 5 a' 22 a' . \

„ i(l V"^' , 5 ^faf , 22 7"^'* , \

let - =k, then the above will be reduced to

^ia*(l+^^+£^+ etc.)

all of which quantities are manifestly possible ; and when — is a

proper fraction, as it is here supposed, the series will be always
a convergent one. As an example, take the equation

^'~5a;+l=0

Solution of Cubic Equations. 165

The root of it, which is found by the summations of the above
series, is .2016, and the others may be found from the reduced
quadratic, they are

2.1284 and -2.3300.

In both the above examples, it will be seen that — or - is a

small fraction, and so two terms at most of the series will amply

suffice. It might, however, have happened that -^ was nearly

equal to unity. The method, however, would still be appli-
cable, only we should have to take a greater number of terms.
But in practice this may be avoided ; and it will always suffice
even in the most unfavourable cases to take two terms at most,
and then apply a correction, as will presently be explained.
For even if we were to omit all the terms in the latter series
after the unit, the error in the value of the root would never
exceed a fifth or sixth of its entire value, and the error would
be much further lessened if we were to take one or two of the
terms which follow the unit. Suppose, then, that by doing so,
we find a value c for a root of the equation, but which, on
substituting it for .^•, does not satisfy the equation so nearly as we
could wish. Suppose also, that c + 7i is the true value of the
root; then we should have

{c-\'hy-q{c-Jrli)-r=0

As h is supposed to be small, we may neglect its square; and
this will give us for its value

, &—qc-~T ,

~^"3?" ^^^ ^^^^^'

and so we might proceed to a still nearer reduction. Take as
an example

, a» 243 , . , .

nere — = — ^^, which is very near umty,

but by taking two terms of the second series, and applying the
correction, one of the roots will be found to be .6566. The
others are both possible, and may be found in the usual way.

166 Mr. Hennessy on the

It appears, then, that the formula of Cardan is equally capable
of reduction whether the roots be all possible or not, and with
precisely the same degree of exactness; the only difference
being that when they are all possible, the operation is somewhat
more troublesome than when two of them are impossible.
Moreover, the formula is capable of being reduced algebrai-
cally^ and without the use of tables of cosines.

Nor is there much difference between the two methods as
regards simplicity; perhaps the algebraical method will have
the advantage when it is only required to calculate the root to
four or five places of figures ; but beyond this we might, per-
haps, have to refer to the tables oftener than we should in re-
ducing the trigonometrical formula, but not otherwise ; and at
all events, it will have the advantage of treating in a purely al-
gebraical manner, and without the introduction of other branches
of mathematics, what is a purely algebraical problem.

Art. VI. — On the Vertical Currents of the Atmosphere. By
Henry Hennessy, F.R.S.

§■1.

IT has been long recognized that, although currents of wind in
a direction nearly parallel to the horizon are those which
usually prevail, the atmosphere is frequently subjected to verti-
cal and oblique motions among its particles.

Under favourable conditions these motions may acquire such
a development as to force themselves upon the attention of
observers, and thus become objects for meteorological inquiry.
The interesting researches of M. Fournet upon the vertical cur-
rents of mountains, appear to have arisen from the opportunities
enjoyed by that physicist of studying such phenomena among the
Alps. Among the deep ravines and valleys, as well as along the
elevated slopes and escarpments of the Alps, a regular periodicity
in the action of vertical winds has been frequently observed during
the course of twenty-four hours, which has led to the conclusion
that their development depends upon changes of temperature
resulting from the presence and absence of the sun. As it is now
well established that the distribution and changes of temperature in
these islands are dependent upon other influential causes besides
the direct action of the sun,^ we cannot, in general, expect to find

* See Atlantis, vol. I. p. 396, also a letter from the author to Major- General
Sabine, on the influence of the Gulf-stream on the winters of the British Islands.
Proceedings of the Koyal Society, vol. IX. p. 324.

Vertical Currents of the Atmosphere. 167

in our climate, a similar diurnal periodicity so distinctly defined
as that observed in the centre and south of Europe. Here, as
well as on the continent, mountains are favourable to the produc-
tion of inequalities of temperature, moisture, and density among
the aerial strata, which thus become liable to a multitude of dis-
turbances, and especially to the action of vertical currents. It
seems to follow that in mountainous countries vertical currents
have well marked relations with the changes of the weather.

If, as usually happens, lakes exist among the mountains, the
mysterious occurrence called the " bore" is also thus explained.
The circumstance that the suddenly-formed wave thus de-
signated always proceeds from a side of the lake bordered
by steep mountains, immediately suggests such an explanation.
Although a similar idea has occurred to other inquirers, I may
be permitted to refer to an instance where a demonstration was
presented by me^ of the efficiency of vertical currents in pro-
ducing the " bore" on the surface of one of our Irish lakes. The
fact that such a sudden wave usually preceded a change of the
weather in the district surrounding the lake, led me to think
that the study of the effective cause of the bore itself might be-
come of importance in meteorology. But to do this, we should
possess means for observing the actual direction, and, if possible,
the force of the atmospheric currents.

§•2.

Hitherto, all instruments which had been employed for ob-
serving the wind were devised exclusively v^dth reference to its
horizontal direction and intensity, from the simple wind-vane to
the most finished anemometer.^ I have attempted to modify the
ordinary vane so as to make it an indicator of the actual direc-
tion of the current, both in altitude and azimuth. Instead of the
fixed surface against which the wind impinges in ordinary vanes,
I had a disk suspended at the tail of the vane, capable of rotating
on an axis perpendicular to the line of direction of the instru-
ment. A pair of flanges were attached to this disk in such a
manner that, when the whole was at rest and the air free from
motion, the flanges would be horizontal. With perfectly hori-
zontal currents, the flanges would still continue in the same posi-
tion, although the head of the vane would as usual move about

^ In a letter to the Eev. T. K. Kobinson, D.D., of Armagh. See Proceedings of
the Royal Irish Academy, vol. vi. p, 279.

' Some time after the anemoscope had been devised, my attention was called
by my friend, the Rev. Dr. Robinson, to a passage among the notes to Dr. Dar-
win's poem of tlie " Botanic Garden", wherein the writer indicates such an instru-
ment ; but he seems never to have realized this idea, and the apparatus which
he proposed was essentially different from mine.

168 Mr. Hennessy on the

in azimuth. But if a current happened to be inclined to the
horizon, the flanges would be pressed upwards or downwards,
showing the direction and amount of the incHnation, precisely as
the position of the head or tail of the ordinary vane shows the
direction and inclination of a current with reference to the meri-
dian. When we know the inclination of a given current to the
horizon, we can readily estimate its absolute force from its hori-
zontal force, as can be easily shown.

§•3.

Let the origin of co-ordinates be at the centre of the axis of the
vertical disk \ y d x will represent an element of the area of the
flange. Let represent the angle of inclination of the flange,
H the pressure exercised by the wind in a horizontal direction
upon a square unit of surface, and V the vertical pressure exer-
cised upon a similar unit. The entire moment of the horizontal
forces acting on the entire flange will be

H 1 smBxi/dx,

and the moment of the vertical forces will be

V 1 cosdxydx.

Both of these moments tend to cause a rotation of the disk,
but in contrary directions : hence when the disk is in equihbrium
they must be equal, and therefore, because is independent of x
and y, we shall have

Hsin0=Vcos0, V=Htang0 (1)
and if we write F for the absolute force of the wind, we shall
have

F = Hsec0 (2).
Hence it follows, that if we can observe the absolute direction of
the wind, we can estimate its vertical force as well as its absolute
intensity without any special instrument, using the results ob-
tained by the existing anemometers which give the horizontal
intensity.

§.4.

A wind-vane or anemoscope, capable of showing the absolute
direction of an atmospherical current, having been constructed
in accordance with my directions, I proceeded to make some
observations during the months of June, July, and August,
1857. It was placed on the top of a strong mast, about twenty-
six feet in height. The mast was fixed near the end of a large
garden, far from buildings. As my first series of observations
were intended to be merely provisional, I did not make them at

Vertical Currents of the Atmosphere. 169

specific fixed hours, but at such times as presented disturbances
in the atmosphere, or which afforded sufficient leisure for con-
tinued attention. A journal was kept, from which I make the
following extracts. Before doing so, it is proper to remark that
by the term " vertical currents" in these extracts, as well as in
the title of this paper, 1 do not mean currents actually perpen-
dicular to the horizon, but rather oblique currents with an upward
or downward tendency.

June 28, 7h. a.m. — ^Air perfectly still, flanges horizontal, head
of vane towards the east. 7h. SOm. a.m. — Breeze with slight
vertical currents until after 8. The currents were upward from
the ground. The flanges were often perfectly horizontal, and
their mean angle of inclination was small. About 10 a.m., a few
fine scattered clouds (cirro-cumuli) were observed to move in a
direction contrary to the wind as observed near the earth.

From 3h. p.m. to 3h. 45m. — Wind extremely gentle from
E.S.E., upward current, angle of inclination estimated at about
5°. The upward currents often continued for several minutes
together. The angle was sometimes almost imperceptible. The
sky became gradually overcast towards evening.

June 30, 10 a.m. — Sky completely overcast, strong wind from
E.S.E., rapid oscillations of the disk during the greater part of
the day. About 6 p.m., the wind blew in violent gusts from the
east, and the disk showed alternations of upward and downward
currents with occasional short intervals. These observations
led me to conclude that rapid currents of air cannot generally
advance with the same steadiness as currents of water, the greater
mobihty and elasticity of the former fluid probably allow its
movements to easily acquire a species of undulation. Thus we
may account for the motions of the branches of trees, which
generally swing backwards and forwards, showing rapid vari-
ations in the intensity of the wind. During breezes composed
of a succession of strong sudden gusts, it was difficult to esti-
mate the inclination of the flanges, as each fresh impulse drove
the flange beyond the angle due to the pressure, and before it had
been sufficiently long oscillating about its true position to allow a
correct observation, a fresh gust would perhaps drive it in a
different direction.

July 1, 9 A.M. — ^Wind N.E., strong breeze with vertical cur-
rents. The position of the flanges was sometimes steady for
many minutes, with a very small inclination, upward currents
appeared to predominate in duration.

July 2, before 9 a.m. — Air still and warm, head of vane di-
rected to S.E. After 9 a gentle breeze from E. and E.S.E.,
with an upward tendency. The disk remained steady at a small

170 Mr. Hennessy on the

angle, sometimes for two minutes together. Towards noon the
disk was more steadily upward, while the breeze still continued.
The clouds were observed to move from W.N.W. At 6h. 30m.
P.M., a gentle breeze from W.S.W., sky covered with light clouds,
steady upward tendency of the current, very little waving of
trees. The flanges sometimes retained the same inclination for
a quarter of an hour. 8h. 30m. p.m., wind more brisk from the
west, but the disk still steady ; sky beginning to become overcast.

July 3, 8 A.M. — Wind S.W. and S. ; air filled with heavy
clouds, floating at comparatively short distances from the earth.
Strong breeze with alternate up and down currents, the down-
ward currents lasting but for very short periods. 9h. 15m., a.m.,
wind S.S.E. with light rain. Just before the rain the down-
ward currents became more prominent, the clouds moved from
S.W., lOh. 30 A.M., wind S.S.W. with alternate upward and
downward currents.

July 5. — Fine morning, clear sky, with a few scattered cu-
muli ; gentle breeze from S.W., alternating currents, upward pre-
dominant. 2 P.M. — Cloudy sky, with the air almost still ; sHght
vertical currents. Rain from four to seven o'clock. 9 p.m. —
Wind N.N.W., clearing the sky; temperature rapidly falhng,
with downward currents. Towards midnight, the sky was
almost perfectly clear, and the wind more westerly.

July 6, 9 A.M. — Very strong breeze from N.W., with vertical
currents and rain. The alternations were sometimes rapid, and
the apparent angle of inclination very great. The disk rarely
continued steady in an inclined position, although it sometimes
remained for long intervals in a perfectly horizontal position,
with a strong wind. Rain appeared to produce no remarkable
effect on the flanges, for it seemed to be shaken or blown off.
About 3 P.M., the wind was strong and steady from N.N.W., the
movements of the flange were as follows during the course of a
few minutes: — Downward, I2 min. ; upward, 2 min. ; level, i
min. ; oscillating, f min. ; down, i min. ; up, i min. , oscillating,
k min. ; level, i min. ; up, i min. ; oscillating, i min. ; level, i
min. ; up, 1 min. ; down, i min. The air was gradually filHng
with broken masses of cumulo-stratus clouds. As they appeared
to approach the earth, downward oscillations of the flange be-
came more manifest. Approaching four o'clock the wind blew
irregularly, with violent and sudden gusts of short duration. At
^i P.M., a strong breeze, with currents ha^dng a downward ten-
dency ; towards seven the sky became a little more clear, and the
currents appeared to be alternately upward and downward, with
short intervals of 10 or 12 seconds. At 7h. 15m. p.m., the wind
was from N.W., with alternate currents, the upward predorai-

Vertical Currents of the Atmosphere. 171

nating, while the sky was becoming perceptibly more clear. The
upward currents were decidedly longer in duration than at 6 p.m.

Di P.M. — Wind still from N.W. ; upward currents, with alter-
nating currents at intervals of about one minute.

July 11. — Wind W. A beautiful day, with a few light clouds
scattered on the sky. During the afternoon, up to 5 p.m., a
strong breeze, with very decided upward currents. At short
intervals, the disk oscillated, showing a downward tendency.

July 14. — Before 9 a.m., the wind was E.S.E. ; a moderate
breeze, with downward tendency. Light clouds were observed
to move in a direction opposed to the wind at the earth's sm-face.
lOh. 30m. A.M., wind S.E. ; an increase of clouds (cumuli) ; both
vane and disk were oscillating ; downward tendency of currents
was marked. At 1 o'clock in the afternoon, a fog was seen out
at sea, which, as it approached the shore, ascended in clouds over
Howth.

August 6, 10 A.M. — Wind N.E. ; alternate currents downward
predominating. The sky was covered with light clouds, and the
temperature comparatively low,

August 20. — An extremely fine and warm day, with a clear
sky. The air was nearly still, and the disk continued to indicate
faint and steady upward currents, for the flange continued at an
upward inclination of a few degrees for long intervals, sometimes
exceeding one hour. The movements of smoke that could be
observed at the same time showed a similar tendency.

August 21, 7 A.M. — Wind E.S.E., with no vertical currents;
after 8, the disk commenced to move, and the flange was some-
times inclined upwards at a very small angle. It frequently re-
mained perfectly level, although a very perceptible breeze was
blowing. After 10 a.m., the upward tendency became more
manifest, and it generally remained for long intervals inclined
at an angle of from about 5° to 8°.

August 24, 5 P.M Before and during a heavy shower the

disk exhibited the presence of downward currents.

September 3, 8 a.m. — Wind blowing in sudden gusts from
N.E., the disk showed vertical currents, chiefly with a downward
tendency ; rain followed at about half-past nine.

§. 5.

The few results which were thus recorded seem to show that
the study of the non-horizontal motions of our atmosphere is
desirable, not only among mountainous districts, but that it may
form a portion of our general inquiries under all local circum-
stances whatever. It appears that the wind rarely blows parallel
to the surface of the earth, and that the air, while in rapid motion.

172 Mr. Hennessy on the

is always undergoing a process of undulation, whereby the direc-
tion of the axis of a current at any point above the earth is
changed alternately, so as to be more or less incUned upwards or
downwards just as the direction of the wind in azimuth is fre-
quently observed to slightly oscillate about its mean position.
We may conclude, therefore, from §. 3, that the absolute force
of the wind is always a little greater than its horizontal intensity,
as exhibited by the anemometers.

While such an undulatory motion of the atmospherical currents
may be generally due to the elasticity of the air and the mechani-
cal influence of terrestrial irregularities, many of my observations
were such as to clearly show the existence of true upward and
downward currents. In no other way can we account for the
steady inclination of the flanges of the anemoscope at times
when scarcely any horizontal wind was perceptible. When true
upward currents were prevalent, the temperature of the air
was usually increasing and the weather fine. Downward cur-
rents seemed to be usually preceded or accompanied by a sudden
decrease of temperature, and these currents themselves usually
preceded rain or unfavourable weather. Regular alternations of
both classes of currents were usual about noon or the forenoon
of clear days. The explanation of the last circumstance is ex-
tremely simple. It depends upon the manner in which the at-
mosphere acquires the greatest part of its heat during the day.
A small portion of the solar heat is immediately absorbed in
passing through the air, but the greater part reaches the ground,
whence it is imparted to the atmosphere immediately touching
it. The air so heated expands, and consequently, from its re-
duced density, it tends to penetrate upwards in currents through
the overlying strata, which at the same time fall downwards to
fill up the vacancies. A species of convection, analogous to that
seen in a boiling or heated mass of liquid, is thus developed in
the air. The trembling of the air, often noticed over steam-
boilers, close to the chimneys of steam-vessels, and even on walls
and gravelled walks heated by the mid-day sun, is undoubtedly
due to the same minute and rapid currents which take part in
this process of aerial convection.

§.6.

That there are more important vertical currents engaged in
promoting exchanges between the upper and lower strata of the
atmosphere, within a short distance from the earth, appears ma-
nifest from experiments made by me in May, 1858.* Thermo-

* Report of the British Association for 1858. Transactions of Sections, p. 36.

Vertical Currents of the Atmosphere. 173

meters were suspended at different heights, and under different
circumstances of exposure to the supposed currents. On days
when the sky was clear, and when, consequently, the direct in-
fluence of the sun in heating the ground was most decided, ob-
servations were made every minute, and sometimes every half
minute, dm-ing short intervals. More or less rapid oscillations of
the mercury were observed. In thermometers freely exposed to
the air, the mercury sometimes rose or fell three degrees Fahren-
heit in three minutes. The longest fluctuations did not occupy
more than six minutes. The fluctuations diminislied, the more
the thermometers were protected from the influence of the cur-
rents of air.

A further confirmation of these results is found in the Report
of the Director of the Radcliffe Observatory at Oxford, relative
to the meteorological observations during the year 1857.

The thermometrical curves exhibited a remarkable serration
during the day-time of the most brilliant months of the year.
This serration entirely ceased during the winter, and on gloomy
days at every season : its intensity seemed to increase with sun-
shine. It is readily explained by the action of small atmosphe-
rical currents alternately ascending and descending, the former
producing a sudden and brief elevation of the mercury, and the
latter a sudden and short depression. The curves referred to
were obtained at the Radchfie Observatory, by a very beautiful
apphcation of the waxed-paper photographic process ; and the
results here noticed would probably never have been exhibited
by the ordinary observations at stated hours. I cannot refrain
from remarking that the success which has attended this portion
of the application of photographical registration to meteorology,
has much increased my confidence in its trustworthiness, while
it has inspired a feeling of deep regret at the loss which science
has sustained by the death of Mr. Johnson, to whose able ma-
nagement and indefatigable labours these and many other results
are mainly due.

§•7.

To such small currents we may attribute whirlwinds of more
or less magnitude, from those which we often observe on dusty
roads, to the grand and frequently dangerous phenomena of the
desert. Mr. Belt, who writes in the Philosophical Magazine for
January, 1859, presents some very instructive observations on
this subject. The ascending currents over dry ground in the
interior of Australia, were frequently observed by him to carry
leaves and dust to the upper regions of the atmosphere. Often,
when travelling over parched plains, this observer saw the air

174 Mr. Hennessy on the

quivering over tKe hot ground as if close to the wall of a furnace ;
suddenly a miniature storm arises, and after a few minutes
violence, it as suddenly ceases, while the quivering of the air is
no longer seen and the atmosphere does not feel oppressive. All
these phenomena are obviously the results of more or less en-
ergetic interchanges between masses of air possessing different
temperatures. The process of convection in this case is not of a
gentle and gradual nature, but takes place with fitful violence.
The phenomena here referred to, seem to present on a small
scale the principal features of cyclonic storms and hurricanes.
These are always preceded by inequalities of temperature in the
regions where they occur, and it is extremely probable that such
inequalities take place in a vertical as well as in a horizontal
direction. The distribution of watery vapour must at the same
time be affected, and this would again react upon the equi-
librium of the atmosphere, so as to favour the existence of
ascending and descending currents. The rapid oscillations of
the barometric column which usually precede hurricanes, are
thus doubtlessly connected, not only with variations in the
statical pressure, but also with the irregular influence of vertical
and oblique currents, which at such times disturb the equilibrium
of the atmospherical column over the barometer.

§.8.
The duration and energy of many of the vertical currents
which came under my observation, were such as to show that
currents of a greater order than those which take place by the
influence of the heated ground immediately beneath, are some-
times developed among the overlying atmospheric masses. Such
currents being of much greater magnitude than those which would
account for the rapid fluctuations of the thermometer already
noticed, we may refer to them not only great interchanges of
temperature in different strata of the atmosphere, but also a very
efficient part in the production of ordinary winds. If an exten-
sive portion of the earth's surface becomes more heated than other
surrounding portions, the air will ascend and overflow above the
cooler air resting upon the unheated surfaces. The cold air at
bottom will at the same time tend to rush inwards, so as to fill
up the vacuum which the ascending currents would have left
above the surface of the heated ground. As the air that over-
flows above does not rush into a vacuum, but penetrates and
mingles with masses of cooler air possessing nearly the same
density, its progress is considerably retarded, wliile at the same
time some of the vapour which it may contain is condensed so
as to assume a vesicular cloudy form. A corresponding retar-

Vertical Currents of the Atmosphere. 175

dation in the motions of the air rushing in from the colder to the
warmer surface below is also produced from the resistance of the
air lying over the latter. The production of sea and land breezes
furnishes a complete and instructive illustration of these remarks.
Many of the upward currents, which I observed with the anemo-
scope during the summer mornings, were undoubtedly the pre-
cursors of the sea breeze. Such currents continue to accompany
the production of the land and sea winds in a manner that I have
been able sometimes to observe by the smoke of steam vessels
near the coast. Thus, on a warm day in June, 1857, I observed
the simultaneous existence of the sea breeze at Kingstown and a
slight motion of a few light clouds from the interior towards the
coast. A steam-ship far out at sea was proceeding towards Eng-
land, and the smoke was drawn by the gentle breeze into a
streamer extending for miles behind the boat. The streamer of
smoke appeared straight and perfectly horizontal over the surface
of the water, until it arrived at a point about a quarter of a mile
from the Hill of Howth, w^hen it rose upwards with a gracefully-
curved outline, and it appeared to be gradually diffused in the
air situated vertically over the hill.

The influence of vertical and oblique currents in the atmos-
phere is not only thus manifest in the comparatively limited and
local phenomena of sea and land breezes, mountain winds and
whirlwinds, but it has been also appealed to in order to explain
the circulation of the great winds of the Earth. Thus Maury, in
his attempt to exhibit the general laws of the great winds, pre-
sents a diagram in which ascending and descending currents are
distinctly indicated over different regions of the globe. Their
agency is also appealed to by other inquirers, and their principal
seats of action seem to be indicated as the calm regions, that is
to say, the regions where horizontal winds blow with least in-
tensity. Observations with the aid of the anemoscope in the
regions of equatorial and tropical calms, would thus probably
serve to test the accuracy of the general views here alluded to.
The systematic study of the non-horizontal movements of the
atmosphere has scarcely been commenced, but what little know-
ledge we possess of such movements shows that they are so
closely connected with some of the most important phenomena
of the weather, that their further investigation is certain to be
attended with interesting and valuable results.

176

Art. VII — Note on some Prismatic Forms of Calcite from
Luganure, county of Wicklow. By William K. Sullivan.

IN tlie first edition of his Traite de Mineralogie (Paris, 1801)
Haiiy distinguished three kinds of prismatic carbonate of
lime: 1. Chaux carbonatee prismee, abeady described by Rome
de Lisle, and wliich Haiiy supposes to be derived, in his mole-
cular theory of decrements by the law d}. According to this, it
would be the prism produced by modifpng planes placed upon
the lateral edges of the primitive rhombohedron. The second
he calls chaux carbonatee imitative^ and considers to be the prism
obtained according to the law e^ by planes on the lateral angles
of the primitive. The tliird, which had also been before de-
scribed by De Lisle, he named cliaux carbonatee prismatique,
and considered to be also derived according to the law e^. He
mentions four varieties of this form: a, alternating — having
three alternate wide faces and three intermediate narrow ones ;
b, compressed — with two opposite faces larger than the other
four; c, widened — with four faces wider than the remaining
two ; and cZ, lamelliform — in very short (i.e. in tabular) prisms.
Of the crystals of this form he says : " In certain crystals the
extremities are of a dull white, while the intermediate part is
transparent. In others the opaque part is situated towards the
axis and surrounded by a transparent envelope. The bases of
a few exhibited concentric hexagons, and one could even ob-
serve the extremity of a small internal prism, rising above the
whole prism".

The forms he calls imitative and prismatic being obtained by
the law e^, contain the same prism ; the prismatic faces which
have been observed among the varieties of calcite belong,
therefore, to one or other of those prisms. Dufrenoy, who
uses the nomenclature of Haiiy, as modified by Levy and him-
self, represents the faces of the first prism, or that on the edges
of the rhombohedron, by the symbol d^ {u of Haiiy), and the
prismatic, or that on the angles, by e^ (c of Haiiy). Of course
each of these prisms is completed by the modification a^ on
the summit angle, which produces the horizontal plane forming
the base.

According to the German crystallographic methods, prisms are
looked upon as mere limiting forms. Mohs and Haidinger con-
sider d' to be the limiting form of the pyramids, the former
expressing it by the symbol P-}-oo and the latter by oo P, which
is the one adopted by Zippe in his summary of all the observed

On some Prismatic Forms of Calcite. 177

forms of carbonate of lime.* The second prism e"^ is considered
to be the limiting form of the rhombohedron, and is represented
by Mohs by the symbol R-f oo, and by Haidinger by ooR.
Zippe also adopts the latter.

According to Haliy d' or ooP is rare, and Dufrenoy states that
only some examples are known. According to Zippe, it is frequent
enough in combination as a secondary form, but seldomer as the
dominant form. Surmounted by the primitive rhombohedron
(R or P), it is noticed by Dufrenoy as " a very rare example of
the prism on the edges, associated with the primitive rhombo-
hedron"^ from Cumberland. He also mentions another in
which h' or 2 R' (the equicuve of Haiiy) replaces P or R, but does
not give the locality. Further on he notices a third exajmple from
the Samson mine in the Hartz, in which the horizontal edges of
the prism are truncated by rudimentary planes of the pyramid.

The prism ocR or g^, although comparatively rare as a simple
form, is very frequent in combination ; according to Dufrenoy
indeed, it is the only one found complete. A little before, he
says that it is of a milky whiteness, and almost always opaque.
The base sometimes bears striae parallel to the edges, which are
indications of cleavage. Examples of ocR surmounted by JR' or
h' from the Hartz, Cumberland, and the department of 1' Isere,
have been described.

The position of the rhombohedrons surmounting the prisms is
different in each kind. In goP the surmounting rhombohedral
faces lie so that the edges of combination with th^ prismatic
faces coincide with the lateral edges of the rhombohedron. In
CO R the edges of combination in three alternate faces are
horizontal; the truneatures at either end of the prism alter-
nating, so that each face of truncature is parallel to one at the
opposite end. The directions of the cleavages correspond per-
fectly with the dispositions of the modifying planes, so that every
alternate basal edge of the prism gcR or e^ may be removed
by cleavage with the greatest facility, by which a prism sur-
mounted by the faces of the rhombohedron may be obtained.

Although the prismatic faces ooR are sometimes dull, they
always, at least in all the crystals which I recollect to have seen,
possess more lustre than the faces ocP associated with them.
The former are, indeed, usually very bright in transparent
crystals. This circumstance is noticed by Dufrenoy, who, in
speaking of the example of ocP or (d}) with pyramidal trun-

Uebersicht der Krystallgestallten des rhomboedrischen Kalk-Haloids von
!•• X. RI. Zippe. — iJenkscbrifteu der Kaiser. Akademie der Wissenschaften.
Wathematisch-natiirwissensehaftliche Classe iii. Bd. 1st Lief. p. 109.

Traite de Mineralogie par A. Dufrenoy. 2me Ed. Tome 2me, p. 297.
III. 12

178 Mr. Sullivan on some Prismatic Form^ of

catures of tlie lateral edges, from Samson mine in the Hartz,
says that the faces are dull and somewhat rough, as is frequently
the case with those prisms (" les faces en sont mates et un peu
raboteuses, circonstance frequent pour le second prism (i. e., d^)
k six faces"). The difference in lustre between the faces of the
two kinds of prisms is characteristically seen in the dodecagonal
prisms (chaux carbonatee periododecaedre of Haiiy), which is
the combination goP, goR, oP {d} e^ a}) ; the faces gcR {f) are
always very much more brilliant than goP (d}). This difference of
lustre is one of the distinctions relied upon to distinguish the faces
of the two kinds of hexagonal prisms from one another. Dufrenoy
also notices this difference between the two kinds of prismatic
faces in the twelve-sided prisms.

Several forms of the rhombohedral prism occur at the Lu-
ganure mines, county of Wicklow, which are worked for galena
in a veinstone consisting chiefly of quartz, in a granite country.
Among these may be mentioned goP, oR {d^^ a^), consisting of
small hexagonal prisms, with very bright prismatic faces. One
half of the prism is hyaline, and the other opalescent ; the base,
oR is dull. Another variety of the same form also occurs, consist-
ing of crystals one centimetre high, and with basal edges one cen-
timetre long. Each crystal has a sort of rude triang-ular pris-
matic milky nucleus, surrounded by a perfectly hyaline enve-
lope, reminding one of the description of Haiiy given above.
Owing to the number of cleavage planes, some crystals are not
transparent. The face oR is, in most instances, pecuHarly
striated, in others it is, as it were, coated with a thin porcela-
neous layer. These crystals may be easily cleaved parallel to
the alternate basal edges, which are sharp, and without any
trace of modifying planes. The form oR, ooR (a*, e^) also occurs
in beautiful hexagonal plates, with very bright prismatic faces,
and composed of exceedingly tliin alternating layers of white
opaque, and hyaline matter, the base oR being always opaque,
dull, but beautifully white. Haiiy 's description of the prismatic
kind embraces this variety Hkewise — in fact, the specimens
from Luganure here described illustrate perfectly Haiiy's de-
scription.

I have lately, however, met with another form, consisting of
hexagonal plates, of from one millimetre to one and a half thick,
with basal edges of from five to twenty millimetres. The base
has a bright nacreous lustre, much brighter than what I have
ever seen in any other specimen ; striated and uneven, in conse-
quence of the lapping of smaller plates. The most of the tabular
prisms are, in fact, compound twins to the base oR {a}). Some
twins also occur to the faces of the prism, and finally, to a

Calcite from Luganure. 179

rhomboliedron. It is owing to this twin structure that the
crystals are not generally transparent, for in thin plates they are
perfectly hyaline. Except for the difference of form, a mass of
these crystals, resting on crystalHne quartz, resembles, in a strik-
ing manner, a mass of large crystals of chlorate of potash. Layers
ofgrowth in the direction of the secondary axes can be observed
in some of the prisms ; in many of these the outer shell, about
one millimetre thick, is frequently free from indications of
cleavage, and perfectly transparent. The prismatic faces are dull,
exactly like the appearance of white wax, when sufficiently thin
to be translucent; they are also uneven. These faces exactly
resemble those of the prism ooP (<i'), in specimens which I have
seen from Andreasberg. On this account, I concluded, at first
sight, that I had the combination oP, goP, which would be not
merely rare as an example of the pyramidal prism, but still more
so as a tabular form of it, in which the base would impress its
character upon the crystal, and of which I have not seen
any example recorded. I found, however, that the alternate
edges were modified by rudimentary facets of a rhombohedron,
wliich was placed in the same position, as regards the faces of
the prism, that I have before mentioned as characteristic of goR.
The basal edges not modified were easily removed by cleavage.
I foimd the modifying facets to be those of the rhombohedron
i R' or hK

Associated with the crystals just described, were sometimes
found white opaque crystals, like those from Andreasberg, and
others three or four milHmetres thick, upon which were rudi-
mentary facets of a scalenohedron. I have not been able to get
any good specimens of these varieties.

It may be worth while to enumerate, from Zippe's excellent
memoir, the tabular prismatic forms which have been hitherto
observed; with a \aew of determining the exact position of
the example just described in the series They are as follow :

1. oR, 2P, a>R, ooP {a\ e\ e\ d}) figured by Levy.^

2. oR, ^R', GcR (aS i\ e^) white tabular crystals from Wear-

dale in Durham.

3. oR, 00 R, QoP {a\ e^, d}) from Andreasberg.

4. oR, 2R' ooR, ooP {a\ e\ e\ d}) from Andreasberg,

5. oR, IR', ^3_ j^^ Qcp fpoj3^ Ajidreasberg.

6. oR, GoR from Andreasberg, Marienberg, Schneeberg,

Joachimsthal, and Schemnitz.
The last mentioned form from Luganure, which is oR, ooR,

'Description d'une collection de mineraux forraee par H. Heuland, etc,
Londres, 1837, fig. 87.

12b

180 Mr. Sullivan on some Prismatic Forms of Calcite.

^R' (a*, e^, 6'), approaches nearest to No. 6, from wliich it differs,
so far as can be expressed by a formula, only by tbe rudimentary
rbomboliedral facets. If the faces ^R' became so developed as to
render the faces ooR subordinate to them, it would pass into the
form No. 2 from Weardale. I have, indeed, found a few imper-
fect crystals from Luganure, in which the prismatic faces are only
rudimentary, the outhne of the tabular crystal being rhombo-
hedral.

Although, as I have above observed, the prismatic faces ooR
are sometimes dull, the combination of brilliant nacreous oR
faces with wax-like prismatic faces exactly like those character-
istic of the faces goP is, so far as I am aware, extremely rare. In
the mineralogical collection of the Museum of Irish Industry there
is a specimen from Andreasberg, in tabular crystals somewhat
thicker than those from Luganure, which I have described.
The same kind of rudimentary facets occur in the alternate
basal edges. I have not had an opportunity of determining
whether they belong to -^R' (6'). The prismatic faces have the
wax-like dullness of the Luganure specimens, but the crystals
are opaque, and the faces oR are dull, and, in other respects,
very different in appearance from those just mentioned. In the
same collection characteristic specimens of the other forms from
Luganure, which I have mentioned, are to be found, as well as of
several others, of which I have not yet been able to procure
specimens."*

* It is to be regretted that the description, both crystallographic and miner-
alogical, of the minerals from Irish localities, which are to be found in Irish
collections, have not been more generally published. It is only by the careful
study of the conditions under which certain forms of minerals are found, the first
element of which is a faithful record of the circumscribed locaUties in which they
occur, that we can hope to arrive at a solution of the important problem in
molecular physics — the causes which produce modifications of form in bodies.
The " Manual of the Mineralogy of Great Britain and Ireland, by Robert
Philips Greg. F.G.S.. and William G. Letsom", forming, I believe, one of the
admirable series of Van Voorst, is a most praiseworthy step in this direction.
It is with regret, however, that I have to state that this otherwise excellent and
useful work is full of the gravest errors regarding Irish localities ; errors, too,
of the strangest kind, not mineralogical. but geographical, and which one
would scarcely expect to find made respecting the divisions of an Asiatic
country. I do not speak of such errors as Rovenagh and Borenagh for Bovevagh
(pp. 54 and 88), Bum Beg for Bun Beg (p. 101), or Glen Maceness for Glenmac-
nass, which are however, too numerous to be pardonable, but of such errors as
County of Cavenogh for County of Cavan (p. 20) ; " Ballygahfm mine, at Glan-
dore, County of Wicklow' (p 279), Glandore being in the County of Cork ;
" Knockmahon and Tigroney in Waterford" (p. 305), Tigroney being in Wick-
low ; " In Wicklow, at Audley mine" (p. 311), Audley mine being in the County
of Cork. I hope a second edition will enable the authors, not only to correct
these errors, but to greatly extend the list of localities.

181

Art. VIII. — Observations on the Geological Formation and
Chemical Composition of the Surface Deposits from which
Vegetable Soils are Formed. By William K. Sullivan.

IN almost every country in tlie world, and in all latitudes,
superficial accumulations of clay, sand, and gravel occur,
sometimes forming a mere coating of the rocks beneatli, but
often of very considerable tliickness, and covering large areas,
as in Central Asia, Russia, Nortli and South America. These
accumulations may, no doubt, belong to different geological
epochs, and be due to different causes, but the immediate phy-
sical conditions under which they were deposited where we find
them, appear to have been very similar. These accumulations
consist of the detritus of rocks, of various sizes, sometimes con-
fusedly mixed up, but often also consisting of more or less perfectly
stratified beds of clay, sand, and pebbles. The latter are invari-
ably rounded like the pebbles of sea beaches, and are, therefore,
direct evidence that they were subjected to the action of moving
water long enough to round them by their mutual attrition.

These superficial accumulations have not received that atten-
tion from geologists which their extent as a portion of the earth's
crust entitles them to, and which their importance in connection
with animal and vegetable life imperatively demands. The
causes to which they are due have, however, been often specu-
lated upon, but while all have admitted the agency of water in
some way, various theories have been proposed to account for its
mode of action. Geological opinion has undergone a notable
change since the period, not long since, when the phenomena
observed in studying the physical constitution of the globe were
explained by violent cataclasms succeeded by periods of repose.
There is now a disposition to consider that the continued action
of existing causes is sufficient to satisfactorily explain all the
phenomena which the study of the earth's crust makes us ac-
quamted with. The hypothesis which attributed the formation
of these superficial accumulations to sudden and violent waves
sweeping over the country, bearing along masses of rock detritus,
has accordingly fallen into oblivion. It could only have been
proposed in ignorance, or, at all events, in utter forgetfulness, of
the phenomena which it proposed to account for, inasmuch as it
left not only unexplained, but was even wholly at variance with,
some of the most important of them ; it did not, for instance, show
what originally produced and rounded the gravel, and ground
into sand and clay such enormous masses of rock as must have

182 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

been necessary to form such extensive deposits. A series of
great waves sweeping along may have transported the detritus,
but it could scarcely have produced it ; it could only remove
matter from one place and deposit it on another : and, secondly,
how could a few violent waves possessing force enough to carry
along detritus sufficient to cover immense districts to the depth,
often, of more than one hundred feet, produce the ripple marks
indicative of ordinary tides, which may be so frequently observed
on the layers of sand, or, indeed, produce the regular stratifica-
tion which occurs frequently in such deposits, the clay of which
is often finely laminated, and yet covered with alternating layers
of gravel, sand, etc.?

The isolated islands of one kind of rock, which are found in
many places resting upon other rocks, such as the outher of car-
boniferous limestone at Taghmon, in the county of Wexford,
described by Mr. Jukes (to take an example from a district not
very far from that which will hereafter furnish us with the chief
data regarding the formation of soils), show us that at one period
these isolated masses formed part of a continuous sheet of the
same rock, which covered the whole of the intervening country
between the outlier and the main mass. Many valleys also prove
that they have been formed by erosion, the opposite sides show-
mg the corresponding sections of the eroded rocks- This partial
or complete removal of the rocks of a district is termed denudation,
and is obviously an important process for modifying the physical
features of a country. The detritus of the rocks removed must
have formed the materials of new formations. This process was,
no doubt in full activity at all geological periods, and may be set
down as the source of the superficial accumulations which I have
been discussing.

Any hypothesis which pretends to explain the formation of
such deposits must be two-fold : it must not merely explain the
circumstances under which they were deposited, but must also in-
clude an explanation of the origin of the materials of which they
are composed, that is, explain the cause and manner of the de-
nudation which produced the clay, sand, and gravel. The
wave-theory, or other violent causes, having been found unte-
nable, it has been proposed to account for both the deposition of
these deposits, and the denudation which gave the materials,
by the action, sometimes singly, and sometmies conjointly, of
currents, glaciers, and floating ice. The existence, at one period,
of a great glacial sea in Western Europe has been received with
considerable favour by, perhaps, the majority of geologists. The
recognition of ice as an agent in abrading rocks, and transport-
ing the detritus, if it did not actually originate with the inves-

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 183

tigations of Agassiz on the glaciers of the Swiss Alps, certainly
received from them a more extended geological application.
The moraines which those frozen rivers bear on their surface
explain very satisfactorly the occurrence of the detritus of the
higher mountains far down in the valleys, in positions which, it
would be difficult to suppose, they reached through the agency
of liquid water alone. Their onward motion accounts for the
grooved surface of rocks, and for the erosion, at least in part, of
some valleys. The floating about of icebergs, formed of detached
masses of glaciers, which run into lakes or seas, and leaving upon
them part of the detritus, which constitutes the moraines, affords,
no doubt, a very satisfactory explanation, though, certainly, not
the only possible one, of the distribution of erratic blocks, which
are found scattered over many parts of Europe. The discussion
of the glacial theory does not, however, enter into the subject of
the present paper, and has only been incidentally mentioned in
order that, in discussing hereafter the nature of the materials of
which soils are composed, we may be enabled to keep in mind
the geological bearings of the subject.

§•2.
The vegetable soil rests upon the accumulations of sand, clay,
etc., wherever they occur. Sometimes it is simply a portion of
the upper layer intermixed with vegetable matter, and more or
less acted upon by the oxygen of the air. Sometimes it appears
to be a different deposit from the mass upon which it rests. In
either case the soil must have likewise been formed by matter
transported by water. Some of the richest soils in the world
have, undoubtedly, been formed by alluvial mud, that is, by
matter carried down by rivers, and which is deposited in lakes
or estuaries. Some soils have also been slowly formed by the
action of water and air, aided by plants, upon the surface of
rocks. Such soils are usually very thin, even where the rock
decomposes rapidly, and except where land-slips have taken
place, or where they have been formed upon the steep sides of
hills, and gradually fallen down, they rest directly upon the rock
from which they are formed. I have seen a calcareous ash con-
glomerate, which decomposed so rapidly and perfectly, that a
block which still exhibited the planes of jointing was permeated
to the depth of several inches by the roots of plants, and pierced
by numerous worm-holes, and crumbled between the fingers into
a yellowish brown loam, while in the interior it was gray and as
hard as Hmestone. But even those soils which have been formed
by decomposition of the subjacent rock are subjected to the
action of running water, which, without being able to carry

184 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

the whole mass away, nevertheless continually washes out the
finest part, which it bears away as mud and deposits upon the
lower groimds.

The few observations which I have made are sufficient
to show that very great differences may exist between soils,
which may be entirely due to the manner in which they are
fcjrmed. In any inquiry concerning the properties of soils,
our first business should obviously be to endeavour to as-
certain the manner in which the particular ones to be ex-
amined were formed. From this point of view we may
classify soils into: 1. those which have been formed by the
slow decay of the subjacent rocks, and which have not con-
sequently been subjected to the action of water, beyond that
which falls upon them as rain ; 2. alluvial soils, or those formed
by the detritus and mud of rivers; and 3. soils which rest
upon the detritus of ancient sea-beaches or sea-bottoms. The
general character of the first kind of soils is indicated by
that of the rock upon which they rest. If it be homoge-
neous, that is, composed of one kind of mineral, the soil will
consist of the detritus of that mineral, more or less decom-
posed. The chemical properties of two specimens of such a soil
will not be found to materially differ, while the physical pro-
perties may be totally unlike. If, on the other hand, the rock
be a mixture of several minerals, the quahties of the soil may
vary considerably within short spaces, according as one or the
other constituent predominated. The second and third kinds of
soil being made up in most cases of the detritus of many rocks,
mixed in ever-varying proportions, no two specimens can possess
the same composition or physical properties. This fact, which
is of the greatest importance in connection with all attempts to
determine the comparative values of different soils, will be ren-
dered more evident by a discussion of the action of water in
transporting detiitus and depositing it in new positions.

§3.

The transporting power of water depends upon its velocity ;
according to Hopkins, the law of its progressive increase,
estimated by the weight of the pebbles of a given form and
density, which it is capable of stirring, is as the sixth power
of the velocity of the current ; that is, if we double the swift-
ness of a current, it will move pebbles of the same density and
form, sixty-four times as heavy: if we quadruple its velocity,
the weight capable of being moved will be increased 2048
times. The most casual obsepvation shows us that, whatever
may be the propelHng force of a cm'rent of water, it cannot

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 185

move all kinds of detritus with the same facility ; the mota-
"bility of the latter depends upon the size, density, and form of
the component particles, and on the position of each with regard
to the neighbouring ones, that is, to the existence of greater or
lesser obstacles in the way of their onward motion. The less
the density and weight, other things being equal, the more
easily pebbles are moved along. The more nearly a pebble
approaches a sphere, the more readily it can be moved; the
flatter or more elongated or angular the forms, the more force
will be required to move it. If a heap of detritus consisting
of dijfferent sized worn fragments of coal sandstone (sp. gr.
2.60), Silurian sandstone (sp. gr. 2.76), carboniferous lime-
stone (sp. gr. 2.72), coal shale (sp. gr. 2.59), mica slate
(sp. gr. 2.69), greenstone (sp. gr. 2.85), were to be exposed
to the action of a current of water moving at a certain ve-
locity, it would be found that those rocks which wear into
more or less round fragments would move first, following the
order of their density and volume. Those, on the contrary,
which were flat, as the shales and slates, would be moved
with most difliculty. The result would be a redistribution of
the detritus, by which the largest fragments of coal grit, sand-
stone, and limestone would be mingled with the smaller frag-
ments of slate ; the larger fragments of the slate, being most diffi-
cult to move, would be nearly altogether separated from the
rocks whioh form round pebbles. But even the disposition of the
latter would vary at every step, according as the influence of
form, density, or volume would dominate or compensate.

If we watch the action of a current of water upon detritus, we
shall find that the transportation is eiFected in two distinct ways :
1. by shoving the fragments along the ground; and 2. by lifting
them and bearing them along. It is obvious that the comparative
amount of detritus which would be transported in each way
would greatly modify the arrangement of the fragments when
again at rest. The proportion lifted would depend, among other
things, upon the density of the substances forming the detritus —
the pebbles of smaller specific gravity being more easily moved
than those of higher, upon the force of the current, and the slope
or inclination of the bottom upon which the detritus moved.
The greater the inclination in the direction of the current, the
more easily would the material be lifted. Hence, on a shelving
shore, the detritus is oftener lifted up by the retiring wave than
by the advancing one.

§.4.
The distribution of detritus shoved along would be very dif-

186 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

ferent from that transported while in suspension. The finer part
of all detritus is always lifted, and as it is precisely that part
which is of most importance in the formation of soils, it will be
desirable to study somewhat more in detail the circumstances
upon which the deposition of solid matter in suspension in water
depends. Those circumstances are extremely variable, and
scarcely admit of accurate determination. It is not difiicult to de-
termine the velocity with which homogeneous bodies of a definite
form freely fall, without initial velocity, through a fluid. M. De
Hennezel, for instance, finds that the acquired velocity at any
moment of a spherical body, falling, without initial velocity, in
a resisting medium, varies according to a law of progression
somewhat less rapid than the direct ratio of the square roots of
the density and the diameter of the body, and in the inverse
ratio of the square root of the density of the fluid. ^ Hence it fol-
lows that for two spherical bodies of the densities D and d, and the
diameters A and 3, falHng each in a fluid of the density Q for
the first, and q for the second, the corresponding velocities, V and
v^ will be given in functions of one another by the expression

V _ ./"DxKxq

V " ^ dx^xQ

This law has been experimentally confirmed by M. Pemolet. It
would, however, be clearly impracticable to attempt to give an
expression for the fall of bodies of indeterminate ^hape, and
whose motion, in addition, would be modified at every instant
by impinging against each other. Indeed, mathematical expres-
sions, were they possible, would scarcely be useful. Still it is
always desirable to have some accurate data as standards by
which to correct our general conclusions.

The chief circmnstances which influence the fall of bodies in
water are, volume or size, density, and shape, being in fact the
same that influence the motability when exposed to a current of
water. The foregoing formula will give us a standard by which
to estimate the influence which calibre and density would have
on the velocity of falling bodies. Fortunately an interesting
series of experiments, made by M. Pernolet with a view of ascer-
taining how far metallic ores could be concentrated for the pur-
poses of smelting by allowing them to fall through water,^ afford
us some data for estimating the influence of form, which is by
far the most important of the three. By experiments made with
different sized shot in their usual spherical form, and more or less
flBttened, he has shown that it requires a difference of calibre in

• Anna! des Mines, 4"^^ Serie, t. iv., p. 353.
' Ibid, t. XX., pp. 389, 535.

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 187

the proportion of 1 : 2 in order to produce a difference in the
time of full in the proportion of 1 to less than 1^, while the
slightest possible change of form, such, for example, as that of a
sphere into a cube or cylinder, the dimensions of which would be
I less than the diameter of the sphere, would be sufficient to
produce an equal difference in the duration of the fall. The
following table shows the results which M. Pernolet obtained in
experiments made upon the fall in a column of water 6 metres
high, of 11 pieces of lead of the same volume, but shaped diffe-
rently, but so that the greatest dimensions of any of them did
not exceed twice the diameter of the one formed into a sphere.

Form.

Diameter in

Thickness

Duration of fall

Millimetres.

in MUlimfetres.

in Seconds.

1 Sphere

14 to 15

14 to 15

3.91

2 Cube

11 „ 12

11 „ 12

5.85

3 CyUnder

11 „ 12

13 „ 14

5.25

4 „

17

7

6.50

5 „

20

5 to 6

7.16

6 Prism

8 by 8

26 „ 27

7.33

7 „

17 „ 19

6 „ 7

7.60

8 »

22 „ 23

3 „ 4

9.25

9 „

63 „ 3i

2

8.33

10 Cylinder

26

3 to 4

9.50

11 »

42

H

10.673

This table shows in a striking manner the influence of shape
alone on the velocity of bodies falling through water.

The result of a number of experiments upon spheres of the
same density, but of different weights, showed that a differ-
ence in the diameters in the ratio of 1 : 2, produced a differ-
ence in the times of fall in the ratio of 1,000 : 1,414; and
that, in order to double the time of fall, the diameter should be
reduced in the ratio of 4 : 1. M. Pernolet was not able to deter-
mine experimentally the influence of density upon the time of
fall, but the maximum influence may be stated to be about
100 : 300, or that between quartz and platinum; but as the
densities of the commoner rocks differ but very little from
each other, the maximum variation produced, in the time of
fall of detritus of rocks by this cause, would certainly not exceed
the ratio of 100 to 115.

' Observations. — No. 1, the time varied between S" and 4"; No. 6, the time
also varied in this case between 7" and 8", the former corresponding to a ver-
tical fall, and the latter to a spiral one. No. 8 was thrown on the flat, or in the
direction of its chief axis, without producing any variation in the time of fall.
No, 9 always fell flat, whether it was thrown so or in the direction of its major
axis. No. 11 was always thrown flat, and yet the duration varied from 10"
to 12".

188 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

§. 5.

We have now to consider what would be the combined effect
of all the influences which could modify the time of fall of bodies
in water. To determine this point, it would be necessary to
experiment upon bodies of different densities, volumes, and
shapes, simultaneously. It is, however, very difficult to do this.
I have attempted some experiments to determine the order of
deposit of detritus of various sizes, density, and shape ; but not
having adequate means at my disposal, the results which I have
as yet obtained are of no further use than to show the difficulties
which beset such experiments, except, indeed, that they suffi-
ciently indicate the character of the results which may be looked
for. In the absence of data of this kind, it is fortunate that
we possess some experiments of M. Pemolet, in which he
sought to determine the same thing, though for a different
purpose, with those minerals which it is the object of the pro-
cess for washing ores to separate. He took pebbles of galena,
quartz, and coal, substances which exhibit a considerable differ-
ence in their relative densities, divided into four classes according
to size, the classification being effected by means of gratings of
given dimensions. As the bodies which escape through a grating
of any given dimension are not, as is well known, of the same
size, it was necessary to sort by the hand each class into groups,
including, as far as possible, fragments of equal size. The time
of fall for each group, of each class, as in those already quoted,
was made by a series of observations upon the fall of isolated
grains through a column of water 6 metres high, and 0°" 20 in
diameter. Similar experiments were made upon the sand pro-
duced by crushing galena, which has a cubical fracture, crystal-
line pyrites, blende, which breaks into smaller fragments, lamel-
lar sulphate of baryta, lamellar carbonate of lime, ribbon quartz,
plumbago, and bituminous coal, classified into seven classes.

It is important to observe here that considerable difference
may exist between the velocity of fall of the same substances
in the state of pebbles and of very fine powder. Bodies
of lamellar structure, for example, may form round pebbles,
but when ground to fine powder, the particles forming the
powder would consist t)f thin plates. The result of this would
be, that while the pebbles might be amongst those which de-
scend fastest, the fine mud produced by their attrition might
be one of the slowest descending kinds. Even though we may
not be able to detect any difference of form between the particles
composing the finest powders of different bodies, there can be
no doubt that such a difference exists. But as many minerals
may occur in several states of aggregation, the mud produced by

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 189

tliem in eacK would possess different velocities of fall. It is
therefore necessary to specify, as above, tlie structure of tlie
minerals used in M. Pernolet's experiments. Owing to the long
time which all fine matters suspended in water take to deposit,
the sHghtest difference in form or specific gravity between them,
influences their time of deposition. Of course, the greater the
height of the column of water through which bodies fall, the
greater will be the duration of the time of fall, and consequently
the greater will be the effects of differences of specific gravity
and shape. Increasing the height of the fall is, consequently,
equivalent to reducing the substance to a finer state of division,
bearing in mind, however, the circumstance just alluded to,
that there may be great differences of shape between the pebbles
and powder which a substance would form.

The following tables contain the results of those experiments ;
in the case of the pebbles, the results for each group are not
given, only the extreme ones, and, in some cases, one or two
intermediate ones.

Table showing the relative Duration oj" the Jail oj" different size pebbles of Galena^
Quartz, and Coal through atill water.

. Dimensions of the Meshes
5 of the Wire Gauze used
^ to classify the pebbles.

GALENA.

QUARTZ.

COAL.

The pebbles
passed thro'
meshes the
side of which
measured in
millimetres :
1

The pebbles
remained on
meshes the

side of
which mea-
sured in
millimetres :

Weight of
pebbles

in
grammes.

Duration
of fall in
seconds.

Weight of
pebbles

in
grammes.

Duration
of fall in
seconds.

Weight of
pebbles

in
grammes.

Duration
of fall in
seconds.

1 30

18

78.33
45.25
17.50

4"60
6 87
6 92

44.20

25.17

2.70

9"30
10 41
22 80

18.00

11.25 -j

5.00
3.75

22 "20

29 77
32 40
43 40
36 46

2 18

7

21.25

12.25

1.43

6 40
6 31
8 30

10.70
4,00 \
0.214

12 60
14 10
24 00
37 20

5.00
2.50 -1
0.333

31 45

30 00

, 42 00

45 60

2 7

6i

1.416
0.040

8 40

9 60

0,900
0.675
0.333

0.234 ^

0.886

15 60
20 85
25 00
20 19
39 30
45 00

0.225 4
0.150

0.050 ^

41 79
62 50
47 81

66 40

87 90

, «

On round
holes 4.44
mm, in di-
ameter.

0.600
0.120

9 84
12 22

0.300

0.100 {

0.062
0.022

21 19
23 62
37 80
26 20
73 95

0.150
0.075

0.020 1

60 75

57 75

67 20
115 80

190

Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

Table shovoing the Relative Duration of the fall of different kinds of Sand
through still water.

6

1

Diameter in Milli-
metres of the round
holes of the sieves
used:

Duration in Seconds of the fall through a column of still water
6 metres deep, of the following Minerals :

The grains
passed
through
holes :

The grains
rested up-
on sieves
with
holes :

Galena.

Crystal-
lized
Pyrites.

Blende

Sulphate

of
Baryta.

Calclte.

Quartz.

Plumba-
go.

Bitumi-
nous
Coal.

4.44

4,17 -

9"00
15 40

13"50
17 00

13"67
20 34

14"67
19 00

18"66
27 66

21"25
66 00

25"33
44 00

75"00
100 50

2

3.94

3.67 i

12 50
17 45

16 67
24 60

19 00
36 25

17 50
27 25

22 26
44 00

25 95
65 40

40 75
81 33

65 50
146 00

3

2.77

2.50 ■[

15 51
21 75

20 35
32 60

25 33
63 00

21 00
45 67

30 00
62 00

30 09
118 50

47 33
106 67

79 00
214 00

4

1.77

1.50 1

18 48
31 20

36 50
38 00

41 67
75 67

31 33

70 66

37 00

85 00

45 50
75 50'

64 33
181 33

122 25
308 75

5

1.50

remain- C
ed OToA
lawn, c

22 00
41 25

39 99
94 33

37 33
102 66

39 50
97 25

66 26
150 25

52 00
123 67

»'

If

6

7

passed

through

lawn.

remain- C
ed on-<
silk, i

46 75
122 08

25 00
61 33

;;

65 00
124 60

98 65
260 15

12160
227 50

»»

"

Passed through silk.

67 00
163 00

;;

^^

61 67
145 34

111 99

283 00

"'

"

;;

These tables sKow us in a very striking manner the joint in-
fluence of density, size, and form upon the fall of bodies in
water, and consequently indicate to us what would be the
general order of deposition of a heterogeneous mass of debris.
Thus, for example, the different kinds of pebbles named in the
first class might be more or less separated from one another by
dropping them into a column of water about twenty feet high,
provided each pebble was able to fall freely. Pebbles of quartz
and galena, of the sizes included in the second class, would also
be separated, while some of the smaller quartz and larger coal
pebbles would be deposited together. Similar results would be
obtained with pebbles of the sizes included in the third and
fourth classes. But if all the kinds and sizes included mider the
fo^ classes in the table were dropped into water, the smaller

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 191

fragments of galena and the larger pebbles of quartz would be
deposited together, while beneath, the galena, would be almost
free from quartz ; upon the mixture of galena and quartz, a
layer of the larger pebbles of quartz would be deposited ; upon
this, a mixture of quartz and coal ; and lastly, coal-dust. If the
different kinds of sand named under class 1, were dropped into
water, and that the descending grains did not interfere with one
another, we would have the following order of deposition, begin-
ning at the bottom: 1. a little galena; 2. a varying mixture of
galena, pyrites, and blende; 3. galena, p3rrites, blende, and sul-
phate of baryta ; 4. blende, sulphate of baryta, and carbonate of
lime; 5. blende and carbonate of lime; 6. carbonate of lime and
quartz; 7. quartz and plumbago; 8. unmixed quartz; and 9.
unmixed coal. If sands of all dimensions and kinds were
mingled together and dropped into a column of water of about
twenty feet high, the separation of the different kinds of sand
would be still less perfect, but the grains of each of the sub-
stances deposited together would be of different sizes; thus,
galena powder, which would pass through lawn, would be depo-
sited in equal time with grains of blende which would not pass
through holes l^'^.S in diameter, sulphate of baryta of all dimen-
sions below that which would rest on holes 2'"'"-.50 in diameter,
calcite grains varying in size from those which would just pass
through holes of 2"""-.5 in diameter, down to powder that would
just remain on lawn, quartz of nearly all sizes, plumbago of
nearly all sizes, down to grains which would rest on sieves with
holes of l"™-.5, and lastly, coal of all sizes, down to grains which
would scarcely pass through holes of about 2°™.7.

Form and specific gravity also influence the fall of precipi-
tates of different bodies simultaneously thrown down ; and ac-
cordingly, if two or three bodies be precipitated at the same
time from a solution, in sufficient quantity to form a deposit of
from one to two inches thick, it will be found that the bodies
formed by the decomposition will not be uniformly mingled in
the deposit. The consistence of precipitates, and even the form
of their particles, may be differently modified by heat ; the rela-
tive proportions of the different substances in various parts of a
deposit formed by chemical precipitation will, therefore, vary
according to the temperature at which the precipitation takes
place. It is also probable that the form of the particles of a
precipitate may have some influence in the mutual decomposi-
tion of salts, a subject which I hope to be able to discuss more
fully at another time. Where precipitations take place in great
bodies of water, as in seas and oceans, a more or less complete
separation of simultaneously precipitated substances may be

192 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

effected in this manner — a circumstance wHcli may help to
explain many obscure geological phenomena.

§•6.

The application of the preceding tables and observations to
explain the phenomena of geological deposits is obvious. It
must, however, be borne in mind that the tables of M. Pemolet
were constructed upon data obtained in experiments made upon
isolated grains, or, at least, upon such small quantities of sand
that the different particles could not interfere with one another's
motions. The fall of detritus in water would, however, be a
much more complicated phenomenon. In the first place, the
depositions would rarely take place in perfectly still water, but
more generally in currents of variable force, which would give
very complicated resultants for the actual forces influencing the
deposition : then the individual pebbles, grains of sand, or parti-
cles of mud, would not commence their fall at the same moment ;
there would, on the contrary, be a succession of falls, — the most
rapidly falling bodies starting at one moment, overtaking the
slower falHng ones of the preceding intervals of time ; and, again,
the agitation of the water would cause the neighbouring pebbles,
grains, or particles to impinge against each other, and thus modify
the duration of one another's fall. It is evident from this, that,
in reality, no complete separation of the materials of detritus
could take place by falKng through water. The shallower the
water and the larger the pebbles, the more confused would be the
arrangement of the deposit ; the deeper the water and the finer
the detritus, the more perfect would be the separation according
to size, density, and form. But, however confused the arrange-
ment of a heap of detritus deposited in water may be, the opera-
tion of the three circumstances influencing the fall of bodies just
named may be traced in it.

The deposits formed in deep seas, taking into account the
nature of the detritus which may happen to come into them,
must consequently be more homogeneous than those formed in
troubled shallow water. The influence of the duration of the
time of fall may often be traced in the laminae of sandy slates and
shales, not merely in regard to the proportion of sand and silt in
each layer, but even in the composition of the fine silty layers
themselves. The difference in the mechanical and chemical
composition of argillaceous and arenaceous rocks is often rendered
strikingly evident in rocks which have become foliated under the
influence of heat and pressure. Hence it is that there is so little
accordance between the different analyses which have been made
of specimens of these, or, indeed, of any sedimentary rocks not

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 193

composed of a single chemical substance, such as sulphate or car-
bonate of lime.

On sea-beaches, and narrow channels between islands, the
mechanical aspect, and, in general, the chemical composition, of
the deposits of detritus must vary at almost every step, because
the forces which have influenced that deposition must have varied
at almost every instant, owing to the changes in depth of the
water, force and direction of currents, and the comparative free-
dom or obstruction offered to the motion of the individual peb-
bles, grains, etc., which would, among other things, depend upon
the quantity and size of the detritus in suspension, or shoved
along at the same time. In some cases, even another influencing
circumstance, which I have not hitherto noticed at all, might
come into play in the neighbourhood of great rivers — namely,
the diiference of density between sea and fresh water. The influ-
ence of this circumstance would, of course, be trifling, and I only
mention it to show the great variety of causes which operate
in the deposition of sediment in water. We may, accordingly,
expect to find that the loose accumulations of sand, mud, and
giavel, formed under the influence of all the causes named, in
shallow, obstructed seas, would be confused mixtures of all sizes
and kinds of materials at one point, coarsely stratified at another
point, often within a few yards, or even feet ; here thin bands or
pockets of gravel in close proximity to similar ones of sand or
clay; at another, great tliick deposits of fme mud; and, at an-
other, heaps of loose sifted gravel ; and so on.

I have yet to notice another som'ce of difference of composi-
tion in deposits, — the meeting of two currents bearing or shoving
along detritus of different kinds of rocks. A strong tidal
current moving along an extended shore formed of different
kinds of rock, would mingle up the detritus of each, in some
places more, and in others less. The meeting of two currents
bearing diiferent kinds of detritus may be prevented by a head-
land, or island, or reef of rock ; in this case, we would find a
complete difference between the detritus at opposite sides, — the
two kinds being often separated by an interval of not more than
a few yards. Again, after the deposition of a bed of detritus,
the direction of the currents which transported it may be
changed, and a current bearing a different kind pass over the
same place, and leave a new and different deposit. This change
of direction in currents is, indeed, the circumstance which most
modifies the effects of density, size, and form in the deposition of
transported matter, above all, of that shoved along. Its influ-
ence may be fully seen by watching the effects produced by
damming up the bed of a small stream. Beds of detritus may
III. 13

194 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

also be subjected to the action of water subsequent to their depo-
sition, by which a complete or partial rearrangement of their
materials would be effected. If distinct currents had successively
deposited two or more beds of different kinds of materials, they
may get mingled up, and only one bed formed in the redistri-
bution. This circumstance should be borne in mind in any
deductions made respecting the direction of the currents which
transported any particular bed of drift from the kind of pebbles
which it may contain.

§• 7.

A large part of Ireland is covered with superficial accumula-
tions of clay, sand, and gravel, which bear evidence of their
having been subjected to the action of moving water. On this
account the name " drift" is generally applied to them. In some
districts the materials composing the drift appear to be derived
in greater part from the breaking up of Hmestone rocks ; in others
the materials are derived from grits, slates, granite, etc. The
former is chiefly found in districts the local rocks of which are
limestone ; but limestone drift is frequently found to rest on slate,
and granite rocks also, and sometimes separated from any Hme-
stone rocks by a considerable tract of country. These accumula-
tions are not confined to plains or tlie bottoms of valleys, but
frequently occur on the sides of mountains, at heights of from
500 to 700 feet above the sea, and in some instances even at the
height of more than 1,000 feet. The term drift is sometimes
restricted to accumulations containing limestone pebbles, but
such a distinction is not correct. I may observe here that the
term hmestone gravel seems to be given to a mass of detritus
upon very slight grounds. I examined the pebbles contained in
twenty-five deposits, of various degrees of fineness, described
as limestone gravel, limestone drift, etc., and found that the
amount of carbonate of lime in the pebbles of any of them did
not exceed 23 per cent., while in several it fell below 1 per cent.

The materials of the drift deposits are sometimes confusedly
mixed up and sometimes coarsely stratified, the beds of sand
often exhibiting ripple marks. They also contain shells.

On the central plain of Ireland, the general outUne of the
country is either wholly given or greatly modified by the drift
accumulations. In the depressions, the coarse hmestone gravel
is usually covered with calcareous clay, and upon this rests
frequently a bed of shell marl consisting almost entirely of
carbonate of lime,* and covered with turf, or sometimes inter-

* In four specimens from different parts of the Bog of Allen which I analyzed,
I found 89.96, 92.61, 94.07, and 95.77 per cent, of carbonate of lime respectively.

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 195

stratified with turf. It is in the shell marl and calcareous clay
of this kind that the bones of the gigantic elk are found. It
would thus appear tliat the calcareous clay was deposited in
lakes formed in the depressions in the limestone gravel, the
ridges of which look in some places as if they had formed their
shores. These lakes on becoming shallow became filled with
diatomacese and fresh-water shells, and in time they became
converted into peat swamps.

In some places the drift accumulations are composed of two well-
marked separate deposits, the lower one being wholly composed
of limestone gravel, and the upper of the debris of other rocks.
There is a good example of this on the sea coast, a little beyond
Graystones, a station of the railway between Bray and Wicklow ;
imderneath is a bed of clay and limestone gravel, upon which
rests clay and red grit and shale debris. No limestone now
occurs in the district, but it is probable that this gravel is the
result of the denudation of a former covering over the slate
rocks which has been wholly removed. The slate rocks laid
bare were, of course, also acted upon, and their detritus deposited
upon the limestone.

In other localities masses of limestone gravel are found within
a very short distance of accumulations containing pebbles of
wholly different rocks. The drift of Howth, near Dubhn,
affords a good example of this kind. Leaving the town of
Howth and proceeding along the north shore, near the Martello
tower, I found the pebbles in the drift to consist chiefly of grits,
Hmestone, one or two chalk flints, a few fragments of porphyritic
greenstone, hke that of Lambay, fragments of ferruginous quartz,
like those forming the old red conglomerate of Lambay. On
the road towards the coast-guard station, I found, in addition to
the preceding, fragments of Mourne red granite, chalk flints, a
large lump of greenstone, with green felspar crystals, a large block
of Silurian conglomerate, like that on the south side of Lambay
Island. At a httle distance beyond the last house on the sea road,
I found a fragment of weathered porphyry, like that which is seen
on the shore near Donabate, fragments of porphyry, with a reddish
paste, and green crystals exactly like that of Lambay. A
little further to the eastward, I found epidotic greenstone, with
purplish carbonate of lime, identical with the green rock
enclosing lumps of carbonate of lime found a little to the north
of the harbour of Lambay Island, a small fragment of granite,
with black mica, a chalk flint, a fragment of decomposed Lambay
porphyry. North of the lighthouse, I observed green and dark
gray grits of local Howth rocks ; pebbles of segregated argillaceous
limestones, like those from the shales exposed in the railway

13 b

196 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

cutting near Donabate; Silurian limestone nodules, containing
the cliaracteristic fossils ; large pebbles of hard highly crystalline
limestone ; compact trap, with a somewhat reddish paste ; a mass
of Lambay porphyry; Syenitic greenstone, with whitish paste
and crystals of green hornblende, exactly like that forming
Lambay Head ; compact greenstone ; Donabate fine conglomerate
greenstone ash conglomerate^ like that found near the south
shore of Lambay ; rolled quartz pebbles ; one or two lumps of
granite; grits and limestone; the latter two forming the chief
mass. On the south side of the hill, and not far from the hght-
house, I observed nothing but local quartzose grits and slates, not
containing any northern rocks. Near the Martello tower on the
south side, the drift is, so far as I saw, unmixed black limestone
gravel. This remarkable change in the character of the drift as
we proceed round the Hill of Howth, proves that the physical
conformation of the district during the deposition of the drift
gravel was not much different from that now existing. A
northern current brought the detritus of the shore north of
Howth and of Lambay Island ; where the headland deflected this
current, the local rocks of the hill itself formed the detritus,
while a western or north-western current brought limestone drift
from the great limestone plain to the west.

A careful study of the materials forming the drift over a
large area of country, would, with the aid of the principles
above laid down, regarding the transportation of detritus, enable
us to determine the direction and force of the currents which
formed the drift, and the probable depth of the water in which
it was deposited. The data thus obtained might enable us to
determine approximatively the physical conformation of the
land and sea during the drift epoch. Much assistance may
be derived in such inquiries from a study of the ripple markings
and bedding of the drift wherever it occurs. Mr. H. C. Sorby,
as is well known, has shown how the direction of a current
present during the deposition of a rock can be determined from
the ripple markings, and what he calls " drift bedding", or, as
he has since proposed to call the whole of this class of pheno-
mena, " current structures". In the case of the drift, however,
this kind of evidence would not be sufficient, though it would
greatly aid that derived from the thorough study of the htho-
logical character of the materials, contrasted with that of the
rocks of the district.

§■8.

The classification of soils which I made at p. 184, into those
which have not been subjected to the action of running water

Formation and Chemical Com,position of Soils. 197

and into those which have been deposited in it, will sufficiently
explain why I have gone into so much detail regarding the
deposition and transportation of detritus. Every word which
has been said in the preceding pages applies to the superficial
layer forming the soil, whether it be a portion of the great mass
of underlying drift, or another kind of detritus. Soils must
consequently be formed, in the majority of cases, of a mixture
of difterent minerals, in various states of aggregation, and must
vary in chemical composition and physical properties, according
as the relative proportion or sizes of the different minerals vary.
Hence, no two samples of the same soil can be exactly alike in
chemical or physical constitution. It is, therefore, no wonder
that the experiment made by the Landes-Oekonomie-Collegium,
or Board of Agriculture of Prussia, to ascertain the exhaustion
of the soil by any given crop, should have proved a failure.
They adopted the following method: — " Before the experiment,
the chemical condition of the experimented field was first de-
termined; it was then cultivated successively with the same
crops (peas and rape), until it was incapable of yielding any
more produce, when finally the condition of the exhausted
soil was again ascertained by a similar analysis, in order to
compare the difference thus obtained in the soil with the
amount of ash of the successive crops. In order as much as
possible to divest the results of all local influences, it was
further resolved that the experiments should embrace soils in
fourteen different places of the kingdom. Finally, as an ac-
cessory to the above condition, in the instructions issued for the
undertaking, and committed to fourteen cultivators, the Board
further required that a field of as nearly uniform character as
possible should be selected ; from ten or twelve different places
of this field, equal quantities of the arable soil, through its entire
depth, should be taken up with the spade, put into a deal
barrow, well mixed (with a spade?), and the specimen taken
from the mixture. Every sample was entrusted to three different
chemists to be analyzed".^ The difference between the results
of the three analyses of the same sample of soil was quite as
great as that between those of any two of the different soils
exammed by the same chemist. It must be remembered too,
that these were not of the class of analyses which credulous
farmers and enthusiastic amateur agriculturists are in the habit
of getting executed in Great Britain and Ireland.

Besides the ever-changing proportion between the different
ingredients of a soil, which render it physically impossible to

* Liebig and Kopp's Annual Keport of the Progress of Chemistry, vol. 3,
1849, p. 4G8.

198 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

obtain an average specimen of it, there are otlier difficulties in
tlie way of ascertaining the true chemical composition of soils,
which I will discuss further on. In the mean time, I may state
my opinion that, except in very rare instances, and that only in
the case of soils formed by the decomposition of the subjacent
rock, and where consequently they were not deposited in water,
the results of the quantitative analyses of soils, supposing even
that they were correct so far as the individual samples analyzed
were concerned, would be wholly valueless. While holding tliis
opinion, I beheve, however, that a comparative examination of
the litholoojical characters of the materials forminir the soils of a
district of country, if made on a scale sufficiently extensive to
eliminate mere local errors, would be of great use to agriculture.

A few years since. Sir Robert Kane projected a series of agro-
logical maps for each of the counties of Ireland, in which he pro»
posed to represent, by different colours, the comparative values
of the soils and subsoils, as determined by their chemical analysis.
The idea of attempting to represent on a map the chemical cha-
racter of the soils of a whole county was novel, and, if it could
be executed, there can be no doubt that it would confer very
great benefits on agriculture — more even than the geological
maps, useful as they undoubtedly are : of course, I speak here
of the agricultural use of the geological maps merely. A large
number of specimens of the soils of the counties of Dublin,
Wicklow, Kildare, Carlow, Kilkenny, Wexford, etc., were col-
lected for the purpose of these maps by the officers of the Geo-
logical Survey of Ireland, and transmitted to the Museum of
Irish Industry. The analysis of these soils formed part of my
duty as chemist to that institution during several years, aided,
during a part of the time, by Mr. Gages, the present curator of
the Museum. The analyses of the soils and subsoils of several
counties were completed. The water, organic matter, lime, and,
where it was considerable, the magnesia also, the alumina, and
peroxide of iron, sand, and clay, were the only constituents
generally determined ; but, on completing the whole of the soils
of a county in this manner, a number of type soils were selected,
and every ingredient determined. With the data thus furnished,
Sir Robert Kane intended to prepare the maps. So far as I
know, he only attempted the construction of one, in which he
used, however, only the per-centage of clay, sand, and carbonaet
of lime. . In an undertaking of such magnitude and difficulty,
many attempts must be made before the right method is disco-
vered, and consequently, his first map must be considered as an
experiment.

It is obvious, from what has been said above relative to the

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 199

mode of formation of soils, that no map could be constructed to
represent the comparative composition of the soils of a district
foimded upon the proportion of sand, clay, and lime. No doubt
these constituents may be said to represent the whole soil ; and,
again, the special character of a soil is really given by whichever
constituent predominates. But the extent of the variation which
may take place in the relative proportions of these ingredients
in a few yards, may often exceed that which would be observed
between fertile and barren soils. On flat and extensive plains,
where but one kind of rock would prevail, there would be much
more chance of uniformity of composition, both chemical and
mechanical, than in a mountainous or rolKng country, especially
if there was a great diversity of rocks. It is probable that the^
soil which covers some of the great plains between the Allegha-
nies and California, over some of which the same kind of rock,
as, for example, gypsum, spreads for more than a hundred
miles, may be represented by a few analyses. This supposition
receives considerable support from the circumstance that, on a
district of more than a hundred miles long, about the upper
com-se of the Rio Grande del Norte, the vegetation is almost
exclusively confined to one or two species of Artemisia. In
Russia, too, there are many districts, of which, undoubtedly, a
map might be made to represent the chemical composition of the
soil, founded upon data of the kind alluded to above, supposing
no other objection than that of want of uniformity of composi-
tion, arising from the circumstances influencing the deposition
of the detritus forming the spil, existed. But such an objection
does exist in regard to the proportion of sand and clay, as I will
explain hereafter.

While engaged in making these analyses, I had an opportunity
of examining minutely the lithological character of the pebbles.
On coordinating the notes which 1 thus made for the soils and
subsoils, I found that they sometimes coincided, and sometimes
did not, the coincidence being, however, the rule. I next com-
pared the lithological character of the pebbles of both soil and
subsoil with that of the local rocks of the localities from which
they were obtained, which I was enabled to do, partly from my
owTi notes, and also, in the case of every specimen, from the
observations of the ofiicers of the Geological Smwey of Ireland^
registered upon the six-inch maps, and which I was allowed to
freely consult by Mr. Oldham, formerly Local Director of the
Geological Survey of Ireland, and now Director-General of the
Geological Survey of India ; and by his successor, my friend and
colleague, Mr. J. B. Jukes. This comparison showed, in tho

200 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

clearest manner, that, as a general rule, the pebbles of the super-
ficial deposits were formed from local rocks, and could not, there-
fore, have been brought from a distance. My intimate acquaint-
ance with the special lithological characters of almost every rock
in the district from which the soils were obtained, enabled me
often to identify the larger pebbles with a particular rock, and
thus to trace the direction of the current. Where the local rocks
were very varied, the same variety was observed in the pebbles ;
where, on the contrary, the same kind of rock prevailed over a
large district of country, the pebbles consisted mainly or altoge-
ther of that rock.

The geological boundaries of the subjacent rocks rarely coin-
cided with those marking two kinds of soil. Thus, to take two
kinds of drift, which present well-marked distinctive qualities,
limestone and slate, the former was found to extend from a lime-
stone country into a slate one, and slate debris to extend over a
limestone country. It was generally found that the extent of
this lapping depended upon the physical conformation of the
country.

In some districts, especially in Wicklow and Wexford, lime-
stone pebbles were often noticed, especially in the subsoil, where
there was not only no local limestone rock, but none nearer
than twenty or thirty miles ; and even this was often separated
by high hills, and the intervening country generally was such as
to oppose considerable obstacles to the transportation of anything
but the finest silt. The occurrence of limestone in these localities
is easily understood, from the fact already mentioned, that con-
siderable masses of limestone drift are found in the low parts of
Wicklow and Wexford, as the probable relics of a former cover-
ing of local limestone rocks ; so that, admitting this explanation
to be correct, it would appear that the superficial deposits from
which the soils and subsoils referred to, were derived, must have
been formed, if not of the immediately subjacent rock, at least
of the rocks of the surrounding districts.

Out of several hundred observations of the lithological cha-
racter of the pebbles of the soils and subsoils of the different
counties above mentioned, I have selected those referring to a
district consisting of the whole of the county of Kildare and the
part of the county of Wicklow comprised by the western slopes
of the Wicklow range of mountains, and a small isolated district
in the north of the county, enclosed amidst granite, slate, and
quartz rocks. This district is very varied, both as regards the
lithological character of the rocks, and the physical conformation
of the country, and consequently affords an excellent field for
studying the question of the superficial accumulations, both

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 201

from a geological and agricultural point of view. The annexed
sheets contain the results of my observations, arranged in a
tabular form. I have likewise added the proportion of pebbles
and silt in the specimen examined. It is scarcely necessary
to observe, that these numbers can, at most, indicate that the
soil is silty or gravelly, as the proportions may be reversed
within a lew yards. Generally speaking, however, the pro-
portion of pebbles in a large sample of soil, enables one to form
an idea as to whether the soil is composed of fine clay with few
pebbles, or gravel with little silt. The constituent of a soil
which can be most readily and accurately determined, is car-
bonate of lime, and it is also one of those which indicates, by
its variation, marked changes in the constitution of a soil. I
have therefore added the per-centage of that constituent in
the silt of both soil and subsoil. Although the chief value of
these tables is their suggestiveness, and not their furnishing
positive data, I think it will, nevertheless, be useful to give such
reference as to the exact locality as will enable those who are
sufficiently interested in the matter, to study their relations
by means of a map. The letters Sh, and the number follow-
ing, refer to the numbered oblongs which are formed on the
Ordnance index maps of the different counties of Ireland, and to
the corresponding sheets of the maps made on the scale of
six inches to the mile. Each oblong represents a district of
country six miles long, and four miles broad. If each sheet be
divided into four equal parts, we may call the upper left hand
quarter-sheet the north-west quarter-sheet; the lower left hand
one the south-west; the upper right hand quarter the north-
east, and the lower right hand quarter the south-east; the
letters N.W., S.E., etc., placed after th6 number of the sheet,
indicate the particular quarter-sheet in which the townland or
part of a townland from which the specimen was taken is
situated. In order to enable the reader to compare the soils in
one sheet with those of the neighbouring ones, I have indicated
under the head " general observations", the sheets which bound
the sheet referred to on the N., S., E., and W. Thus, under Sh.
8, Wicklow is put N., Dublin, S., 13, E., sea, W., 7. It will be
very easy to find from these references the quarter-sheets which
bound any particular one.

The specimens of soil upon which these observations were
made were far too small to render the determination of the rela-
tive proportion of each kind of pebbles, or their relative size, of
any value. Such experiments could only be made on the spot,
and to be of any use, at least, one cubic foot should be used.
But, even without these data, an attentive study of these tables

202 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

full J bears out all that has been said upon the subject of the
transportation and deposition of detritus. From a geological
point of view, these tables are of very great interest, for they show
that the drift is the result of local denudation, and though it has
suffered displacement, it is not more than would have taken place
upon the supposition of its having been deposited upon the
bottom and shores of a shallow sea, studded with islands, in which
tides and currents flowed with no greater relative force than now.
The almost universal occurrence of brown and gray grits and
shales, and occasionally of fragments of coal, which I have found
still more abundantly in the subsoils of the county of DubHn,
appears to prove that the whole of this kind of drift is the debris
of coal measure beds which formerly spread over the counties of
Dublin and Kildare, etc. I have already mentioned the similar
explanation which has been given to account for the occuiTence
of limestone drift in the slate districts of Wicklow. I mention
this hypothesis of the denudation of extensive tracts of coal
measures, not merely because the study of the annexed tables
appears to support it by a new kind of evidence, but also because
it shows how investigations of this kind might be employed in
connection with the important subject of denudation.

A comparison of the numbers representing the per-centage of
carbonate of lime in the silt, shows that great variations may take
place in its composition, without a corresponding variation in the
lithological character of the pebbles always accompanying it, and
this even in the case of the soil and subsoil of the same spot.
The character of the pebbles does not consequently always indi-
cate that of the silt, although generally it does so. This also
necessarily follows from the nature of the phenomena of the
transport and deposition of detritus. Every complete descrip-
tion of a soil must consequently include not only the lithological
character of the pebbles, but also of the silt. The latter can,
however, be only ascertained by chemical analysis, and this
brings me to the second part of my subject, wliich, however, I
purpose on this occasion to treat of very briefly.

§.10.
What is the precise signification of this term, chemical analysis,
in the present case ? It is necessary to discuss tliis matter before
proceeding a step further. To some chemical analysis is a means ;
to others it is the sole end. The former use analytic processes
guided by and subordinate to definite ideas; the latter subject
bodies to analytic processes, as if the process was the primary
object of importance in an investigation, and the nature of the
substance operated upon the secondary one. The rapid deve-

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 203

lopment of analytic chemistry within the last thirty years has so
improved and simplified the processes, that any one may now
learn, in a comparatively short time, the nature of the methods
employed in analysis. I say advisedly, the nature rather than
the use, a distinction which it would be well if chemists kept
more in view than they sometimes do. The objects for which
bodies may be analysed are as various as the processes that may
be adopted. A homogeneous body of definite composition may
be analysed for one or all of the following purposes: 1. to know
the nature of its simple or proximate constituents ; 2. to deter-
mine in what state of combination they exist ; 3. to ascertain the
exact ratio in which they are combined. The results obtained
in either case, if otherwise trustworthy, would have a positive
value as chemical constants. But if, instead of a definite ho-
mogeneous body, we detennine the nature and proportion of
the several constituents in variable mixtures, it is obvious that
the results obtained will not have the same value. There are
certain mixtures, however, which present a more or less constant
composition, within certain limits. By analysing a great many
samples of such mixtures, formed under various circumstances,
and studying carefully all the modifying causes, we may deter-
mine the limits of the variation of composition, and, perhaps,
ultimately, learn the true nature of the causes themselves. A
single analysis could here serve no purpose; it is only a long
and careful study of all the phenomena, joined with repeated
analyses, that could possibly be useful to science.

In physiology, and, consequently, in agriculture, which is
based upon the former, this fundamental distinction has never
been as fully recognized as it ought to have been. The most
heterogeneous substances have been analysed, and often without
the shghtest reference to the circumstances under which they
were produced, and hypotheses reared upon the results, as if the
substances examined were definite compounds. The distinction
has, indeed, been so far forgotten, that the eminent physiologist
Valentin actually proposed a formula for the substance of the
lungs ! Although I believe no one has yet proposed a formula
for a turnip, or a mangel wurtzel, the theories regarding the
action of manures upon the growth of plants, which have been
built upon a single imperfect analysis of a turnip or a mangel
wurtzel, are very numerous, and are, if possible, still more illogical.
^ From all that has been said in the foregoing pages, and espe-
cially from the observations recorded in the annexed tables, 1
think it must be evident that such a thing as an average sample
of soil is an impossibility, unless we reduced the soil of an entire
acre to the condition of fine powder, and then it would not repre-

204 Mr. SulKvan on the Geological

sent tlie soil any longer. Comparative quantitative analyses of soils
are, consequently, of no use, and may prove an injury, by assist-
ing to inculcate erroneous views. But, even if the analyses of
soils could confer benefits on agriculture, the majority of those
hitherto made would have proved useless, in consequence of
imperfections in the processes, some of which I will point out,
because they will confirm what I said above, that a knowledge
of the nature of chemical analysis does not always enable persons
to use it arightly as an instrument of research.

Passing over the great difficulty or rather the impossibility of
getting an average sample of soil, in reference to which so much
has been already said, I will examine some sources of error
which affect more or less most published analyses of soils, and,
above all, render comparisons between them wholly valueless.
In the present paper I purpose confining myself exclusively to
such sources of error as are connected with the geological
question of the character of detritus as influenced by its manner
of deposition, or at all events with the lithological and mineralo-
gical character of the materials of which soils are composed. The
chief sources of error which come within this category are: 1.
not considering the pebbles and fragments of a rock in a soil as
an active chemical part of it, and consequently using the silt
exclusively for the purposes of analysis; 2. the difficulty of
determhiing the hydrated water; 3. incorrect estimation of the
quantity of silica existing in compounds decomposable by acids ;
4. not taking into account the influence of temperature, at which
the treatment of soils with acid takes place, the strength of the
acid used, and the duration of the action; 5. the difficulty of
determining the proportion of a soil which may be reckoned as
performing the mechanical function of sand.

§11-

Mechanically considered, all soils consist of fragments of rocks
of various degrees of size, from that of large blocks of stone to the
most comminuted mud. Chemically considered, it consists of
variable mixtures of several definite compounds more or less
altered, constituting the minerals forming the rocks broken up.
In analysing soils, chemists usually sift them in order to separate
the pebbles. This division is quite arbitrary, because, in the first
place, wire gauze having the same sized meshes, may not be used,
and even, if used, the table given at p. 189 shows that the particles
which pass through the same sized meshes differ very consider-
ably in size. If a soil be made up of the debris of many rocks,
the relative proportions of each rock which would occur in a suc-
cession of groups of fragments of the same size, would be more or

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 205

less different, as must be evident from what has been said on
the subject of the transportation and deposition of detritus:
hence the sHghtest difference in the size of the meshes of the
sieve would alter the relative proportion of the minerals in the
sifted part. This difference would not, perhaps, be sensible in
many soils, but in those of complex composition I have satisfied
mvself that it might become a source of considerable error.

Next arises the question, what are we to consider a's pebbles,
which ought to be removed ; or, ought we to remove any pebbles at
all. The answers to these questions will depend upon whether
the pebbles or stones in a soil take any part in its functions. With
the view of determining this point, I ascertained the proportion
of pebbles and coarse sand, composed of distinct fragments of
rock in twenty-five specimens of marls, clays, and gravels, taken,
with the exception of two, from depths varying from three to
ten feet below the surface, and, therefore, to a certain extent
beyond the direct influence of air and carbonic acid. I boiled
the whole of the pebbles with hydrochloric acid, of the strength
which I usually used in soil analysis. Having first carefully
washed them with water to remove any traces of silt adhering to
them, I then determined the amount of carbonate of lime, and
of peroxide of iron and alumina, dissolved by the acid. The former
represented the quantity of limestone pebbles, or of calcareous
gnts and shales present ; the alumina and oxide of iron served as
an indication of the quantity of silicates decomposed by the acid.
The following table comprises the results : —

Per-cent-
age of
pebbles
in clay.

Per-cent-
age of car-

Per-cent-
age of

N'o.

Llthological character of Pebbles.

bonate ot
lime in
pebbles.

Al, O3 +
Fe^ O3
dissolreU.

T

Mica slate, quartz sand, mica, felspar

7.0

4.8

4.2

2

Mica slate and quartz sand ....

9.0

0.2

7.7

3

Clay slate, fragments of granite and quartz

sand

7.0

2.1

13.9

4

Quartz sand, mica slate ....

O.I

0.8

5

Quartz sand, pebbles of greenstone and

felspar

6.0

0.4

14.1

6

Limestone, mica slate, greenstone, felspathic

trap, chert, and quartz ....

59.0

17.6

4.5

7

Limestone and clay slate, spangles of mica ,

2.0

183

8.6

8

Clay slate (some altered), lelspathic trap

7.0

4.7

9.8

9

Altered clay slate, a few pebbles of felspathic

trap, quartz

27.0

7.0

2.7

10

Quartz sand, clay slate, limestone, spangles

of mica

4.0

13.5

5.4

U

Granitic sand, altered slate, limestone

3.0

22.7

9.6

12

Quartz sand, mica slate, blue and gray clay

slate, felspathic trap ....

24.0

4.8

14.5

13

Quartz sand, mica slate, soft clay slate, one

or two fragments of granite, limestone

16.0

20.0

3.0

206

Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

Lithological character of Pebbles.

Per-cent-
age of
pebbles
in clay.

Per-cent-

age of car-
bonate of
lime in
pebbles.

Per-cent-

age of
AI2 034-
Fe^ O3
dissolved.

0.1

3.0

14.0

6.0

12.0

3.5

0.1

3.0

3.2

1.8

1.1

0.8

4.3

2.6

12.2

4.7

0.1

2.7

2.0

4.0

0.3
0.4

0.7
4.1

0.2

3.1

Blue and green slates and grits, mica slate,

quartz

Quartz, slate, and earthy limestone sand,

green and red grits, felspathic trap
Quartz„ and limestone sand, fragments of

slates and grits

Quartz sand, pebbles of chert-like grits, mica

slate, green and brown grits
Clay slate, quartz sand, green grits, frag-
ments of greenstone

Quartz sand, yellowish brown, gray and

black grits and slates ....
Quartz sand, mica, fragments of felspar, a few

pebbles of greenish grits
Quartz sand, slate debris, a few gray grit

pebbles

Soil: — Brown and green slates and grits, a

few fragments of decomposing granite, and

of crystalline brown hematite
Subsoil :—^\aXQ debris, gray slates and grits,

a few fragments of granite
Quartz sand, a few pebbles of gray grits and

mica slate

Quartz, fragments of gray slates and grits .
Green and blue slates, and grits (about half),

quaternary or greenstone granite (about

one-sixth), quartz sand, and a few mica

spangles . . .

85.0
15.0
13.0
13.0
19.0

2.0
47.0

4.0

40.0

38.0

12.0
10.0

55.0

This table proves, in tlie clearest manner, that the pebbes of
a soil constitute an active chemical as well as mechanical element
in them ; in some cases yielding to acids as much soluble matter
as the silt itself — in one or two instances, indeed, as much as the
richest alluvial mud. To the experiments recorded in the pre-
ceding table, I may add one made with alluvial sand and gravel
from the bed of a river. This gravelly sand, free from silt, con-
tained 1.60 per cent, of hydrated water, 1.19 of alumina, 2.78 of
sesquioxide of iron, and 8.9 i of carbonate of lime. Consider-
able variation would, no doubt, be observed in the amount of
soluble matter which different gravels would yield, according to
their lithological character, and whether they were in a state of
decomposition. This variation would not, however, affect the
fact that the pebbles are an essential part of the soil, and that all
experiments made to determine the value of a soil should be
made upon unsifted soil.

§.12.

We have next to consider the source of error which arises from
the difficulty of determining the amount of water and organic

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 207

matter in soils. A sample of air-dried soil contains water in
two distinct conditions, as hygroscopic water and as hydrated
water. The quantity of the former depends, among other causes,
upon the mechanical aggregation of the soil and upon the amount
of aqueous A^apour in the atmosphere ; the quantity of the latter
represents that of the hydrated minerals in -the soil. As yet
there does not seem to be any means of accurately determining
the relative proportions of each. The quantity of hygroscopic
water is often considerable, and certainly could not be neglected.
If we put a sample of soil over sulphuric acid, or in a water
bath heated to 100° Cent. (212° Fahr.), the hygroscopic water
is driven off, but part of the hydrated water is also lost, — the
amount of the latter depending a good deal upon the length
of time it is subjected to the drying process. But, even if we
expose two samples of the same soil to the temperature of boil-
ing water for an equal amount of time, one being, however,
exposed to a current of air, and the other not, a considerable
difeence will be found in the amount of water lost. M.
Damour has shown^ that the whole of the zeolites, with the
single exception of analcime, lose considerable quantities of
water, and sometimes the whole of their hydrated water, when
exposed to a perfectly dry atmosphere, or to temperatures com-
prised between 40° Cent. (104° Fahr.) and incipient redness. If
tliis be the case Avith crystalhzed substances, how much more so
must it be with hydrated substances in an amorphous pulverized
form.

If, on one side, the hydrated water cannot be distinguished
from the hygroscopic, so, on the other, it seems almost impossi-
ble to distinguish it from the water produced by the distillation
of organic substances. The latter bodies begin to decompose at
a temperature far below that usually considered necessary to
drive off the whole of the hydrated Avater. The extent to which
this difficulty regarding the determination of the water may in-
fluence the results of an analysis, is, of course, variable; but,
though it may not always sensibly affect the per-centage of
those constituents, which, like phosphoric acid, potash, etc.,
are present only in small quantities, it affects the general accuracy
of the whole analysis, by preventing us from applying that kind
of verification to our results, which is afforded by the sum of
the constituents found being equal to the quantity of soil operated
upon. But, besides this disadvantage, there is the still more
important one, that it leaves us without any clue by Avhich to
determine the proportion of hydrated minerals in the soil.

^ Compt. rend.f t. xliv., p. 975.

208 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

§. 13.

The next source of error which affects the accuracy of tlie
results of soil analyses, is one which belongs rather to the method
hitherto followed, than to the inherent difficulties of soil analysis
generally. If we examine the most recent and elaborate analyses
of soils, we shall find the amount of soluble silica generally set down
either as a trace, or as amounting to from about 1 to -^^ of a per
cent., and yet the amount of alumina may be set down at from
2 to 7 per cent., and the peroxide of iron at about the same,
exclusive of the potoxide bases. In what condition does this
alumina exist in soils? If as a silicate, where does the silica
which was in combination with it appear among the results of
the analyses?

The minerals which contribute most to the formation of soils,
are: orthoclase or potash felspar, albite or soda felspar, labra-
dorite or lime felspar, hornblende, chlorite, talc, and the hydrate d
minerals, clay, and some zeolites. If, for the purpose of giving a
clear conception of the ratio of the silica to the bases in these
minerals, we adopt the simplest formulae which have yet been
proposed to express their average typical composition, we shall
have for:

Orthoclase . . KO, 3 Si O^ + Al^ O3, 3 Si 0^

Albite .... Na 3 Si O2 + Al., O3, 3 Si 0^

Labradorite Na O, Si O^ + 3 (Ca O, Si 0,) + 4 (Al^ O3 2 Si 0„)

Hornblende . 3 (M O^ Si O J + 2 M 0, 3 Si 0.,

Chlorite ... 4 (Mg O, Si O J + Al^ O3 Si 0^ + 3 HO.

Talc 2 (Mg 0, 2 Si O J + (2 Mg 0, 3 Si O J

Clay Al^ O3, 2 Si O2 + 2 HO.

To these we may add as examples the zeolites :

Thorasonite . Na O, Si O. + 3 (Ca O, Si 0^+ 4 (Al^Og 2 Si OJ + 8 HO
Finite .... (KO, Fc 0)'Si 0^ + Al., 0,, 2 Si O^ + HO
Sodalite . . . Na O, Si O^ + Al^ O3, 2 Si 0^ + 2 HO.

A mere inspection of these formulae shows us that if the
alumina be obtained from their decomposition, the proportion
of silica given in the majority of the statements of the re-
sults of soil analysis must be erroneous. If not obtained from
these minerals, or the few others which may contribute to form
soils, it must have been obtained from some substance or sub-
stances formed by their decay. But the decay of minerals does
not diminish the proportion of silica left in the decomposed
mass, but on the contrary increases it. The first action of decay
is to remove the protoxide bases, such as potash, soda, lime, etc.,
partly, no doubt, in the form of silicates, as is proved by the exis-
tence of that substance in spring water, but also as carbonates,
sulphates, and chlorides. In the formation of the latter the silica

7 M O = MgO, CaO, FeO, MnO.

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 209

with which the bases were previously combined is left behind,
and either enters into new combinations, or remains uncombined.
Decomposed minerals cannot, therefore, give alumina, without,
at the same time, giving a quantity of soluble silica, which must
in all cases be actually gi-eater than that of the alumina.

If the quantity of soluble silica, as generally given in books,
were correct, free alumina should be found in soils, and ought to
be dissolved out by a weak solution of caustic potash. On treat-
ing some marly clays with a very dilute solution of pure caustic
potash, I obtained, not alumina, but a silicate of alumina, as the
following results will show : —

Rates of number of

Si O2 per cent.

AI2O3 per cent.

equivalents of acid

to base.

1

0.7906

0.3617

3.62

2

0.8286

0.4552

3.02

3

0.6421

0.3417

8.11

4

0.6022

0.3493

2.86

5

0.5076

0.2825

2.98

These ratios are sensibly the same, and may be represented by
the formula AI2O3, 3 Si Og. I have not yet ascertained whether
the same silicate would be dissolved out of all soils, or whether
those obtained from different minerals give a different one. This
silicate I consider to be, perhaps, in part or in whole, a product
of decomposition resulting from the action of the potash. If we
boil finely levigated pinite or sodalite with potash, we ought to
get a silicate of the same composition.

I think, then, that the quantity of soluble silica usually repre-
sented in the published results of soil analyses is altogether
wrong, as even the quantity which may be dissolved out by
potash is far greater than that stated in nine- tenths of those pub-
lished. I have now to point out what I believe to be the cause
of the anomaly, and this brings me to the fourth source of error
in soil analysis.

§. U.

The action of acids upon silicates varies very much. Some of
the hydrated ones are decomposed in the cold by strong hydro-
chloric acid, while several of the anhydrous ones can only be
decomposed by long boiling with oil of vitriol. It is probable
that no silicate will withstand the action of acids if it be con-
tinued long enough. It would, therefore, appear that if a mix-
ture of fragments of different silicates be treated with acid, tlie
amount of decomposition of each, and therefore of the whole
mass, will depend chiefly upon the following conditions: 1. na-
III. 14

210 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

ture and strength of acid; 2. state of aggregation of the diiferent
minerals; 3. temperature at wliicli the reaction takes place;
4. duration of action; and 5. and probably also in some degree
upon the relative masses of acid and minerals employed. A soil
is such a mixture of minerals, each of which exists in different
states of aggregation, but the proportion of each in any one state
being different, each mineral is differently acted upon by acids.
Chemists in analyzing soils do not use the same strength of acid,
or the same relative proportions of acid and minerals ; they do
not subject them to the action of acids for the same amount of
time, and the reaction does not always take place at the same
temperature. It therefore seems impossible that any two ana-
lyses of the same soil, as they have hitherto been made, could
agree, whether made by the same chemist or by different ones.
Of course if the object of an analysis was simj)ly to determine
the total quantity of each constituent, irrespective of the con-
dition in which it existed, all analyses made of the same sample
ought to agree, because the modifying influences just stated
would not affect the total quantity, but only the amount which
may be dissolved by acids. Such analyses would, however, be
of no use for agricuUure, or indeed for any otlier purposes. The
difference, then, which may arise from the influence of the
various modifying circumstances above stated, between the re-
sults of two analyses of the same soil, is frequently as great as
that which may appear to exist between the most barren and the
most fertile soils. Can it be w^ondered at, then, that soil analyses
have done nothing for practical agriculture ?

When a silicate readily decomposes in the cold, the silica is
separated in a hydrated or gelatinous condition. If this gela-
tinous mass be mixed with a large quantity of water, some of it
appears to dissolve. If it be boiled with water, the mass gra-
dually becomes opaque and granular, in consequence of the loss
of a large part of its hydrated water. If a mineral can only be
decomposed by long boiling with hydrochloric acid, it is clear
the silica will be separated in the granular form, and very little,
or even none, may dissolve. In boiling oil of vitriol, hydrated
silica loses all its water, and consequently the silica separated by
the action of that acid upon silicates, is anhydrous. Here is
evidently the key to the error regarding the soluble silica in
soil analyses. The greater part of the silica of the decomposed
silicates is separated in the granular state, and has hitherto been
estimated along with the sand and undecomposed silicates. If,
however, the insoluble residue left after boiling a soil with acid,
be digested for a short time with a weak solution of caustic
potash, the whole of the silica separated by the acid will be dis-

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 211

solved out, and may be estimated. The onlj part of the silica
whicli has hitherto been estimated as soluble silica, is what
remains in solution in the acid liquor with which the soil was
boiled, the amount of which, however, depends upon the strength
of the acid, the temperature at which the reaction takes place,
and, above all, upon the duration of the digestion at a high
temperature. It has been frequently stated that this silica re-
presents that which existed in the hydrated silicates, an opinion
which involves the existence of allotropic states of silica capable
of entering as such into combination. Whether this be so or not,
there can be no doubt that the silica of acid solutions does not
represent the silica of hydrated silicates, if for no other reason
than that the quantity of hydrated water in a soil is often thirty
times more than the amount of the silica left in the acid solutions.
Again, if this were so, we should either admit that pure clay was
a mixture of different compounds, as only a very small part of its
hydrated silica dissolves, or that when hydrated silicates are acted
upon by acids, only a part of the silica dissolves, an explanation
which of course overturns the whole argument. The chief ob-
jection to this view is, however, that the amount of soluble silica
varies in every analysis. The following table contains a few
determinations which will show the relative proportion in 100
parts between the silica which sometimes remains in solution,
and that which forms part of the insoluble residue : —

Silica in the

Soluble silica in the

acid solution.

insoluble residue.

Blue marly clay

0.09

5.97

Kich marl

0.09

4.83

Calcareous subsoil .

0.04

2.03

Brick clay

0.11

3.80

Sandy well-tilled soil

0.18

3.19

White-coloured subsoil .

O.U

5.40

Yellow do.

0.15

5.76

From this it will be seen that the amount of soluble silica
really separated by the action of acids upon soils, is in apparent
proportion to the amount of bases dissolved out. I have found
in some soils as much as twenty per cent, of soluble silica, or, in
other words, fully thirty per cent, of the soil consisted of sili-
cates decomposable by moderately strong hydrochloric acid.
The ratio between the bases dissolved and the silica separated,
must, however, depend a good deal upon the nature of the
silicates of which the soil is made up. The following table
will give an idea of the variation. I consider these numbers
rather as an approximation, however, than as giving absolute
data : —

*14b

212

Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

Number of equiva-
lents of SiOa to
lof AI2O3

Number of equivalents

of SiOa to 1 of
M203(=Al203+Fe303)

5.5
5.9
4.7
6.3

3.1
3.1
2.7
3.1

6.3

2.4

3.7

1.17

2.6

1.16

3.1

1.19

6.8

1.37

4.6

125

Soil from more or less altered slate, .

Subsoil „ „ „

Soil from coal measm-e shales

Subsoil

Soil from felsphathic trap, greenstone)

porpliyry, and slate . j"

Subsoil from the same, but green-)

stone and trap more predominant >
Soil from granite, limestone, and coal)^

measure-shale drift . .)"

Subsoil from the same, the granite,^

however, being more developed)-

than in the soil . . .)

Soil from limestone, and Silurian grits j^

and slates )

Subsoil

§.15.^
The fifth and last source of error in soil analysis, which I shall
notice in this paper, is the difficulty of determining the propor-
tion between the clay and sand. As the physical properties of
soils depend, in a great measure, upon this proportion, its deter-
mination is a problem of great importance. The chief difficulty
of the problem is, however, involved in another — what, from the
point of view of the soil, are sand and clay ? The word sand is
usually understood to mean distinct grains, or minute fragments,
of rock ; clay is a definite amorphous hydrated sihcate of alumina
in an extremely fine state of division, in which, however, part of
the latter constituent may be replaced by sesquioxide of iron.
The difference between them is, therefore, not one of fineness of
division merely ; flint may be ground so fine that, when suspended
in water, it will take as long to deposit as clay ; yet it could not
perform the chemical functions of clay, and, perhaps, not its most
important physical ones either. In the ordinary process of deter-
mining the amount of sand and clay in a soil, the only circum-
stance taken into account is the relative degree of fineness of the
material, so that true clay, finely ground quartz, and other unde-
composed minerals, would be estimated together under the name
of clay. Again, the degree of fineness which marks the boun-
dary between sand and clay is quite arbitrary, and, consequently,
the proportion of the two materials greatly depends upon the
depth of water in which the separation is effected, and the force
of the current which carries off the clay, and even upon a more
or less perfect uniformity of manipulation. There is, indeed, no
portion of the subject of soil analysis to which the observations
on the deposit of detritus in water so fully apply as to the deter-
mination of clay and sand, and, consequently, we may safely

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 213

state that the proportion of clay and sand, as determined even
by the best processes now in use, cannot afford us a means of
classifying soils according to their comparative values.

While on the subject of the separation of clay and, sand, I may
observe that the word clay, as usually applied, is liable to produce
erroneous ideas. True clay is a hydi-ated silicate of alumina ; but
the plastic part of many soils has a very complex composition,
and we have only to recollect how various are the minerals which
contribute to their formation, to be at once convinced that the
part of them usually called clay is a very heterogeneous mass of
variable composition.

§. lb\

The connection between the proportion of sand and clay in
soils, and the physical properties of the latter, compels me to say
something upon this subject in conclusion ; the more so since, in
consequence of the failure of the attempts which have been made
to determine the comparative values of soils by chemical analysis,
the study of the physical properties has been more than once
proposed as a substitute for the same purpose.

Any one who studies the important experiments of Schiibler,
on the physical properties of soils, cannot help seeing how much
the comparative values of different soils to the husbandman must
depend upon such properties as : the firmness and consistency of
soils in their dry and in their moist state ; their power of absorb-
ing moisture from the atmosphere, and of becoming dry on ex-
posure to dry air ; their contraction on drying ; their power of
containing water; their capacity for becoming warmed by the
sun's rays, and of retaining heat when warmed, etc. All these
properties depend, however, not only upon the kind of materials
of which the soils are made up, and their relative proportions,
but, I might almost say, upon their relative positions. The ex-
treme types of soils, stiff clays, sands, loams, peat, may exhibit
such marked difference in regard to their properties, as well as to
their chemical constitution, as to explain, m a great measure, the
cause of their relative fertility; but, in the case of the majority
of soils, the variation in their relative value could not lead to any
practical result in the present condition of the question ; because,
as almost every physical property depends upon different cir-
cumstances, the slightest variation in the proportion, size, etc., of
the mineral constituents would produce a variation in the com-
parative values assigned to the various physical properties, each
of which would not, however, be either affected to the same rela-
tive extent, or even in the same direction. Again, the same
comparative physical character may be joined with the most dis-

2U

Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

similar cliemical composition. At first sight, one would suppose
that the capacity of a soil for absorbing water would stand in
relation to the amount of sand ; the following results appear to
show that this is not the case : —

No.

Lithological character of soil

Proportion
of sand in
100 partiS.

Quantity of
water retained
by 100 parts

of dry 8oiL

Specific

gravity of

sou.

1.

2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7

Limestone, grits and shales .
Brown grits and calp debris .
Granitic debris

26.39
47.32
47.43
54.72
54.91
67.11
67.45

95.39

67.28
69.42
55.73
52.87
92.88
74.85

2.289
2.220
2.445
2.455
2.420
2.400

Limestone, quartz sand, etc.
Limestone, quartz sand . .

Grits and slate, quartz sand
Ditto

.

These determinations were made with the greatest possible
care ; but, for the reasons stated above, the proportion of sand,
no matter how carefully determined, must be a variable quan-
tity. Hence, even though the real amount of sand were to
stand in direct ratio to the capacity to hold water, which a Httle
reflection would show us could not be the case, the quantities
established by direct experiment would, as a rule, exhibit no
Such definite relation.

The quantity of water absorbed by a soil must depend in a
great measure upon its porosity ; the slightest alteration in that
property must consequently modify its capacity to retain water,
etc. If we compress it, it will take up less, exactly as when we
squeeze a sponge. The capacity of a sifted soil for absorbing
water is not, therefore, the same as the natural ; even the cutting
out of a portion of soil with a spade modifies, to some extent, the
absorptive power, although, perhaps, not to such an extent as to
be appreciable in our experiments. While, therefore, the general
features of the physical properties of soils may, like their qualita-
tive chemical composition, be advantageously studied in a labora-
tory, we could not, taking into account the observations in the
preceding pages, employ such results with certainty in determin-
ing the relative fertility of any two soils.

Soils possess the power of absorbing gases as well as liquids,
and of late attention has been drawn to the chemicol action which
takes place when the water absorbed happens to contain salts in
solution. Although the precise nature of the chemical pheno-
mena accompanying absorption is not yet very satisfactorily
estabhshed, it has been proposed to determine numerically the
amount of chemical decomposition which takes place, and to
employ the results as a means of determining the comparative
value of soils. Apart the objection which at once suggests
itself, that we could scarcely be justified in drawing conclusions

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 215

as to the comparative fertility of two soils, from the difference
which they may exhibit in absorptive or other physical pro-
perties, the precise influence of which upon vegetation has not yet
been ascertained, the arguments derived from the manner of for-
mation of soils, which 1 have urged in this paper against the use
for the same pm'pose, of chemical analyses as hitherto made, apply
with still greater force against that of the absorptive powers. A
short sketch of the history of this branch of the subject will per-
haps afford the best confirmation of this opinion which I can
give.

Towards the end of the last century Lowitz discovered in
vegetable charcoal the remarkable property of removing colour-
ing matters from solutions. It is smgular that it was not until
the year 1812 that a similar property, but in a much higher
degree, was discovered by Figuier in animal charcoal. This
property was taken advantage of in decolorizing syrups ; and as
lime is used in clarifying saccharine juices, whether obtained from
the cane or beet, some of it remains in the syrup, but on being
passed over bone charcoal, it was found to be wholly, or in great
part, removed. Saussure discovered another property in char-
coal, — that of absorbing 'gases in considerable quantity ; and
further, that all porous bodies possessed it in a greater or lesser
degree. Among these he mentions, that damp soil gradually
absorbs oxygen, and that when hydrogen was mixed with the
oxygen, the soil caused them to unite and form Avater — a property
which Dobereiner subsequently found spongy platinum to possess
in so remarkable a degree. No application was made of these
capital facts to explain any of the phenomena connected with
the soil : they are nevertheless the foundation of the whole sub-
ject of its absorptive powers.

In 1848, the Rev. Mr. Huxtable observed that liquid manure,
when filtered through some soil became colourless, and lost all
smell; an obsei-vation which had been previously made respect-
ing peat charcoal by Mr. J. W. Rogers. About the same period
Mr. H. S. Thompson found that soil had the power of retain-
ing not only the free ammonia of a solution, but even that
existing in salts, such as the chloride, the sulphate, nitrate, etc.
Mr. Way followed up these two observations of Huxtable and
Thompson in a long series of experiments, in which he endea-
voured to obtain numerical values for the absorptive properties.
The most important conclusions which he deduced from his
researches were : that soils possess the power of absorbing alkaline
substances from solution; and further, that they possessed the
power of decomposing alkaline salts, retaining the alkalies, and
allowing the acids to escape in combination with lime ; that this

216 Mr. Sullivan on the Geological

property did not depend on tlie organic matter of the soil, but
that clay was invariably present, while pure sand did not at all pos-
sess it ; that the property was due to the presence of a small quan-
tity of some chemical substance, which he considered to be a
silicate of alumina — that is, that a double silicate of alumina was
formed with ammonia, potash, or soda. These double silicates
he considered to be but sparingly soluble in water, whicli, how-
ever, acted upon them. He also concluded that plants do not
absorb manures from a solution ; that the form in which mineral
and ammoniacal salts are applied is indilFerent, because the soil
possesses the property of transforming them into a special form
under which they are presented to plants. Mr. Way also found
that clay possesses antiseptic properties, as urine filtered through
it did not undergo putrid fermentation, and, consequently, that
plants may have the power of absorbing other nitrogenous bodies
besides ammonia and nitric acid.

Messrs. Henneberg and F. Stohmann repeated the experi-
ment of Way, and found, as he did, that the absorption w^as per-
fectly the same, whether it took place in a solution of ammonia oi
of an ammoniacal salt, provided the quantity of ammonia was the
same in both. They also confirmed Way's observation that the
absorption diminished with the strength of the solution employed.
The numerical values found by Henneberg and Stohmann
were so regular that Boedeker proposed mathematical formulae
to determine the amount of absorption, the strength of the solu-
tion and the proportion of liquid and soil used being given. The
great importance of the subject led Liebig to turn his attention
to it.® Confining his experiments to arable soils, he found that,
whether rich or poor in alumina and carbonate of lime, they pos-
sessed very nearly the same absorptive powers. He also found,
as Way did, that this property did not manifest itself with the
same intensity on all bases ; thus ammonia is more completely ab-
sorbed than potash, and the latter than soda. Silicate of potash
acts like all the other salts of that base ; the base is absorbed,
a great part of the silica being at the same time retained. Liebig
comes to the same conclusion as Way, that the manures are pre-
sented to plants under a special form, and that in consequence of
the insolubility of the new compound formed, the roots must pos-
sess a special force which permits them to choose and assimilate
the substances which they cannot draw from a solution. He,
however, thinks that aquatic plants, such as the Lemna trisulca,
the roots of which are not in contact with the soil, must absorb
their food from solutions.

Very recently, M. Brustlein, imder the direction of M. Bous-

® Annal. d. chem. u. Pharm., cv. p. 109.

Formation and Chemical Composition of Soils. 217

singaiilt,^ has made a series of experiments upon the same
subject, from which he draws the following conclusions: that the
property of arable soils, of absorbing ammonia, depends almost
exclusively on the physical constitution of the mineral substances,
and even of the organic matters of which they are formed. The
existence of a carbonate in the soil is indispensable, in order that
the soil may decompose an ammoniacal salt. The decomposition
is strictly arrested at the quantity of salt, the ammonia of which
is fixed ; the force which determines the absorption is sufficiently
powerful to provoke this double decomposition. The facility
with which ammoniacal salts are decomposed in the presence of
carbonate of lime is well known, and M. Boussingault^® has
shown, that if a fixed ammoniacal salt be mingled with moist
carbonate of lime, and allowed to dry slowly, the whole of the
ammonia will disappear, as the result of the desiccation, in the
form of carbonate. The same thing takes place when a solution
of chloride of ammonium is boiled with carbonate of lime. M.
Brustlein has confirmed Mr. Way's observation, that soils absorb
a great deal of ammonia when exposed to an atmosphere contain-
ing it. If air containing a very small quantity of ammonia, be
filtered through a long column of clay, almost the whole of the
ammonia will be absorbed by the clay, but it loses it again in
great part under the influence of a current of moist air. Soil
charged with ammonia and exposed to the air in a moistened
state, had a part of the ammonia oxidized with nitric acid. So
long as the soil remains dry, any ammonia which it may have
absorbed is firmly retained; but the moment water intervenes, it
provokes, by its evaporation, the dissipation of the ammonia. Cf
the completely physical character of the absorptive power, we
have a striking proof in the fact, that animal charcoal, washed
with hydrochloric acid, absorbs three times as much ammonia as
a quantity of unwashed charcoal containing an equal amount of
carbon. Mould and turf likewise possess a high degree of
absorptive power, but have no faculty of decomposing the fixed
salts; but there is in both cases a very sensible destruction
of ammonia. This result accords with some experiments which
I commenced about three years ago, in connection with the
resins of turf, the results of which I hope to be soon able
to communicate. By impregnating charcoal with carbonate
of lime, which was done by saturating the charcoal with chloride
of calcium, and precipitating carbonate of lime by means of an
alkaline carbonate, he was able to give to it the power of decom-
posing salts of ammonia ; thus confirming the conclusion stated

^ Journal d' Agriculture Pratique, t ii., Octobre 20, 1859, p. S20.
'" Economie Kurale, 2iTie Ed., t. ii., p. 104.

218 Mr. Sullivan on Composition of Soils.

above, that soils owed tlieir power of decomposing those salts
entirely to the presence of carbonate of lime.

Some curious experiments of Chevreul upon what he termed
capillary affinity, and which have been, so far as I know,
hitherto overlooked, appear to lend support to the opinion, that
the absorptive power of soils is a purely physical phenomenon,
and that a similar power belongs to all porous surfaces. He
found, for example, that cotton, plunged into a solution of alum
of a given strength, took up the alum and water in a different
proportion from that in which they existed in the solution, the
alum being relatively less, and the water more, than in the
solution. The reverse is the case, if, for a solution of alum, we
substitute one of corrosive sublimate. He also found that well
washed river sand put into lime water, removed, after a consider-
able time, a part of the lime. My observation upon the existence
in river sand and pebbles of a slight layer of hydrated silicates,
gives the key, however, to the latter phenomenon, which is
evidently a purely chemical one.

If the arguments and observations which I have brought for-
ward in the foregoing pages be correct, I think I am entitled to
draw the following conclusions: — 1. That while the total amount
of any constituent may be determined with considerable accuracy
in a given sample of soil, we know as yet of no means for deter-
mining accurately under how many conditions it may exist, or
in which of them it exerts the greatest, or indeed any influence
upon vegetation. 2. That it is not by making numerous deter-
minations of the constituents of soils that we can hope to arrive
at useful results, but by careful researches upon a few soils, to
determine the states in which each constituent exists, and the
circumstances which modify their properties. 3. That, even if
we knew the conditions upon which the fertility of soils depended,
no deduction could be drawn from the comparison of the chemical
constitution, absorptive powers, or the physical properties re-
garding their relative fertility, because from the nature of the
materials of which soils are composed, and the influences under
which, in the majority of cases, they were brought togetlier, an
average sample of the soil of a field cannot possibly be obtained.
The legitimate conclusion from this is, that all the deductions
which have been drawn relative to the action of manures upon
soils, cannot be depended upon, and that, if upon no other
ground, the commercial analysis of soils is a mistake. 4. That
an accurate lithological survey of the superficial deposits of a
country would be of great advantage to agriculture, and would
form the safest basis which could be laid down for working out
the great problem of the relations of the soil to vegetation.

tlie rocks upon w/uch thetj rest.

;al character of the
I of the District.

Reference to Sheets bounding
that of locality.

^t rock : felspathic N. Dublin 24 ; S. 5 ; W

.: hisrher iiroun^ Kildare20; E. 2
111 — tne ground

falling from the

of the specimen

■avel mound.

ks : gray and
quartz rock,
islaty beds. Lo-
f specimen on a
roimd ^ mile to
hd on the oppo-
( of the river to
te last specimen.
I up the river,
Bscends from the

range — micace-
id. The whole

covered with

rock : quartz-
hingle debris of
fn the immediate
(Urhood brown
a few hundred
b the S.S.E.

brown slaty
larried for hones.

Lithological character of the
Kocks of the District.

[Reference to Sheets bounding
that of locality.

Subjacent rock: not visible,
but belongs to the Cam-
bro- Silurian series. In
the immediate neigh-
bourhood there is a con-
siderable deposit of sand J
gravel, limestone gravel,
containing calcareous
grits, and red conglome-
rate. Boulders.

Local rocks : gray and
greenish gray grits and
slates. In the neighbour-
hood sandy clay, contain-
ing limestone pebbles.
The locality of the speci-
men forms a kind of
island in the drift where
the slates are exposed.

Local rocks : blackish gray,
brown silty slates; brown
and greenish brown soft
grits.

About :j of a mile from
the junction of the slate
and limestone, in the
neighbourhood of which
there occur coarse un-
stratified gravel deposits,
containing limestone, lo-
cal grits, red and white
sandstone, clay, etc.

Subjacent rock: not ex-
posed, gravel beds all
around, especially to the

N. and S.

N. 32; S. 38; W. 35;
E. Wicklow, 20.

Subjacent rock : limestone
covered with drift ; con-
siderable deposits of gra-
vel to the W. and N.
The locahty is about 1^
miles W. of the slate
district.

N. 35 ; S. 39 ; W. Q.
Co. ; E. 88.

Subjacent rock: limestone,
somewhat more than 2
miles W. of the slate
district. Considerable
denosits of eravel to the

219

lRT. IX. — 0/i the Question of Morbid Types and Species. By
Robert D. Lyons, M.D.

"EDICINE, in its present complexity and extension, may
be considered to bear tlie same relation to its early proto-

'-pe, tlie " Art of Healing", that tbe highly elaborated art of

tvigation, concerned, as it now is, with the most extended and
"profound researches, as well abstract as applied, in astronomy,
meteorology, and hydrology, does to the imperfect knowledge of
the early mariner.

From the necessities of the case, ever growing and assuming
more expanded proportions, medicine, like navigation, has opened
up regions of thought, and led the way to new domains of know-
ledge, of which no conception could have been formed in the
most exalted imaginings and anticipations of those whom instinct,
accident, and (subsequently) experience directed in the " culling
of simples", or the primitive efforts for the repair of injury. In
this complexity of sciences, to which medicine has given birth,
lies one great cause of its own imperfections. From medicine,
in its requirements for the service of man, have grown, not alone
such branches of science of more immediate and even still recog-
nizable kindred with it, as anatomy, physiology, and pathology,
but others, which, like chemistry, botany, zoology, comparative
anatomy, and palseontology, in their extended significance in the
present day, bear but little about them to show evidences of
their origin from an art which they now overshadow in their
world-recognized importance, as much as they were themselves
at one time wholly absorbed by and included within it. With
the advance of each of the sciences that sprang from medicine as
from a parent stem, the healing art itself acquired new develop-
ments, and a special impress was left upon it by the labours of the
anatomist, the botanist, the chemist, or the so-called natural philo-
sopher. So much has this been the case, that the history of medi-
cine will be found divisible into distinct periods, each marked with
special characters derived from the dominant science of the time.

It is not matter for surprise that, under such powerful suc-
cessive influences, and those not always harmonious or recon-
cileable with each other, medicine, concerned as a science with
the investigation of the essential nature and seat of the diseases
to which the human frame is liable, and directly called on to
intervene as an art for their alleviation or cure, should have
undergone remarkable disturbances, if not revolutions, in many of
its most essential fundamental doctrines and practices. That ma-
terial changes must of necessity be undergone even yet by medi-

220 Di. Lyons on the

cine in its various branches, from time to time, is only consistent
witli all we know of what lias taken place in other departments
of knowledge. But that medicine was, from the fii'st, in an
extraordinary degree, and that of direct necessity, from the
nature of its scientific operations, endowed with an inheritance of
dependent, and therefore fluctuating, principles and practices,
could have been, and indeed ought to have been, earlier
recognized. It could and ought to have been earlier seen that,
of the various departments of human knowledge which admit of
approach to a state of final (theoretic) perfection, medicine must,
from the nature of the case, be amongst the last, if not the very
last, to reach a condition of even moderate perfection and stabi-
lity in its hypotheses. This has never been sufficiently recognized ;
yet let us reflect for a moment how many and how various were
the sciences and scientific appliances which had to be advanced
to a certain standard of positive knowledge, before medicine was
in a position to avail herself of their aid in determining the
structural and functional laws of the animal organism. It is only
within a period still recent that the use of superior optical
instruments has given us something approaching to a correct
knowledge of the minute organization of animal textures ; it is
no remote era since chemistry has enabled us to realize some
just notions of the great systemic changes constant^ -^ being
effected in the universal and never-ceasing processes of tissue-
metamorphosis, and that physical and hydrostatical science has
been successfully applied to the elucidation of the great problems
of the blood-circulation.

Till a perfect knowledge of structure and function as pertaining
to man in health, be obtained, a whole and complete theory of
what pertains to the hmnan frame in disease is manifestly impos-
sible. Wliile, in fact, anatomy and physiology present, as they
even still do, many important lacunes to be filled, and many in-
complete and unsound hypotheses, destined, we trust, ere long to
give way to the active researches of science, as prosecuted in the
present day, pathology, or the doctrine of disease, must like-
wise remain an imperfect branch of knowledge. And upon
pathology, it may be remarked in passing, waits the science of
therapeutics, whereby, as a rational and logical adaptation of
means to ends, it is anticipated we shall be enabled to substitute
the results of experiment, observation, and induction, in the treat-
ment of disease, for the blind methods, nostrmns, and conceits, of
the medicine-mongers, pharmacologists, and polypharmacists of
a past day, who have transmitted no small heritage of error and
of ill to the present.

Under influences derived from the foregoing causes we are

Question of Morbid Types and Species. 221

in the liabit of speaking of disease, even in the present day,
as if it were an individualized and almost impersonated en-
tity; we treat of it as a thing having parts, properties, and
actions peculiar to itself, and as it were inherent in it; we
assign to it a definite course, duration, and issue ; we hear of its
force, its fatality, or its innocuous character ; it has species and
varieties, forms, periods, and modes ; it has been endowed with
national and historic peculiarities ; and, finally, if it has not en-
joyed the power of propagating its kind in the ordinary sense,
it has nevertheless been allowed more than one equivocal means
of extension to individuals and masses of the human family, and
its hereditary transmission (in many instances at least) seems
to be admitted on all hands without question.

In a past day Paracelsus, the boasted LutJierus Medicorum^
pronounced disease to be " einen ganzen menschen\ an entire man;
he regarded it as a self-existent parasitic organism, and all his
efforts were directed to seek the arcana which should attack and
destroy it. Few, if any, before or since, gave such positive ex-
pression to their views, but almost all regarded disease as an in-
dependent essence, if not a distinct entity.

The views of Paracelsus are still more specifically exemplified
in the following passage from the pen of Henle: — " Hippocrates
had spo^ ^n of a * divinity' which manufactured and removed
morbific matter. Its analogue in the system of Paracelsus is the
archeusy the vital principle, the alchymist in the organism, whose
business is the reception of nutriment, assimilation of food, and
the removing of the excrement. The archeus struggles against
death, excites all the healthy members in order to fight against
disease, and removes the extraneous vitality of disease, as the
chemist the impure metal from gold. By means of the crisis
the remains of the morbific body are evacuated, and the vitality
pmified of the dregs adhering to it. In accordance with these
ideas, Paracelsus designated fevers as sanative efforts of nature,
and thereby formed the germ of that comic mythos, which the
succeeding age so naively developed". Through the doctrines of
Hoffman and Stahl, in a subsequent day, almost equally erroneous
views were propagated, under other forms, it is true, but still as
widely remote from a just pathology of disease. It mattered Httle
how the theories of the schools became modified ; the same funda-
mental error, of regarding disease as an entity, was perpetuated in
all, or almost all schools, for we can except only such few illus-
trious names as those of Sydenham, Haller, Morgagni, and a
few others.

It is true that efiforts were not wanting, here and there, to
break from the trammels which were thus imposed on medicine.

222 Dr. Lyons on the

In no schools more than those of Italy were such efforts con-
spicuous, and nowhere did they take a more just direction. It
little accords with the policy which ignorance and bigotry would
assign to the Cathohc rule in Italy, or with the calumnies so
freely circulated in connection with the honoured name of
Vesalius, to find the examination of dead bodies ordered, under
the direct authority of the Papal chair, with a view to determine
the nature and seat of disease in the most virulent maladies ; yet
this we know to have been the case.^

' It may not be wholly irrelevant to note here how much was accomplished
for medicine by some of the great Italian schools in a country supposed emphati-
cally to lie under the shadow of the " darkness of the middle ages". Some idea
of the intellectual activity of this " benighted" portion of the south of Europe
will be gathered from the statement, that, previous to the so-called Reformation,
and before its much vaunted influence could have played any part in the ad-
vancement of knowledge, no less than seventeen universities had been founded in
Italy alone, at various periods from the date of the first systematic studies in
Monte Cassino (sixth to the eleventh century) and Salerno (eighth to twelfth cen-
tury) to the fifteenth century. So early as 1315, anatomy was inaugurated at
Bologna by Mondini, with the public dissection and demonstration of human
bodies, and, subsequently, the publication of illustrative plates, in which many
anatomical errors of the Galenic school were corrected. Vesalius (born at Brussels,
and educated at Lou vain) sought the further development of his anatomical
studies in Venice, where, with the assistance of Titiano VicelUo, commonly
known as Titian the celebrated painter, and Giovanni de Calcar, he executed the
first (complete) and best series of anatomical plates which have come down to us.
Anatomical plates were likewise executed from nature by Leonardo da Vinci for
his friend Marco Antonio della Torre.

The recognition of the Italian schools of this period by the learned throughout
Europe is undoubted, and to them all in search of advanced knowledge in ana-
tomy, chemistry, and the other allied physical sciences, resorted in the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries. It litis been asserted indeed, and not without truth, that
what was not discovered by the Italians themselves at this period, was discovered
by those who studied in their schools ; and without the preliminary knowledge
prepared by the Italians, many of the greatest discoveries of that age in medicine,
as well as in the sciences, would never have been made perhaps till the present
day. To one of the greatest and most practically important which could adorn
any science, age, or country, these observations apply in a most especial manner :
I allude to the discovery of the circulation of the blood, which has made the
name of Harvey immortal, and which is so imjustly arrogated to itself exclu-
sively by the English school.

That Harvey w^as not the sole nor immediate discoverer of the circulation
of the blood, is proved by the following facts. Whether he was the first who
described the complete circulation, pulmonic and systemic, or that through the
system at large, I will inquire at another time. It may he well doubted.

The fame of the teacliings of the Italian schools brought the young Harvey to
Padua, as before him it had brought Vesalius and hosts of others to Italy, where
he studied under the celebrated Fabricius ab Aquapendente. Now let us take a
brief summary view of the state of knowledge at this time on the anatomical and
physiological questions involved in the theory of the circulation of the blood.
Servetus had abready described the passage of the blood from the right ventricle
of the heart to the left; Columbanus, its return to the left from the lungs.
Le Vasseur was acquainted with the valves of the heart ; Cisalpinus had described
the anastomosis of the arteries with the veins, which in itself implies the passage
of the blood from one set of vessels to the other; Vesalius had hgatured the
arteries, and noted the effects of this operation ; Eabricius, the master of Harvey,

Question of Morbid Types and Species. 22S

Much of tlie confusion of ideas and erroneous conceptions of
disease Kas arisen in past times from the natural imperfections of
language; no doubt somewhat too is to be attributed to a con-
ventional laxity in the use of terms and forms of phraseology,
furnished by obsolete analogies, and hypotheses which can no
no longer be regarded as tenable by the highly educated phy-
sician of the present day. In some respects, the language and
hypotheses employed in the description of disease, and which
are known to be false in fact, bear close resemblance to, and
forcibly remind us of, the use still made in astronomy of forms of
expression derived from the long exploded theory of the Sun
moving round the Earth, and the explanation, and even compu-
tation, of many phenomena of the Heavenly bodies from their ap-
parent motions. It is thus that the apparent forces of a fever,
inflammation, or other diseased state, are assumed in medical
language to perform active and self-dependent motions in, upon,
or around an imaginary central and unmoved body, the human
frame, wliile more close inquiry satisfies us that the apparent
active motions of the fever or inflammation are but subjective
phenomena, being the results, and so far the exponents, of the
direct motions of the various parts of the animal organism. If
accepted as a well understood and acknowledged conventionalism,
in which, to avoid periphrasis, and for the convenience of familiar
exposition, the apparent motions and actions of imaginary en-
tities played the part of the real or direct motions of the various
members of the animal organism, the hypothetic language and
terms of medicine would be free from practical objection. But
unfortunately it is almost universally the case to find the apparent
taken for the real^ and the most utter confusion of ideas pre-
vailing as to the part performed on the one hand by disease (in its
assumed capacity of an independent self-existent entity), and on

had himself completed the anatomical description of the valves of the veins. In
addition to all this, which constitutes the essential knowledge for arguing to a
circulation, it may be asserted (but cannot be proved in our present limits,
or without going fully into an exposition of his views and works), that Ruini
possessed as complete and full a knowledge of the circulatory apparatus and
the circulation of the blood itself, as that of Harvey subsequently elaborated.

Now it may be asked, if Harvey had remained in England, and prosed with
colleges of physicians, and fawned upon royal patrons, what would be now known
of his name or labours ? and what would he have done to complete the knowledge
of the circulation of the blood? The answer is obvious. Without Harvey's
intervention in any manner, the discovery of the circulation was already assured
to science by a multiplicity of experiments and observations amongst the fertile
schools of Italy ; on the other hand, without Padua and Fabricius, Harvey's was
a name destined for no distinction. Be it understood, however, that we honour
him not the less for what he has done, and for his most able and energetic advo-
cacy of a cause which, without such aid in northern Europe, would doubtless have
been slower to find recognition in schools wedded to older dogmas.

224 Dr. Lyons on the

the other by the animal organs and functions. Now, not only ig
this a state of things inconsistent with the requirements of science
and unworthy of the educated members of a highly scientific
profession (or what ought to be such), but it leads, in not a few
instances, to errors of a practical kind, and of grave consequence,
in clinical medicine. While the faculties of the physician are ab-
sorbed in watching the vagaries of the assumed avroKpareia fever,
which it is impossible to reduce to a connected and consistent
train of action, amenable to rational processes of medication, he
is not in a position to command for liimself a true insight into the
workings of the various parts of the human machine in its ab-
normal condition of action, or to form a proper appreciation of the
means Hkely to restore the physiological equilibrium of the system.

What has such loose, vague, and ill defined pathology produced
in Practical Medicine, but in too many instances a liap-hazard
use of nostrums, taken from a chance-medley Materia Medica on
the faith of an " experience" which at best can only be regarded
as an illustration of illogical argument from particular to general ?

It is only, as well remarked by Henle, " when empirical medi-
cine, dissatisfied with the therapeutical results hitherto obtained,
feels obliged to attempt new methods of treatment, that it will put
itself under the guidance of its twin-sister (rational pathology),
rather than linger under the disgrace of that lamentable ineffi-
ciency which seizes upon anything fortuitous, in order to experi-
ment hap-hazard upon some victims, too few for profitable results,
too many for a tender conscience" ! !

In the actual state of medicine, it is extremely difficult to
point to any concrete body of opinion which can be taken as a
fair exponent of the pathological doctrine of disease, generally
adopted in the present day.

It is difficult to do this, not only for the science of medicine
at large, but even for any one individual school ; it is not difficult
to attack this dogma or that, referring to an individual disease,
and show its fallacies; but it is almost impossible to sunmaarise
the various theories of disease still in vogue, for the object we
have in view. The opinions which we purpose to combat with
respect to the " entity" and individual personation, so to speak,
of disease, are (in the literature of our day) to be gathered from
the use of incidental terms, and the implied rather than expressed
possession of special attributes on the part of disease. Though,
perhaps, nowhere so categorically expressed in the medical
literature of our own age, it can hardly be denied that such a
disease as fever, for example, is regarded by many waiters, and
commonly in the minds and language of medical men, holds a
place as an entity, for a time swaying the human frame, almost as

Question of Morbid Types and Species. 225

distinct as when likened by Paracelsus to a demoniacal arclieus^
who, from -without, entered into, and in his distempered rage
shook, the fevered body with the physical impulse of an indepen-
dent power. And even those who will accept the more advanced
pathology of fever, still see in cancer, tubercle, or syphilis, an
incontrovertible proof (as they hold it) of the specific nature of
disease, of its independent attiibutes, of its analogy to self-ex-
istent parasitic organisms, and finally of its being something im-
ported in gloho from without, and superadded to the human
frame, which had no previous existence in or upon it, and the
elFects, motions, and actions of which have no relation or analogy
to those of the parts of the healthy body of man. In their
views, pathological entities of disease become multipHed with
every addition to the nosological scale.

It may be said, doubtless, that pathological anatomy and
pathology, as cultivated within late years, have done much to
dispel these mists of error, and to show us what diseased states
of the human frame really are in all their forms and phases,
however various. Much has unquestionably been eifected in this
respect, but it is only a small fragment of the great work which
has to be accomplished before a rational pathology finds general
acceptance in medicine. And it is not without importance to
remark, that even now the prosecution of pathological anatomy
is not unfettered by the continued acceptance of the doctrines
of diseased entities and types and Morbid Species so-called.

All the considerations bearing on this subject are not without
the highest scientific, as well as practical importance. If we
adopt the view, that diseases have their own essential nature,
their own attributes, parts, periods, and times, not only must
our pathological doctrines be made to square with the current
theories of disease, but therapeutics, as a scientific application of
means to ends, must have the same limits. If, for example,
fever be a thing from without, seizing on and implanting itself
in the frame of man, the duty of the physician is forthmth
to attack and expel the interloper vi et arrnis; or it may be con-
sidered that there is an internecine warfare between the auto-
cratic entity disease, on the one hand, and the animal economy
on the other, in which art sides with humanity, and both give
battle to their common enemy. Pathology, not less than humanity,
however, not unfrequently suffers from this alliance, and instead
of the fever-demon, life is expelled, or perhaps both conjointly.
No pathological views so much encourage the too often fatal
*' nimia dihgentia medici".

Under another point of view, that indicated to. us by rational
pathology, fever comes to be regarded as a complex or aggregate
III. 15

226 Dr. Lyons on the

of plienomena, arising with intelligible relation of cause and effect
from certain derangements in the force and intensity of normal
functions, tlie order and sequence of whicli it is in our power to
trace with precision. Fever is then a series of effects from
known causes, and these causes are none other than those which
operate in the body in health. Therapeutics have now another
end and object, namely, to regulate and control, diminish or
arrest, the undue actions in the system, while, at the same time,
the forces of the economy are maintained, stimulated, and sup-
ported, as occasion may require, or the increased wear and tear
of the system demand ; in a word, medicine intervenes as an art,
with means directed to restore the physiological equihbrium
which constitutes health.

This is but one example, and but one class of considerations ;
the subject is fertile with others of no less importance. If, for
instance, it be once established, for disease in general, as well as
for its so-called individual genera and species, that, instead of
possessing a specific nature, independent existence, special and
defined courses, and propagative forces, and instead of being
endowed with inherent powers of destruction, they are to be
regarded as only subjective phenomena, the exponents of in-
creased or otherwise deranged normal actions, we at once, and for
ever, get rid of the category o{ incurable diseases; such scourges
of humanity as leprosy, tubercle, cancer, syphilis, small-pox, the
plague, yellow fever, cholera, and the like, lose half their terrors,
and a new era of hope opens up for suffering humanity. Medi-
cine, as an art based on scientific research, sees new triumphs
before her, and rises to a sense of increased dignity, in anticipation
of curative results, possible though remote. Of the ills that flesh is
heir to, she sees none with which she may not grapple. What
stimulus is not thus offered to the clinical physician for renewed
research into the intimate structure of tissues, and the study of
function, under physiological and pathological aspects ! As all
known actions of the human system are under the control of art
within certain limits, and these chiefly limits of time, from the
first moment that the physiological equilibrium is disturbed, the
medical problems, even in cancer, are confined, and this is logic-
ally demonstrable, to early diagnosis, and the selection of appro-
priate therapeutics. When, in fine, such a disease as cancer ceases
to be a specific morbid organism, it is of necessity removed from
the list of incurable diseases, and comes logically within the do-
main of curative art. Let us not, however, be misunderstood;
logic here anticipates art; it points out the possible, not the
immediately practicable. But even this is an immense gain.
Once scientific research is on the right path, it is but a question
of time to realise results available for practice.

Question of Morbid Types and Species. 227

We may now proceed to consider what disease is, and in what
aspect a strict and logical science warrants us in regarding the
various forms and so-called types of disease, which manifest them-
selves in the human body.

It will be a seeming paradox to affirm, as the shortest way of
expressing the proposition which lies at the bottom of our present
considerations, that Disease is not anything; in other words, that
the so-called essential diseases — as fevers ; the specific diseases —
as cancers, tubercle, syphilis ; the particular diseases — as inflam-
mations; the so-called morbid products — as lymph, pus, ichor,
succus cancri, cancer-cells, tubercle-corpuscles, and so forth,
have no independent existence ; that we are in error in regard-
ing them as self-existent pathological entities; in fine, that while
the most advanced histological research demonstrates the exist-
ence of well-defined and persistent physiological types in the
structural elements of the human body, the same means of
inquiry show us, with equal certainty, that no independent
types of pathological structure can be proved to exist.

These views may, perhaps, be still more expressly stated and
more clearly illustrated as follows. The plastic forces operating in
living organisms produce minute structural elements, of definite
shape and size, which possess distinct and well-individualised
physical properties, and, in several modes of aggregation, enter
into the formation of the various tissues. We thus have, to take
the most striking case, in the egg imdergoing the process of
incubation, blood-corpuscles, bone-corpuscles, sarcous elements
(minute structural elements of muscle), fibrous tissue corpuscles,
nerve-tubes and cells, formed from a fluid of highly complex
chemical composition (white and yolk of ogg), originally con-
taining only the most minute and fine granulations, but other-
wise homogeneous. The structural elements thus formed (blood-
corpuscles, bone-corpuscles, etc., etc.) retain the character of
individuality originally impressed upon them ; no one of them
passes into another in any further process of change. And with
such regularity and precision do these various tissue-elements
conform to the original type on which they have been developed,
that it is found that in numerous instances, specific diiferences
in size and shape are observable in the tissue elements in diffe-
rent classes of animals. This holds in an especial manner, as is
well known, with respect to the blood and bone-corpuscles. Thus,
the blood-corpuscles are of the shape of circular discs in all the
great class Mammalia, with the exception of the camel, and
dromedary, in birds, reptiles, and fishes, the corpuscles are
elliptical in shape. Remarkable differences in the diameter of
the blood-corpuscles have likewise been observed. In the size

228 Dr. Lyons on the

and shape of the bone-corpuscles, other investigations have
detected characteristic differences in certain classes of animals.

We are therefore warranted in stating, that well-defined types
of physiological structure exist in the animal body.^ Even in
the fully-formed tissues — as muscle, bone, nerve, cerebral sub-
stance, etc., we recognize distinct and independent physical
properties, and all these component elements of the animal body,
are so many independent anatomical types.

In the field of pathology and pathological anatomy, on the
other hand — and this is the gist of what we desire to main-
tain — there is no element having the same independent character
in relation to disease, that a blood-corpuscle or bone-corpuscle
has to the physiological structure of which it is a constituent
element. A hone or a blood-corpuscle is a true, persistent, inde-
pendent physiological type; a pus-corpuscle, a lymph-corpuscle, a
tubercle-corpuscle, or a cancer-cell, is not a true, persistent, inde-
pendent pathological type.

The proposition just enunciated will, perhaps, not now
meet the universal and strenuous opposition which would once
have greeted it, and that within very recent times. Yet
it was precisely in this direction, namely, the supposed dis-
covery of specific pathological types, that the most remarkable in-
vestigations which, for many centuries, have illustrated medicine,
first pursued the path of error. When the microscope had disco-
vered the blood corpuscle, and proved its universal presence in the
circulating fluid, and defined its characters, it soon became recog-
nized as a typical element : when the same instrument discovered
the pus-corpuscle, showed its tripartite nucleus, and proved its
constant presence and apparently invariable characters in in-
flamed structures, it is not surprising, for it was only a natural
error, that it likewise should be regarded as a typical element of
disease. Following the direction thus given, observations be-
came multiplied, new pathological elements were discovered
in rapid succession, and the pus-corpuscle, the tubercle-corpuscle,
cancer cell, fibro-plastic cell, and other pathological elements,
came to play the same part in diseased structures that the blood-
corpuscle, bone-cell, sarcous element, etc., played in the tissue-
formations of the healthy body. A new era was heralded in for
pathology and pathological anatomy; pathological histology was
destined to rank with the most exact of the sciences ; and diag-
nosis, by the aid of the microscope, made unhmited promises of
practical ends to be achieved by the discrimination of almost
infinite diseased species. Such vaunting promise, however,
was destined not to be realised; it was soon evident that we

2 This position, as a whole, is in no way affected by the observations of Vir-
chow on the permutations of the areolar tissue corpuscles.

Question of Morbid Types and Species. 229

had promised too mucli, and far more than it was at all pos-
sible, or in the nature of things, to accomplish. Infinite
service was unquestionably rendered to pathological anatomy
by the profound and extended observations taken up almost
simultaneously in all schools under this new stimulus; a know-
ledge of diseased structure and action was thus acquired which
would never have been otherwise attained. With disappointed
expectations and the shortcomings of micrologists themselves, an
unjust, though perhaps not wholly unmerited, stigma was thrown
upon the most valuable and effective means of research which
had fallen within the scope of medicine since the discoveries of
Lsennec ; and it was even of far more universal application than
the mode of investigating disease introduced by him.

One instance will illustrate best the error of the micrologists,
the mistaken direction they had pursued, and the injustice of the
so-called practical school.

Fighting from a shifting ground, and with little logic and less
common sense, the diagnosis of "malignant disease" was proposed
by the physicians and surgeons of the practical school (so self-
styled) to the micrologists, or the scientific school (so designated,
and not in honour). Perhaps in few branches of inquiry was so
much labour ever devoted to the following up of an ignis fatuus.
Basing their investigations on the firm conviction in the exist-
ence of specific pathological types, the supposed typical anatomical
element of *' malignant" disease was sought for industriously in
all schools. It was found, or thought to be so, and its characters
defined with a precision almost mathematical. It is needless
to say now more than that these characters were found, and
at length admitted (at least by more than one investigator
of true scientific acumen) to be inconstant and unreliable for
specific diagnosis ; and this in two ways, namely, as to the well-
established absence of all specific histological elements in disease
of undoubtedly "malignant" history, and, on the other hand, the
presence of elements corresponding, in all essential characters, to
those defined as pertaining to the (so-called) cell of true "malig-
nant" diseases in diseases clinically non-malignant.

The former aspect of tliis question shows the universal belief
in specific pathological elements, or, as we for the moment prefer
to designate them for clearness sake, types; its present position
shows that, at least with many advanced observers, the faith in
this doctrine is profoundly shaken. It cannot, however, be
said, even now, that a complete theory of cancer has been
worked out, or that all notions of its being a parasitic organism
are abandoned.

In the reaction which is on foot (and which, we trust, will
extend itself) in micrological science and general pathology,

230 Dr. Lyons on the

investigation, it is to be hoped, will no longer recognize for its
chief aim the determination of diseased species.

AVhat then, it will be again asked, is disease? It may he
defined as an action, mode, accident, or state of the forces, or func-
tions, of the fluids, tissues, organs, parts or whole of the living
body, in which they assume conditions, temporarily or permanently
different from those which they enjoy when the body is in health,
but in which all the phenomena and all the physical changes
induced, of what hind soever, are hut modifications in force or
degree, without difference in kind, of those observable in the system
in health. If this definition be correct, it is manifest that disease
can have neither species nor variety, that ulcer, cancer, fever,
tubercle, syphilis, are but diiFerent manifestations of organic
actions or processes fundamentally the same, however they may
differ superficially ; and such we maintain is the case : the differ-
ences are superficial and striking, the analogies and resemblances
deeply seated, and intelligible only to the physician profoundly
versed in pathology: they are, however, not the less clearly
ascertained and positively definable.

In this view, it is obvious that disease must be in all instances
referred to derangement of natural forces, functions, and actions,
and to physical results following directly therefrom. The follow-
ing is to be regarded only as an attempt to classify these various
causes, which, of course, in this place can only be given in a very
summary way: —

(A) Loss of physiological equilibrium, —

(1) In the regulative nerve-force, whether in the cerebro-
spinal axis, the sympathetic system, or the system of the vagi ;

(2) In the general circulation, or in local blood circles;

(3) In the process of tissue-metamorphosis, including general
calorification, and tissue-element-displacement and renewal ;

(4) In the process which regulates the balance between the
•ingesta and egesta, and which by elimination of material resulting
from the perpetual wear and tear of the system, keeps it free
from the contamination of effete and noxious products.

(B) Excess or diminution of normal actions as in exercise of
nerve-force, circulation, secretion, etc.

(C) Disturbance of physiologico-chemical equilibrium ;

(1) In blood and other fluids;

(2) In organs and tissues ;

(D) Effects of physical forces, whether chemical or mecha-
nical, exerted on tissues, organs or parts of the body, whether
within or without.

We cannot more definitely bring into relief the view of the
nature of Disease urged in this brief summary, than by compar-
ing it with the categorical exposition of the classes of diseases

Question of ^forbid Types and Species. 231

by a writer of sucli eminence and authority as Cruveilliier. It
is hardly necessary to observe how distinguished a place this
author has held amongst the pathologists of the present century.
He defines general pathological anatomy as that branch of patho-
logical anatomy, the object of which is the determination and
general study of morbid species.^ He openly proposes the ques-
tion: " Do there exist species in pathological anatomy?" which
he solves in the affirmative, by stating: " Yes, there exist morbid
anatomical species quite as distinct the one from the other —
quite as natural, as the zoological species"; and he goes on to
declare: "The individuals of each species, I would venture to
say of each pathological family, are recognizable by features as
characteristic as if they proceeded the one from the other by
means of generation ; and it is a thing which has often excited
my admiration to meet, after an interval of ten years, (patholo-
gical) alterations so identical, that descriptions and designs pre-
served amongst my drawings were applicable, in the most exact
manner, to the fresh specimens which I had under my eyes, and
which appeared to be the faithful reproduction of them". We beg
leave to draw particular attention to the concluding observations
of this extract. In a series of propositions, fourteen in number,
this able anatomist proceeds to establish certain laws which
he regards as determined with certainty respecting the " morbid
species". Amongst these laws are to be chiefly noticed, in rela-
tion to our present consideration, those embodied in the pro-
positions that " the number of morbid species is limited"; that
"the morbid species are identical, whatever be their seat"; that
" there exists a certain number of special lesions"; that the
" morbid species are not capable of transformation, the one into
the other" ; and " that the living tissues are unalterable by
themselves".

From the point of view in which we are engaged in studying
the pathology of disease, it must be said that issue is to be taken
with Cruveilhier and those who hold similar opinions upon each
individual proposition which embodies the " laws" above briefly
cited. In the passage in which he alludes to the very remarkable
recurrence of pathological states and phenomena, with almost
stereotyped regularity, is to be found one of the strongest,
and apparently most striking, though at the same time one
of the mo§t easily refuted, proofs of the doctrine of distinct
morbid species, or independent pathological types, as we pre-
fer to designate them. Indeed, with anything like close scru-
tiny, it will be found that the so-called morbid species have,
even in this respect, but the most superficial resemblance to
independent physical entities in any department of nature or art.
/// organic or inorganic fabrics having complicated structure^

3 Traite D'Anatomie Pathologique General. Paris, 1849.

232 Dr. Lyons o?i Morbid Types and Species.

definite coordination of parts, and persistent and determinate
physical properties^ it is not matter for surprise that like physical
agencies^ or, in general, like causes, should he followed by like
results. And the more persistent is tlie physical conformation,
the more like the physical properties, and the more identical
in force and intensity the physical and other agencies operating
from within or without, the more identical, even to their very
minutest phenomena, will be the mechanical or other effects
which follow from the irregular, impeded, excessive, or defective
action of the several forces concerned. It is matter of every-day
experience, that, in complicated machines, accidents recur in a
manner the most regular and almost systematized, and with an
identity almost stereotyped in the very minutest features of the
injury which results. And yet, to designate an injury or "lesion"
occurring in the physical world as a "morbid species" or inde-
pendent type of accident, and to claim for it an existence and
characters as self-dependent as those which reside in the substance
(metal, or what aught else it may be) wliich becomes the sub-
ject of such well-marked and recurrent injury, would be not less
absurd than to assign to the "morbid species", affecting the
physical apparatus of the animal organism, characters as distinct
and as natural as those possessed by the zoological species. The
very constant change from fibrous to crystalline structure in cer-
tain metals, as iron, and their consequent fracture, under the
influence of a mechanical force like that of vibration, is as much
entitled to be regarded as a " morbid species" affecting the metal,
as mollities ossium deserves to be considered an independent dis-
eased type or "morbid species" in the bones of the human subject.
In our present limits, it will not be possible to follow this ex-
tensive subject and ample theme for enlarged pathological and
perhaps metaphysical disquisition into the detail required for
its full exposition. The consideration of it has yet to be taken
up at large, and in a sense and manner worthy of the scientific as
well as practical interests of medicine and humanity involved.
It must serve our purpose in the present instance to illustrate
our views on the questions at issue, by selecting some two or
three examples from the best defined types of disease, and the
most generally recognized "morbid species", and show how
they are to be interpreted in conformity with the principles laid
down in our definition of the nature of disease, as already ex-
plained. We shall take an example or two from pathological
histology, and one from general pathology.

ITo be continued.]

i

THE

ATLANTIS

Art. I.— The Ordo de Tempore. By Very Rev. John Henry
Newman, D.D.

I DO not know wliere to find, what doubtless is to be found
somewhere, a perfect analysis of the Ordo de Tempore, the
succession of sacred seasons, as it stands in the Catholic calen-
dar. It has to deal with some considerable difficulties, and its
disposal of them is very beautiful. I sometimes fancy I could
interest a reader in it, and I will try : and, though I must do so
in my own way for want of a better, and though in consequence
I am obliged to speak under correction of any authoritative
exposition of it, if such exists, still I do not think I can be
much out in my analysis, even though it be incomplete.

The Ordo de Sanctis is invariable through the year. Each
saint has his day, which is never changed year after year,
except by an accidental transference or postponement. Here,
the only call for arrangement and adjustment rises out of
the necessity of reconciling this Oi'do with the Ordo de Tem-
pore. For the Ordo de Tempore is far from invariable year
after year ; on the contrary, as I have intimated, it even disturbs
the tranquil course of the Ordo de Sanctis. It is on this account
especially, that the yearly Directory called the " Ordo Recitandi"
is necessary; for the Ordo de Tempore is not only variable
itself, but it interferes with the harmonious succession of Saints'
Days in the Ordo de Sanctis. If we look at the table of Trans-
ferred Saints' Days in the yearly '* Ordo Recitandi", we shall
find that they are all occasioned by the collision between the
two Ordines, de Sanctis and de Tempore. For instance, in the

VOL. V. 1

2 Ordo de Tempore.

present year, St. Thomas was thrown out of his day, March 7,
because it was the Fourth Sunday in Lent ; and the Seven Dolours
lost its Friday because it was the Feast of St. Joseph.

Left to itself, the Ordo de Sanctis is invariable, but the Ordo
de Tempore is never the same two years running. Its chief
features indeed, viewed relatively to each other, are always the
same: Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, and Pente-
cost come in succession; but these seasons are not fixed to
determinate days in the civil year, as the Festivals of the Saints
are. Easter Day is in this year upon one day in March or
April, in that year on another. The coincidence then of days
in the civil year and in the sacred year, had to be reduced to
rule ; and this is done, I consider, very beautifully in the pro-
visions of the calendar upon the subject, as I propose to show
in these pages.

1.

The first and chief difficulty in the Ordo de Tempore is
obviously this : — that Easter Day depends upon, is later than,
the full moon in March or in April, and the full moon is not fixed
to any certain day in either month. The lunar month is about
29 days, the civil varies from 28 to 31. As the full moon is
not constant to one day of either month, neither is the Easter
Day. Next, there is this additional disturbance, that Easter
Day is always kept on a Sunday, the Sunday after the full
moon (mean time) which follows upon March 21. Thus,
even were the day of the full moon fixed to a given day of a
given month in the civil calendar, say March 22, Easter Day,
it would not on that account be a fixed day, for it must be a
Sunday, and the Sunday after that March 22 may be any one of
the seven following days. Easter Day then is variable, first,
because the full moon may fall on any one day out of 29, and
next, because it may fall on any day of the week out of the
seven.

Nor is this the whole of the difficulty. Easter Day is one
great centre of feasts and seasons in the ecclesiastical year ; but
there is another such season, and that is Christmas Day. And,
though Christmas Day is fixed in the civil year. Advent Sunday,
which precedes and depends upon it, is not. It is the fourth
Sunday before Christmas Day; and since Christmas Day, as
being fixed in the month, may be any one of the seven days
of the week, it follows that Advent Sunday may be one or
other of seven days of the month. When, for instance, Christ-
mas Day is Monday, the fourth Sunday in Advent is the day
before, that is, December 24, and the first Sunday in Advent,

Ordo de Tempore. 3

or Advent Sunday, will be December 3. When Christmas
Day is Tuesday, then Advent Sunday will be December 2,
and so on through the seven days. The range of Advent
Sundays, then, is from November 27 to December 3 inclusive.

Christmas with Advent, then, and Easter are the two centres
of the sacred year, with a circle of seasons and feasts about
each of them, and all inserted and having a place, a shifting
place, in the civil year; and the problem to be solved in the
Ordo de Tempore is, how to overcome the disarrangement
caused by the intersection, so to call it, of these two circles,
standing in relation, as they do, to the course of weeks and
months. When are we to cease, for example, to date with a
reference to Christmas? When with a reference to Easter?
Were both Christmas with Advent, and Easter, fixed, there
would be nothing more to settle; but the interval between
Advent Sunday and Easter Sunday varies year by year, and
also the interval between Easter and Advent; and it has to be
determined when the one is to end and the other to begin. And
there is this additional difficulty, that, the Easter before a
given Advent being always a different day in the year from
the Easter after Advent, there are three dates to be taken into
account, and reduced to system, one Advent and two Easters.

Now let us see how these variations are actually adjusted;
that is, what is the abstract scientific arrangement, which, year
by year as it comes, is to be appealed to and applied. 1 speak of
the scientific theory of arrangement for obvious reasons : — for
instance, leap year introduces a disturbance, which must bs
neglected in the theory : — that is the sun's doing. The moon is
the cause of a disturbance of a different sort, viz., though many
consecutive days may be Easter days, they do not actually
follow each other in course year by year in regular succession.
I mean, the 6th of April is not Easter Day in one year, the
7th in year two, the 8th in year three, and so on ; but for the
scientific theory I shall place them in sequence, that is, follow-
ing, not the chronological order, as it is sometimes called, or
order in fact, but the logical, or order in system.

2.

I observe first, as a matter of fact, to be taken as a datum
and not to be proved here, that Easter Day may fall on any one
of thirty-five successive days, that is, on any day of five succes-
sive weeks, from March 22 to April 25, both inclusive. Let
us suppose, then, a column made of these thirty-five days, one
after another, March 22, 23, 24, etc., and so on to April 22,
23, 24, 25. This is the Easter range.

1 B

4 Ordo de Tempore.

Next, I shall place two other columns of dates, one on eacli
side of this central column, and each of them dependent upon it.

The one on the left of the Easter column shall be the Sep-
tuagesima column. Septuagesima Sunday is always nine weeks
or sixty-three days before Easter Sunday. As then there are
thirty-five days on which Easter Sunday may fall, so there are
thirty-five days on which Septuagesima Sunday may fall. The
first of these, counting back nine weeks from Easter Day,
March 22 (and taking no account of leap year), is January 18;
and the last, counting back from Easter Day, April 25, is Feb-
ruary 21. This is the Septuagesima range of days, on the left
of the Easter column.

The column on the right of the Easter column will consist
of the Post- Pentecostal range; and the Sundays which are
marked down it must be the 23rd Sunday after Pentecost.
This is the last proper Pentecost Sunday ; there is no proper
24th, etc., and the "ultima" is shifting. Up to the 23rd
Sunday the order of Sundays after Easter Day is as regular
and invariable as the nine Sundays back to Septuagesima before
Easter Day. How many Sundays is it from Easter Day to the
23rd after Pentecost? Seven to the day of Pentecost, or Whit-
Sunday, and twenty-three more to the 23rd ; that is, altogether
thirty Sundays or weeks ; — invariable, I say, following one the
other in fixed order. This is the column to the right of the
Easter column.

Here then we have the whole Paschal period, from Septua-
gesima Sunday to the 23rd Sunday after Pentecost ; nine weeks
before Easter Day and thirty weeks after, altogether thirty-nine
weeks, are precisely nine calendar months, or three-quarters of
year. Though the Paschal period, as I have called it, varies
year by year in its place in the civil year, because Easter Day
varies, the Paschal period does not vary in its length, it is
always nine calendar months precisely. There is a fixed suc-
cession of thirty-nine weeks from Septuagesima. Sunday to the
23rd Sunday after Pentecost.

One other result is this : that, as Septuagesima falls in Janu-
ary and February, and Easter Day falls in March and April, so
does Pentecost 23rd fall always in October or November. Nay
further than this, since it is exactly nine calendar months from
Septuagesima to Pentecost 23rd, it follows that, whatever be
the day of the month in January or February on which Sep-
tuagesima falls, on the same day of the month in October or
November respectively does Pentecost 23rd fall. Thus, if Sep-
tuagesima is January 18, then Pentecost 23rd is October 18;
if the former falls on February 1 , the latter falls on November

Ordo de Tempore. 5

1; if the former on February 21, then the latter on November
21. And on the whole the Septuagesirna series correspond all
along, in the day of the month on which that Sunday falls, with
the day of the month on which, in the Pentecost 23rd series,
that Sunday falls.

Now, then, we can fill up the dates in the third column or
23rd Pentecost, which is on the right of the Easter column.
We shall have to go through thirty-five days from October 18
to November 21; putting October 18 against January 18, and
so on till we end with November 21 against February 21.
Thus:—

Septuagesirna Sunday.

Easter Day.

23rd Sunday after Pentecost.

January 18

19

20

21

etc., etc.
to
February 19

20

21

March 22

23

24

25

etc., etc.
to
April 23

24

25

October 18
19
20
21

etc., etc.
to
November 19
20
21

Now let us have recourse to the *' Ordo Recitandi" for the
six years from 1849 to 1851, and from 1853 to 1855. It will
be found to bear out the conclusions, at which I have arrived
theoretically.

Septuagesirna.

Easter.

Pentecost 23rd.

1849

February 4

April 8

November 4

1850

January 27

March 31

October 27

1851

^February 16

April 20

November 16

1853

January 23

March 27

October 23

1854

r February 12

April 16

November 12

1855

February 4

April 8

November 4

The years 1852 and 1856 were leap years, which ought to
throw out the exact correspondence of Sundays by one day ;
and hence, in accordance with the above rule, Septuagesima
was February 8, but Pentecost 23rd was November 7 in 1852,
and Septuagesima January 20, and Pentecost 23rd October 19,
in 1856.

Ordo de Tempore.

3.

So much on the connection of Easter Day with Septuagesima
and Pentecost 23rd; but can nothing be done to make the
actual succession of Easter Days seem less capricious? Yes,
something, as I proceed to show.

Let it be observed, that, as Christmas Day is a fixed day of
the month, it may be on any day of the week ; it runs through
seven days, and, as the days in a year exceed fifty- two weeks
by one day, a fixed day in any month travels forward along the
days of the week in a succession of years Thus (neglecting
leap years), if the 25th of December, Christmas Day, be on
Monday in this year, it will be on Tuesday next year, and on
Wednesday the year after, and so on to Sunday inclusive ; and,
after completing the week it will next year be on Monday
again, and so on for ever. In consequence, the fourth Sunday
in Advent, being the Sunday immediately before Christmas
Day, will travel backwards, in those same successive years,
along the days of the month; when Christmas Day is on
Monday, the 4th Advent Sunday will be on the 24th; when
Christmas Day is on Tuesday, it will be on the 23rd, and so
on successively the 22nd, 21st, 20th, 19th, and 18th, and so on,
over and over again, for ever. And again. Advent Sunday,
which is three weeks before that fourth Sunday, will be succes-
sively on December 3, 2, 1, November 30, 29, 28, 27, in
never-ending routine. To these seven days Advent Sunday is
tethered. The feast of St. Andrew is just in the middle of
them, November 30, with three possible Advent Sundays before
it, and tliree after.

Now let us observe what we have hereby gained. Advent
begins with a Sunday, and must be one of a certain seven days ;
but Pentecost 23rd, which ends what I have called the Paschal
period, is also a Sunday ; — therefore there must be also a whole
number of weeks without any days over, between the end of
the Paschal period and Advent Sunday, the commencement of
the Christmas period. If, for instance, Advent Sunday falls on
November 27, Pentecost 23rd cannot fall on any whatever of
the thirty "five days from October 18 to November 21, which
constitute its range, but it must fall on such a day out of the
number as will secure a round number of weeks between it and
November 27.

How many such days are there in its whole range? Of
course, one in seven. Therefore, out of the thirty-five possible
days for Pentecost 23rd, only five are actually possible in this
particular case of Advent Sunday falling on November 27.

Ordo de Tempore. 7

The possible days, counting backwards, are November 20, 13,
6, October 30 and 23. And in like manner when Advent
Sunday is November 28, there are only five possible days on
which the previous Pentecost 23 can fall; and so in the case of
all the Advent Sunday month-days, November 29, 30, Decem-
ber 1, 2, and 3.

And, since Easter Sunday and Septuagesima Sunday vary
with Pentecost 23rd, it follows that out of the whole 35
possible days, on which Easter may fall, there are only five days
possible, when Advent Sunday is November 27 ; and the same
is true for all the other days of the month which are possible for
Advent Sunday. It seems then that in every year Easter Day
is one out of five days, and which the five days are is determined
(practically) by the day on which the following Advent Sunday
falls. And this is true of Septuagesima Sunday also.

Moreover, as the day of the month on which Advent Sunday
falls, depends on the day of the week on which Christmas Day
falls, on the latter also depend the five days which in every
year are possible for all three, Septuagesima, Easter Day, and
Pentecost 23rd.

Once more : it is awkward to make a day at the end of the year,
December 25, the index or pivot of days and seasons which have
gone before it. I observe then that (neglecting leap year) as
December 25 falls on this or that day of the week, the preced-
ing January 1 falls on a corresponding day, so that, according to
the day of the week on which the first day of the year falls are
the five days determined for Septuagesima, Easter and Pentecost
23rd. When December 25 is on a Monday, then New Year's
preceding was on Sunday ; when on Tuesday, New Year s Day
was on Monday, etc. I shall call the seven years which suc-
cessively begin with Sunday, Saturday, Friday, etc., years A,
B, C, D, E, F, G, and then we have the following table ;

Year.

Jan. 1.

G

Mo.

F

Tu.

E

We.

D

Th.

c

Fr.

B

Sa.

A

Su.

Septuages.

Jan. Feb.

21, 28. 4, 11, 18
20, 27. 3, 10, 17
19, 26. 2, 9, 16
18, 25. 1, 8, 15
24, 31. 7, 14, 21
23, 30. 6, 13, 20

22, 29. 5, 12, 19

Easter Day.

Mar. April.

27. 3, 10. 17, 24

28. 4,11,18,25
22, 29. 6, 12, 19
28,30. 6,13,20

24. 31. 7, 14, 21

25. 1, 8,15,22

26. 2, 9, 16, 23

Pentecost
23rd.

Advent
Sunday.

Christmas
Day.

Oct. Nov.

21, 28. 4, 11, 18

Dec. 2

To.

20, 27. 8, 10, 17

1

We.

19 26, 2, 9, 16

Nov. 30

Th.

18,25.1, 8,15

29

Fr.

24, 81. 7, 14, 21

28

Sa.

23, 30. 6, 13, 20

27

Su.

22, 29. 6, 12, 19

Dec 3

Mo.

S Or do de Tempore.

This table, which has been formed from the preceding ana-
lysis, agrees with the table in the Missal and Breviary, the letter
of the alphabet which denotes the year, being the Litera Do-
minicalis. However, that authentic table has no occasion to
mention Pentecost 23rd, or its connection with Septuagesima,
of which I have made such use above, and shall also avail my-
self in what follows.

4.

Hitherto I have been speaking of the Christmas period only
in its bearings upon the Paschal period : now let me speak of it
for its own sake.

The Paschal period varies in its dates, but never in its length :
it is always thirty-nine weeks, or nine calendar months. But,
unlike Easter Day, Christmas Day is fixed ; is its period fixed
also, or does it vary in its length? I cannot answer this question,
till I know what is meant by the Christmas period : do we mean
by it (1) that season which the Paschal nine months interrupt,
that divided season, lying at the extremities, the beginning and
the end of one and the same year, and which, because divided.
Las no proper title to be called a period at all? or do we mean
(2) that continuous lapse of weeks lying partly at the end of
one year and partly at the beginning of the next ? Let us take
these two cases separately, and the second case first.

The actual continuous Christmas period lying partly in one
year, partly in the next, between Pentecost 23rd of one year
and Septuagesima of the next, is not only variable in length,
but too variable to admit of being reduced to rule.

At first sight it admits of as many as twenty-five different
lengths ; for every year, as I have shown, allows of five possible
dates for Septuagesima and Pentecost 23rd; now the continuous
Christmas period is from the Pentecost 23rd of this year to the
Septuagesima of the next; since then the Pentecost 23rd may
be any one out of five dates, and the next Septuagesima also
any one of five, there result twenty-five possible lengths of the
continuous Christmas period. Nor is there any easy rule for
determining the succession of their variations in consecutive
years. I do not propose any formula then for determining the
length of the continuous Christmas period ; for it depends on two
conditions, practically independent of each other, the dates of
the previous and of the succeeding Easter.

Some idea of these variations will be gained by the inspec-
tion of them as they occurred between 1848 and 1857:

Ordo de Tempore.

1848-9.

1849-50.

1850-1.

1851-2.

<u

M

1
^

en

1. Before Ad-
vent.

2. Advent to
Epiphany.

3. After Epi-
phany.

2
5
4

Nov. 19
Nov. 26

Dec. 3
10
17
24
31

Jan. 7
14
21

28

4
6
2

Nov. 4
11

18
25

Dec. 2

9

16

23

SO

Jan. 6

13
20

5
6
5

Oct. 27

Nov. 3

10

17

24

Dec. 1

8

15

22

29

Jan. 5

12

19

26

Feb. 2

9

2
6
4

Nov. 16
23

30
Dec. 7
14
21
28
Jan. 4

18

25

Feb. 1

Sum Total

11

12

16

12

1852-3.

185S-4.

1854-5.

1855-6.

1856-7.

1

n*

1

Weeks.

Weeks.

Weeks.

1. Before Ad-
vent.

2. Advent to
Epiphany.

3. After Epi-
, phany.

3

6
2

Nov. 7
14
21

28
Dec. 5
12
19
26
Jan. 2

9
16

5

6

Oct. 23
30

Nov. 6
13

20

27
Dec. 4
11
18
25
Jan. 1

8

15

22

29

Feb. 6

3
6
4

4
6

1

6
6
4

Sum Total

11

16

12

11

16

10 Ordo de Tempore.

However, in spite of this irregularity in the continuous
Christmas period, it has some kind of intelligible shape, thus:

"In the first place, since we know the earliest and latest pos-
sible dates of Pentecost 23rd and Septuagesima, we can ascer-
tain the longest and shortest measure of the Christmas period.
Pentecost 23rd may be as early as October 18; Septuagesima as
late as February 21 ; this whole interval from October 18 in one
year to February 21 in the next, is one hundred and twenty-
five days or eighteen weeks. Again, Pentecost 23rd may fall
on November 21, and the following Septuagesima as early as
January 18, that is, at an interval from it of fifty-seven days
or eight weeks. Thus eighteen weeks is the longest, and eight
weeks the shortest Christmas period.

.Next, this period, whatever its length, is made up of three
parts: 1. The central portion, which I might call the Tempus
Natale, from Advent Sunday to the first Sunday after Epiphany.
2. The Ante-natal portion between Pentecost 23rd and Advent
Sunday. 3. The Epiphany or Post-natal, between the first
Sunday after Epiphany and Septuagesima.

The possible length of each of these three is also easy to as-
certain. 1. The Natal Time is ordinarily six weeks (i.e. ex-
cept when Advent Sunday falls on December 3, and then, the
Epiphany falling on Saturday, the Natal portion loses a week).
2. The Ante-natal portion varies from one week (viz. when
Pentecost 23rd falls on November 20 or 21, and is the " ultima"
Sunday) to six weeks (viz. when Pentecost 23rd falls between
October 18 and 22, and there are twenty-eight Sundiiys after
Pentecost). 3. The Post-natal portion also varies from one
week to six; for, if the Sunday after Epiphany be January 11,
12, or 13, and Septuagesima be January 18, 19, or 20, it is one
week; and if the former of these Sundays be January 7-9, and
the latter February 18-21, then there will be all the six Sun-
days, as they stand in the Ordo de Tempore.

It appears then that the longest Christmas period consists of six,
six, and six weeks ; that is, eighteen weeks, which agrees with my
former calculation ; and the shortest is one, six, and one, that is,
eight weeks, which also agrees with what I have determined above.

5.

Now, secondly, let us consider the Christmas season, as con-
tained in one and the same year, that is, as partly at the begin-
ning of it, and partly at the end : can we determine the length
of these two portions taken together ? Certainly we can, and,
as it would seem at first sight, without any difficulty ; for, as the
Paschal period takes up exactly nine calendar months or thirty-
nine weeks, there are three months or thirteen weeks left for

Ordo de Tempore.

11

the Christmas. And, as to the separate portions, they are
always the same, though not in the same place ; for, in order to
allow for the variation of the date of Easter Day (which ranges
through thirty-five days or five weeks), of the six Sundays after
Epiphany, those are omitted year by year, which would interfere
with an early Septuagesima, and are introduced instead between
Pentecost 23rd and Advent. This is so simple an arrangement,
that it would seem as if it could have no difficulty, and there would
be nothing to observe upon it ; for as many weeks as are taken
out of the Christmas three months by an early Septuagesima of
any year, the same number is paid back to it by the corres-
ponding early Pentecost 23rd of that year ; however, the arrange-
ment has not run quite smoothly, as the following table shows :

Septua- . Pjsnte-

GESIMA COST 23.

Epipuany Sundays

Sundays

after
Pentecost.

Varia-

Epiphany Sundays

intercalated after

Advent

tions.

before Septuagesima

39 Weeks or

I'eutecobt 23 and

Sunday.

9 Calendar Months.

before Pent. 24.

1

1. [2 dropped]

Jan. 18 Oct.

18

3. 4. 5. 6.

28

Nov. 29

2

1. [2 dropped;
1. [2 dropped]
1.2.

19

19

3. 4. 5. 6.

28

30

3

20
21

20
21

3. 4. 5. 6.
3. 4. 5. 6.

28
28

Dec. 1
2

4

5

1.2.

22

22

3. 4. 5. 6.

28

3

6

1. 2. [3 dr.]

23

23

4. 5. 6.

28

Nov. 27

7

1. 2. [3 dr.]

24

24

4. 5. 6.

27

28

8

1. 2. [3 dr.]

25

25

4. 5. 6.

27

29

9

1. 2. [3 dr.^
1. 2. [3 dr.^
1. 2. 3.

26

26

4. 5. 6.

27

30

10

27
28

27
28

4. 5. 6.
4. 5. 6.

27
27

Dec. 1
2

11

12

1. 2. 3.

29

29

4. 5. 6.

27

3

13

1. 2. 3.

4

30

30

5. 6.

27

Nov. 27

U

1. 2. 3.

^4=
=4=

31

31

6.6.

26

28

15

1. 2. 3.

Feb. 1 Nov

1

5.6.

26

29

16

1. 2. 3.

4

2

2

5.6.

26

30

17

1. 2. 3.

[4]

3

4

3
4

5. 6.
5.6.

26
26

Dec. 1
2

18

1. 2. 3. 4.

19

1. 2. 3. 4.

5

6

5.6.

26

3

20

1. 2. 3. 4. [5"

6

6

6.

26

Nov. 27

21

1. 2. 3. 4. [5]

7

7

6.

25

28

22

1. 2. 3. 4. [5"

8

8

6.

25

29

23

1. 2. 3. 4. [5'

9

9

6.

25

30

24

1. 2. 3. 4. [5]
1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

10
11

10
11

6.
6.

25

25

Dec. 1
2

25

26

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

12

12

6.

25

3

27

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

[6"

13

13

0.

25

Nov. 27

28

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

^6^

14

14

0.

24

28

29

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

"Q'

15

15

0.

24

29

30

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

'■&

16

16

0.

24

30

31

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

:6;

17

18

17

18

0.
0.

24
24

Dec. 1
2

32

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

33

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

19

19

0.

24

3

34

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

20

20

—1.*

23

Nov. 27

35

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

21

21

— 1.

23

28

* The expression "—1" means that the Pent. 23 is merged in the "ultima''
before Advent, and a week suppressed.

12 Or do de Tempore.

It will be observed in tbis table, tbat of tbe six Epipbany
Sundays (wbetber in tbeir place or intercalated before Advent),
in five years out of seven, one is dropped, that is, tliere is no place
for it. Tbe reason is tbis : tbe calendar contemplates only one
Sunday after Cbristmas ; it does not contemplate a second, as if
tbe Epipbany certainly fell in tbe week after tbat first Sunday
after Cbristmas, and tbe first Sunday after Epipbany were tbe
next Sunday immediately upon tbat first Sunday. But, in
matter of fact, in five years out of seven, tbere are two Sundays
between Cbristmas Day and tbe first Sunday after tbe Epipbany.
For tbis second Sunday tbe calendar makes no provision ; it is
as if it bad reckoned it as one of tbe six Epiphany Sundays,
and it (tbe Sunday) bad (as it were) by accident got on tbe
wrong side of tbe Epipbany. The consequence is, tbat (January
having only a fixed number of Sundays) in those years in
which tbere is a Sunday too much before tbe Epipbany, there
is no room for tbe whole number of Sundays after Epipbany,
and one Epipbany Sunday has to be suppressed.

J. H. Newman.

18

Art. II. — The Two Lovers of Heaven: ChrysantJius and Daria,
A Drama of Early Christian Rome, From the Spanish of
Calderon. By Denis Florence Mac Carthy, M.R.I.A.*

INTRODUCTION.

IN tlie Teatro escogido de Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca
(1868), at present in course of publication by the Royal Aca-
demy of Madrid, Calderon's dramas, exclusive of the autos
sacramentaleSf which do not form a part of the collection, are
divided into eight classes. The seventh of these comprises
what the editor calls mystical dramas, and those founded on the
Legends or the Lives of Saints. The eighth contains the philo-
sophical or purely ideal dramas. This last division, in which
the editor evidently thinks the genius of Calderon attained its
highest development, at least as far as the secular theatre is con-
cerned, contains but two dramas. The Wonder-working Magi-
ciaji, and Life 's a Dream. The mystical dramas, which form the
seventh division, are more numerous, but of these five are at pre-
sent known to us only by name. Those that remain are Day-break
in Copacabana, 7 he Chains of the Demon, The Devotion of the
Cross, The Purgatory of St. Patrick, The Sibyl of the East, TJie
Virgin of the Sanctuary, and The Two Lovers of Heaven. The
editor, Sr. D. P. De La Escosura, seems to think it necessary to
oflPer some apology for not including The Two Lovers of Heaven
among the philosophical instead of the mystical dramas. He
says: "There is a great analogy and, perhaps, resemblance be-
tween El Magico Prodigioso (The Wonder-working Magician),
and Los dos amantes del cielo (The Two Lovers of Heaven) ;
but in the second, as it seems to us, the purely mystical predo-
minates in such a manner over the philosophical, that it does
not admit of its being classified in the same group as the first
{El Magico Prodigioso), and La Vida es Sueno (Life 's a Dream)".
hitroduccion, p. cxxxvii. note. Whether this distinction is
well founded or not it is unnecessary to determine. It is suffi-
cient for our purpose that it establishes the high position among
the greatest plays of Calderon of the drama which is here pre-
sented to the English reader in the peculiar and always diffi-
cult versification of the original. Whether less philosophical or
more mystical than llie Wonder-working Magician, The Two

* Los dos amantes del cielo : Crisanto y Daria. Comedias de Don Pedro
Calderon de la Barca. For Don Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch. Madrid, 1856,
tomo 3, p. 234.

14 The Two Lovers of Heaven.

Lovers of Heaven possesses a charm of its own in which its
more famous rival seems deficient. In the admirable Essay on
the Geyiius of Calderon (ch. ii. p. 34), with which Archbishop
Trench introduces his spirited analysis of La Vida es Sueno, he
refers to the group of dramas which forms, with one exception,
the seventh and eighth divisions of the classification above re-
ferred to, and pays a just tribute to the superior merits of Los
dos amantes del cielo. After alluding to the dramas, the argu-
ment of which is drawn from the Old Testament, and especially
to The Lochs of Absalom^ which he considers the noblest speci-
men, he continues: "Still more have to do with the heroic
martyrdoms and other legends of Christian antiquity, the vic-
tories of the Cross of Christ over all the fleshly and spiritual
wickednesses of the ancient heathen world. To this theme,
which is one almost undrawn upon in our Elizabethan drama,
— Massinger's Virgin Martyr is the only example I remember, —
he returns continually, and he has elaborated these plays with
peculiar care. Of these The Wonder-working Magician is most
celebrated; but others, as The Joseph of Women, The Two
Lovers of Heaven, quite deserve to be placed on a level, if not
higher than it. A tender pathetic grace is shed over this last,
which gives it a peculiar charm. Then too he has occupied
what one might venture to call the region of sacred mythology,
as in The Sibyl of the Last, in which the profound legends iden-
tifying the Cross of Calvary and the Tree of Life are wrought
up into a poem of surpassing beauty".^ An excellent German
version of Los dos amantes del cielo is to be found in the
second volume of the Spanisches Theater, by Schack, whose im-
portant work on Dramatic Art and Literature in Spain, is still
untranslated into the language of that country, — a singular neg-
lect, when his later and less elaborate work, Poesie und Kunst
der Araber iri Spanien und Sicilien (Berlin, 1865), has already
found an excellent Spanish interpreter in Don Juan Valera, two
volumes of whose Poesia y Arte de los Arabes en Espana y
Sicilia (Madrid, 1868), I was fortunate enough to meet with
during a recent visit to Spain.

The story of SS. Chrysanthus and Daria ( The Two Lovers of
Heaven), whose martyrdom took place at Rome a.d. 284, and
whose festival occurs on the 25th of October, is to be found in
a very abridged form in the Legenda Aurea of Jacobus de
Voragine, c. 152. The fullest account, and that which Calderon

2 It may be added to what Dr. Trench has so well said, that Calderon's
auto, "El arbol del mejor Fruto" (TAe Tree of the. choicest Fruit), is founded
on tlie same sublime theme. It is translated into German by Lorinser, under
the title of " Der Baum der bessern Frucht", Breslau, 1861,

Tlie Two Lovers of Heaven. 15

had evidently before him when writing The Two Lovers of
Heaveiiy is i^iven by Surius in his great work, De Prohatis
Sanctorum Vitis, October, p. 378. This history is referred to hy
Villegas at the conclusion of his own condensed narrative in the
following passage, which I take from the old English version of
his Lives of Saints^ by John Heigham, anno 1630.

*' The Church doth celebrate the feast of SS. Chrisanthus and
Daria, the 25th of October, and their death was in the year of
our Lord God 284, in the raigne of Numerianus, Emperor.
The martyrdom of these saints was written by Verinus and
Armenius, priests of St. Stephen, Pope and Martyr: Metaph-
rastes enlarged it somewhat more. St. Damasus made certain
eloquent verses in praise of these saints, and set them on their
tombe. There is mention of them also in the Rornaine Mar-
tirologe, and in that of Usuardus: as also in the 5. tome of
Surius; in Cardinal Baronius, and Gregory of Turonensis", p.
849.

A different abridgment of the story as given by Surius, is to
be found in Ribadeneyra's Flos Sancioriim(ihe edition before me
being that oi Barcelona^ 1790, t. 3. p. 304). It concludes with
the same list of authorities, which, however, is given with more
precision. The old English translation by W. P. Esq., second
edition: London, 1730, p. 369, gives them thus:

" Surius in his fifth tome, and Cardinal Baronius in his Anno-
tations upon the Martyrologies, and in the second tome of his
Annals, and St. Gregory of" Tours in his £ook of the Glory of
the Martyrs, make mention of the Saints Chrysanthus and Daria".

The following is taken from Caxton's Golden Legende, or
translation of the Legenda Aurea of Jacobus de Voragine. I
have transcribed from the following edition, which is thus
described in the Colophon:

" The legende named in latyn Legenda Aurea, that is to say
in englyshe the golden legende, For lyke as golde passeth all
other metalles,so this boke excedeth all other bokes". " Finyshed
the xxvii daye of August, the yere of our lord M. CCCCC.
XXVII, the xix yere of the regne of our souverayne lord
Kynge Henry the eyght. Imprynted at London in Flete Strete
at the Sygne of the Sonne by Wynkyn de Worde".

In the following extract the spelling is somewhat modernised,
and a few obsolete words are omitted.

" The Life of Saynt Crysant and Saynte Daria".

Fo. cc.lxxxv
*' Here folio weth the lyfe of Saynt Crysaunt, and fyrst of his
name. And of Saynte Daria, and of her name.

" Of Crysaunt is said as growen and multyplyed of God. For

16 The Two Lovers of Heaven.

when his father would have made hym do sacrifyce to the
idols, God gave to hym force and power to contrary and gayn-
say his father, and yield himself to God. Daria is sayd of dare
to give, for she gave her to two thynges. Fyrst will to do evil,
when she had will to draw Crysaunt to sacrifyce to the idols,
And after she gave her to good will .when Crysaunt had con-
verted her to Almighty God.

*' Crysaunt was son of a ryght noble man that was named
Polymne. And when his father saw that his son was taught in
the faith of Jesu Chryst, and that he could not withdraw him
therefrom, and make him do sacrifyce to the idols, he com-
manded that he should be closed in a stronge hold and put to
hym five maidens for to seduce him with blandyshynge and
fayre wordes. And when he had prayed God that he should
not be surmounted with no fleshly desyre, anon these maydens
were so overcome with slepe, that they myght not take neither
meat ne drinke as long as they were there, but as soon as they
were out, they took both meat and drinke. And one Daria, a
noble and wise virgin of the goddess Vesta, arrayed her nobly
with clothes as she had been a goddess, and prayed that she
myght be letten enter in to Crysant and that she would restore
him to the idols and to his father. And when she was come
in, Crysant reproved her of the pride of her vesture. And she
answered that she had not done it for pride but for to draw him
to do sacrifyce to the idols and restore him to his father. And
then Crysant reproved her because she worshipped them as gods.
For they had been in their times evil and sinners. And Daria
answered, the philosophers called the elements by the names of
men. And Crysant said to her, if one worship the earth as a
goddess, and another work and labour the earth as a churl or
ploughman, to whom giveth the earth most? It is plain that
it giveth more to the ploughman than to him that worshippeth
it. And in like wise he said of the sea and of the other ele-
ments. And then Crysant and Daria converted to him, coupled
them together by the grace of the Holy Ghost, and feigned to
be joined by carnal marriage, and converted many others to our
Lord. For Claudian, who had been one of their persecutors,
they converted to the faith of our Lord, with his wife and chil-
dren and many other knights. And after this Crysant was en-
closed in a stinking prison by the commandment of Numerian,
but the stink turned anon into a right sweet odour and savour.
And Daria was brought to the bordel, but a lion that was in the
amphitheatre came and kept the door of the bordel. And then
there was sent thither a man to befoul and corrupt the virgin, but
anon he was taken by the lion, and the lion began to look at

The Two Lovers of Heaven, 17

the virgin like as he demanded what he should do with the
caitiff. And the virgin commanded that he should do him no
hurt but let him go. And anon he was converted and ran
through the city, and began to cry that Daria was a goddess.
And then hunters were sent thither to take the lion. And they
anon fell down at the feet of the virgin and were converted by
her. And then the provost commanded them to make a great
fire within the entrance of the bordel, so that the lion should be
brent with Daria. And the lion considering this thing, felt
dread, and roaring took leave of the virgin, and went whither he
would without hurting of any body. And when the provost
had done to Crysant and Daria many diverse torments, and might
not grieve them, at the last they without compassion were put
in a deep pit, and earth and stones thrown on them. And so
were consecrated martyrs of Christ".

With regard to the exact year in which the martyrdom of
SS. Chrysanthus and Daria took place, it may be mentioned
that in the valuable Vies des Saints^ Paris, 1701 (republished
in 1739), where the whole legend undergoes a very critical ex-
amination, the generally received date, a.d. 284, is considered
erroneous. The reign of the emperor Numerianus (a.d. 283-
284), in which it is alleged to have occurred, lasted but eight
months, during which period no persecution of the Christians is
recorded. The writer in the work just quoted (Adrien Baillet)
conjectures that the martyrdom of these saints took place in
the reign of Valerian, and not later than the month of August,
257, " s' il est vray que le pape Saint Etienne qui mourut alors
avoit donne ordre qu' on recueillit les actes de leur martyre" —
Les Vies des Saints^ Paris, 1739, t. vii. p. 385.

VOL. V.

TO

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW,

IN ORAIEFUL RECOLLECTION OF SOME DELIGHTFUL DAYS SPENT WITH HIM AT

KOME,

This llrama is dedicnUd

BY

DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY.

TO LONGFELLOW.
I.

PENSIVE within the Colosseum's walls
I stood with thee, O Poet of the West!—
The day when each had been a welcome guest
In San Clemente's venerable halls : —

Ah, with what pride my memory now recalls

That hour of hours, that flower of all the rest,
When with thy white beard falling on thy breast —
That noble head, that well might serve as Paul's

In some divinest vision of the saint

By Raffael dreamed, I heard thee mourn the dead —
The martyred host who fearless there, though faint.

Walked the rough road that up to Heaven's gate led :
These were the pictures Calderon loved to paint
In golden hues that here perchance have fled.

YET take the colder copy from my hand.
Not for its own but for The Master's sake, —
Take it, as thou, returning home, wilt take
Erom that divinest soft ItaUan land
Fixed shadows of the Beautiful and Grand

In sunless pictures that the sun doth make —
Reflections that may pleasant memories wake
Of all that Raffael touched, or Angelo planned : —
As these may keep what memory else might lose,
So may this photograph of verse impart
An image, though without the native hues
Of Calderon's fire, and yet with Calderon's art,
Of what Thou lovest through a kindred Muse
That sings in heaven, yet nestles in the heart.

D. F. M. C.
Dublin, August 24, 1869.

THE TWO LOVERS OF HEAVEN.

PERSONS.
NuMERiANUS, Emperor of Eome.
PoLEMius, Chief Senator.
Chrysanthus, his son.
Claudius, cousin of Chrysanthus.
AuEELius, a Roman general.
Cakpophorus, a venerable priest
EscARPiN, servant of Chrysanthus.
Daria,

TN HiA, ^ Priestesses of Diana.
Nisid A,
Chloris,
Two spirits.
Angels.
Soldiers, servants, people^ WM&tc, etc.

Scene : Rome and its environs.

ACT THE FIRST. Since I cannot comprehend,

Cannot pierce the secrets hidden

ScEXE I.— ^ Room in the house of jn this little book that I

Polemius at Rome. Eound by chance with others mingled.

_,, . . /, .,. I its meaning cannot reach,

Chrysanthus is seen seated near a tenting ° . , ^ .

^ , , , . J 7 17 1 Howsoe er my mmd I rivet,

table on which are several books : he ^^ , /. -, , . ,

J. 77 7 .7 J Though to this, and this alone,

ts reading a small volume with deep ^^ , ' , .

^^ . Many a day has now been given.

attention. ^ t ■, ^ . , ,

But I cannot therefore yield,

Chrysanthus. Must not own myself outwitted:—

Ah ! how shallow is my mind ! No ; a studious toil so great

How confined ! and how restricted !» Should not end in aught so little.

Ah ! how drif tless are my words 1 O'er this book my whole life long

And my thoughts themselves how Shall I brood until the riddle

drif tless 1 Is made plain, or till some sage

» The Avhole of the first scene is in asonante verse, the vowels being i, e, as in
"restricted", " dWf tless", "h/ddcn", etc. These vowels, or their equivalents in
sound, will be found pretty accurately represented in the last two syllables of
every alternate line throughout the scene, which ends at p. 25, and where the
verse changes into the full consonant rhyme.

2b

20

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

Simplifies what here is "WTitten.
For which end I '11 read once more
Its beginning. How my instinct
Uses the same word with which
Even the book itself beginneth! —
" In the beginning was the Word" . .♦
If in language plain and simple
Word means speech, how then was it
In the beginning? Since a wliisper
Presupposes power to breathe it,
Proves an earlier existence,
And to that anterior Power
Here the book doth not bear witness.
Then this follows : " And the Word
Was with God"— nay more, 't is writ-
ten,
"And the Word was God: was with

Hun
In the beginning, and by Him then
All created things were made
And without Him naught was fin-
ished": —
Oh ! what mysteries, what wonders.

In this tangled labyrinthine
Maze lie hid ! which I so many
Years have studied, with such mingled
Aid from lore divine and human
Have in vain tried to unriddle ! —
"In the beginning was the Word". —
Yes, but when was this beginning?
Was it when Jove, Neptune, Pluto
Shared the triple zones betwixt them,
When the one took to liimself
Heaven supreme, one hell's abysses,
And the sea the third, to Ceres
Leaving earth, the ever-wingdd
Time to Saturn, fire to Phoebus,
And the air to Jove's great sister?* —
Ko, it could not have been then,
For the fact of their partition
Shows that heaven and earth then

were,
Shows that sea and land existed : —
The beginning then must be
Something more remote and distant :
He who has expressly said

♦ The resemblance between certain parts of Goethe's Faust and The Wonder-
working Magician of Calderon has been frequently alluded to, and has given
rise to a good deal of discussion. In the controversy as to how much the Ger-
man poet was indebted to the Spanish, I do not recollect any reference to The
Two Lovers of Heaven, The following passage, however, both in its spirit
and language, presents a singular likeness to the more elaborate discussion of
the same difficulty in the text. The scene is in Faustus's study. Faustus, as
in the present play, takes up a volume of the New Testament, and thus pro-
ceeds :

"In the beginning was the Word". Alas!
The first Une stops me : how shall I proceed ?
" The word " cannot express the meaning here.
I must translate the passage differently,
If by the spirit I am rightly guided.
Once more, — "In the beginning was the Thought". —
Consider the first line attentively.
Lest hurrying on too fast, you lose the meaning.
Was it then Thought that has created all things?
Can thought make matter? Let us try the line
Once more, — "In the beginning was the Power"—
This will not do — even while I write the phrase,
I feel its faults — oh ! help me, holy Spirit,
I '11 weigh the passage once again, and write
Boldly, — "In the beginning was the Act".

Anster's Faustus, Francfort ed., 1841, p. 63.

* The same line of argument is worked out with wonderful subtlety of thought
and beauty of poetical expression by Calderon, in one of the finest of his Autos
Sacramentales, "The Sacred Parnassus". Autos Sacramentalesy tom. vi. p. 10.

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

n

The beginning, must have hinted
At the primal cause of all things,
At the first and great beginning,
All tilings growing out of Him,
He himself the pre-existent : —
Yes, but then a new beginning
Must we seek for this beginner,
And so on ad infinitum ;
Since if I, on soaring pinion
Seek from facts to rise to causes,
Rising still from where I had risen,
I will find at length there is
No beginning to the beginning,
And the inference that time
Somehow was, ere time existed.
And that that which ne'er begun
Ne'er can end, is plain and simple.
But, my thought, remain not here,
Rest not in those narrow limits.
But rise up with me and dare
Heights that make the brain grow

dizzy : —
And at once to enter there.
Other tilings being pretermitted.
Let us venture where the mind.
As the darkness round it tliickens,
Almost faints as we resume
What this mystic scribe has written.
"And the "Word", this writer says,
"Was made flesh 1" Ah! how can

this be ?
Could the Word that in the beginning
Was with God, was God, was gifted
With such power as to make all tilings.
Could it be made flesh? In pity,
Heavens ! or take from me at once
All the sense that you have given me.
Or at once on me bestow
Some intelligence, some glimmer
Of clear Ught through these dark sha-
dows. —
Deity, unknown and hidden,
God or Word, whate'er thou beest.
Of Thyself the great beginner.
Of Thyself the end, if. Thou
Being Thyself beyond time's sickle.
Still in time the world didst fashion,
If Thou 'rt life, O living spirit,

If Thou 'rt light, my darkened senses
With Thy life and light enkindle! —
(The voices oj two spirits are heard Jroiu
within, one at each side.)
First Voice.
Hear, Chrysanthus . . .

Second Voice.

Listen . . .
Chrysanthus.

Two
Voices, if they are not instincts,
Shadows without soul or body,
Wliich my fancy forms within me,
Are contending in my bosom
Each with 6ach at the same instant.
(Two figures appear onhigh, one clothed
in a dark robe dotted with stars ; the
other in a bright and beautiful mantle :
Chrysanthus does not see them, but in
the following scene ever speaks to
himself)

First Voice.
WTiat this crabbed text here meaneth
By the Word, is plain and simple.
It is Jove to whose great voice
Gods and men obedient listen.

Chrysanthus.
Jove, it must be Jove, by whom
Breath, speech, life itself are given.

Second Voice.
What the holy Gospel means
By the Word, is that great Spirit
Who was in Himself for ever.
First, last, always self-existent.

Chrysanthus.
Self-existent ! first and last !
Reason cannot grasp that dictum.

First Voice.
In the beginning of the world
Jove in heaven his high throne fixed.
Leaving less imperial thrones
To the other gods to fiU them.

Chrysanthus.
Yes, if he could not alone
Rule creation unassisted.

Second Voice.
God was God, long, long before
Earth or heaven's blue vault existed,

22

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

He -was in Himself, ere He
Gave to time its life and mission.

First Voice.
Worship only pay to Jove,
God o'er all our gods uplifted.

Second Voice.
Worship pay to God alone.
He the infinite, the omniscient.

First Voice.
He doth lord the world below.

Second Voice.
He is Lord of Heaven's high kingdom.

First Voice.
Shun the lightnings of his wrath.

Second Voice.
Seek the waves of liis forgiveness.

[ The Figures disappear.
Chrtsanthus.
Oh ! what darkness, what confusion,
In myself I find here pitted
'Gainst each other 1 Spirits twain
Struggle desperately within me,
Spirits twain of good and ill, —
One with gentle impulse wins me
To believe, but, oh ! the other
With opposing force resistless
Drives me back to doubt : Oh ! who
WiU dispel these doubts that fill me?

PoLEMius (withhi).
Yes, Carpophorus must pay
Tor the trouble that this gives me. —

Chrtsanthus.
Though these words by chance were

spoken
As an omen I '11 admit them :
Since Carpophorus (who in Rome
Was the most renowned, most gifted
Master in aU science), now
Flying from the emperor's Hctors,
Through suspect of being a Christian,
In lone deserts wild and dismal
Lives a saintly savage life,
He will give to all my wishes
The solution of these doubts : —
And till then, O restless thinking
Torture me and tease no more !
Let me live for that ! \_Eis voice gra-
dually rises.

EsoAEPiN (within).

Within there
My young master calls.

Claudius (within).

All enter.
(Enter Polemius, Claudius, Aurelius,
and Escarpin).

POLEMIUS.

My Chrysanthus, what aflBicts thee?

Chrtsanthus.
Canst thou have been here, my father?

POLEMIUS.

No, my son, 't was but this instant
That I entered here, alarmed
By the strange and sudden shrillness
Of thy voice ; and though I had
On my hands important business,
Grave and weighty, since to me
Hath the Emperor transmitted
This decree, which bids me search
Through the mountains for the Chris-
tians
Hidden there, and specially
For Carpophorus, their admitted
Chief and teacher, for which cause
I my voice too thus uphfted —
" Yes, Carpophorus must pay
For the trouble that this gives me" —
I left all at hearing thee. —
Why so absent? so bewildered?
What 's the reason?

Chrtsanthus.

Sir, 't is naught.

POLEMIUS.

Whom didst thou address?
Chrysanthus.

Here sitting
I was reading to myself.
And perchance conceived some image
I may have addressed in words
Wliich have from my memory flitted.

POLE3IIUS.

The grave sadness that o'erwhelms thee
Will, unless it be resisted,
Undermine thy understanding,
If thou hast it still ^vitllin thee.

Claudius.
'T is a loud soliloquy,

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

23

'T is a rather audible whisper
That compels one's friends to hasten
Full of fear to his assistance!

Chrysanthus.
Well, excitement may . . .

POLEMIUS.

Ohl cease;
That excuse will scarce acquit thee,
Since when one 's alone, excitement
Is a flame that 's seldom kindled."
I am pleased, well pleased to see thee
To the love of books addicted.
But then application should not
To extremes like this be driven,
Kor should letters alienate thee
From thy country, friends, and kins-
men.

Claudius.
A young man by heaven so favoured,
With such rare endowments gifted.
Blessed with noble birth and valour,
Dowered with genius, rank, and riches,
Can he yield to such enthralment.
Can he make his room a prison,
Can he waste in idle reading
The fair flower of his existence?

POLEMIUS.

Dost thou not remember also
That thou art my son? Bethink thee
That the great Numerianus,
Our good emperor, has given me
The grand government of Rome
As chief senator of the city,
And with that imperial burden
The whole world too — all the kingdoms.
All the provinces subjected
To its varied, vast dominion.
Know'st thou not, from Alexandria,
From my native land, my birth-place.
Where on many a proud escutcheon
My ancestral fame is -written.
That he brought me here, the weight
Of his great crown to bear with him.
And that Rome upon my entry
Gave to me a recognition
That repaid the debt it owed me,
Since the victories were admitted

Which in glorious alternation
By my sword and pen were given her?
Through what vanity, what folly,
Wilt thou not enjoy thy birth-right
As my son and heir, indulging
Solely in these idle whimseys? —

Chrtsanthus.
Sir, the state in which you see me,
This secluded room, this stillness,
Do not spring from want of feeling,
Or indifference to your wishes.
'T is my natural disposition;
For I have no taste to mingle
In the vulgar vain pursuits
Of the courtier crowds ambitious.
And if living to myself here
More of true enjoyment gives me.
Why would you desire me seek for
That which must my joys diminish?
Let this time of sadness pass.
Let these hours of lonely vigil.
Then for fame and its applauses,
Wliich no merit of my own,
But my father's name may bring me.

POLEMIUS.

Would it not, my son, be fitter
That you should enjoy those plaudits
In the fresh and blooming spring-time
Of your life, and to hereafter
Leave the loneliness and vigil?

ESCARPIN.

Let me tell a little story

Which will make the whole thing

simple : —
A bad painter bought a house.
Altogether a bad business.
For the house itself was bad :
He however was quite smitten
With his purchase, and would show it
To a friend of his, keen-witted.
But bad also : when they entered,
The first room was like a kitchen.
Black and bad:— ''This room, you see,

sir,
Now is bad, but just permit me
First to have it whitewashed over.
Then shall my own hand with pictures
Paint the walls from floor to ceilings

24

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

Then you '11 see how bright 't will

glisten". —
To him thus his friend made answer,
Smiling archly: "Yes, 't will glisten.
But if you would paint it first,
And then whitewash o'er the pictures,
The effect would be much better". —
Now 's the time for you, my lord,
To lay on the shining pigment :
On that brilHant ground hereafter
Will the whitewash fall more fitly,
For, in fine, the poorest pauiting
Is improved by time's slow finger.

Chrtsanthus.
Sir, I say, that in obedience
To your precepts, to your wishes,
I will strive from this day forward
So to act, that you will think me
Changed into another being. \_Eodt.

POLEMIUS.

Claudius, my paternal instinct
Makes me fear Chrysanthus' sadness,
Makes we tremble that its issue
May result in total madness.
Since thou art liis friend and kins-
man
Both combined, make out, I pray thee,
What occasions this bemtchment,
To the end that I may break it :
And my promise now I give thee.
That although I should discover
Love's deUrious dream delicious
May be at the root, — most likely
At his age the true suspicion, —
It shall not disturb or grieve me.
Nay, since I am doomed to witness
His dejection, it wiU glad me
To find out that so it springeth.

ESCARPIN.

Once a high priest of Apollo
Had two nephews soft and silly,
More than silly, wretched creatures,
More than wretched, doltish drivels ;
And perceiving from experience
How love smartens up its victims,
He but said to them this only,
"Fall in love at least, ye ninnies". —
Thus, though not in love, sir, now,

I '11 be bound he '11 be so quickly,
Merely to obhge you.

POLEMIUS.

This
Is not quite as I would wish it.
For when anything has happened.
The desire to know it, differs
From the wish it so should happen.

Claudius.
I, my lord, my best assistance
Offer thee to strive and fathom
From what cause can have arisen
Such dejection and such sadness ;
This henceforth shall be my business
To divert him and distract him.

POLEMIUS.

Such precisely are my wishes :
And since now I am forced to go
In obedience to the mission
Sent me by Numerianus,
'Mid the wastes to search for Chris-
tians,
In my absence, Claudius,
Most consoling thoughts 't will give me.
To remember that thou watchest
O'er Chrysanthus.

Claudius.

From this instant
Until thy return, I promise
Not to leave his side.

POLEMIUS.

Aurelius . . .

AURELIUS.

My good lord.

POLEMIUS.

Art sure thou knowest
In this mountain the well-liidden
Cave wherein Carpophorus dwelleth?

Aurelius.
Him I promise to dehver
To thy hands.

POLEMIUS.

Then lead the soldiers
Stealthily and \ni\\ all quickness
To the spot, for all must perish
Wlio are there found liiding with

him: —
For the care with which, ye Heavens I

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

25

I uphold the true religion

Of the gods, their faith and worship,

For the zeal that I exhibit

In thus crushing Christ's new law,

Which I hate \nth every instinct

Of my soul, oh ! grant my guerdon

In the cure of my son's illness !

\_Exeunt Polemius and Aurelius.
Claudius (to Escarphi).
Go and tell my lord Chrysanthus
That I wish he would come with me
Forth to-day for relaxation.

ESCARPIK.

Eelaxation ! just say whither
Are we to go forth to get it ;
Of that comfort I get little—

Claudius.
Outside Eome, Diana's temple
On the Salarian way upHfteth
Its majestic front: the fairest
Of our Roman maids dwell in it :
'T is the custom, as thou knowest.
That the loveliest of Rome's cliildren
Whom patrician blood ennobles,
From their tender years go tliither
To be priestesses of the goddess.
Living there till 't is permitted
They should marry : 't is the centre
Of all charms, the magic circle
Drawn around a land of beauty —
Home of deities — Elysium! —
And as great Diana is
Goddess of the groves, her children
Have to her an altar raised
In the loveHest cool green thicket.
Tliither, when the evening falleth,
And the season is propitious,
Various squadrons of fair nymphs
Hasten : and it is permitted
Gallant youths, unmarried also,
As an escort to go with them.
There this evening will I lead him.

ESCAKPIN.

Well, I doubt that your prescription
Is the best : for fair recluses.
Whose sublune pursuits, restricted
To celestial things, make even
The most innocent thought seem wicked,

Are by no means likely persons
To divert a man afflicted
With this melancholy madness :
Better take him into the thickest
Throng of Rome, there flesh and bone
Goddesses he '11 find, and fitter —

Claudius.
Ah ! you speak but as the vulgar :
Is it not the bliss of blisses
To adore some lovely being
In the ideal, in the distance.
Almost as a vision? —

ESCARPIN.

Yes;
'T is delightful ; I admit it,
But there 's good and better : think
Of the choice that once a simple
Mother gave her son : she said :
"Egg or rasher, wliich will I give

thee?"
And he said : " The rasher, mother,
But .rith the egg upon it, prithee".
" Both are best", so says the proverb.

Claudius.
Well, if tastes did n't sometimes differ.
What a notable mistake
Providence would have committed !
To adore thee, sweetest Cynthia, [aside
Is the height of all my wishes :
As it weU may be, for am I
Worthy, worship even to give her?

\_ExiunL

Scene the Second
A Wood near Rome.
{Enter Nislda and Chloris, the latter
with a lyre).

NiSIDA.

Have you brought the instrument?
Chloris.

Yes.

NiSIDA.

Then give it me, for here
In this tranquil forest sphere.
Where the boughs and blossoms blent,
Ruby blooms and emerald stems,
Round about their radiance fling.
Where the canopy of spring

26

The Two Lovers of Heaven,

Breathes of flowers and gleams with

gems,
Here I wish that air to play,
Which to words that Cynthia wrote
I hare set — a simple note.

Chloris.
And the song, seiiora, say,
What 's the theme?

NiSIDA.

A touching strain, —
How a nightingale in a grove
Singing sweetly of his love.
Sang its pleasure and its pain.
Enter Cynthia (reading in a book).
CvNTraA (to herself).
Whilst each alley here discloses
Youthful nymphs, who as they pass
To Diana's shrine, the grass
Turn to beds of fragrant roses, —
Wliere the interlaced bars
Of these woods their beauty dowers
Seem a verdant sky of flowers —
Seem an azure field of stars.
I shall here recline and read
(While they wander through the grove)
Ovid's Remedy of Love.

NisiDA (to Chloris).
Hear the words and air.
Chloris.

Proceed.
Nisid A (singing).

nightingale, whose sweet exulting
strain

Tells of thy triumphs to the listening

grove.
Thou fill'st my heart with envy and

with pain.
But no ; but no ; for if thou sing'st of

love,
Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears

remain.

Cynthia (advancing).
What a charming air ! To me
What an honour ! From this day

1 may well be vain, as they
May without presumption be,
Who, despite their numerous slips,
Find their words can please the ear,

Wlio their rugged verses hear
Turn to music on thy lips.

NiSIDA.

'T is thine own genius, not my skill.

That produces this effect ;

For, Avithout it, I suspect.

Would my voice sound harsh and

shrill,
And my lute's strings should be broken
With a just and wholesome rigour,
For presuming to disfigure
Wliat thy words so well have spoken.
Whither wert thou wending here ?

Cynthia.
Through the quiet wood proceeding,
I the poet's book was reading.
When there fell upon my ear,
Soft and sweet, thy voice : its power,
Gentle lodestone of my feet.
Brought me to this green retreat —
Led me to tliis lonely bower :
But what wonder, when to listen
To thy sweetly warbled words
Ceased the music of the birds —
Of the founts that gHde and glisten ?
May I hope that, since I came
Thus so opportunely near,
I the gloss may also hear ?

NiSIDA.

I will sing it, though with shame.

(^Sings)
Sweet nightingale, that from some

echoing grot
Singest the raj)ture of thy love aloud,
Singestwithvoice so joyous and so proud,
All unforgetting thou mayst be forgot,
Full of thyself and of thy happy lot !
Ah ! when thou trillest that triumphant

strain
To all the Hstening IjTists of the grove.
Thou fill'st my heart with envy and

with pain !
But no ; but no ; for if thou sing'st of love,
Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears re-
main!

Enter Daria.
Daria.
Ah ! my Nisida, forbear,

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

27

Ah I those words forbear to sing,
Which on zephyr's wanton wing
Thou shouldst waft not on the air.
All is >vrong, how sweet it be,
That the vestal's thoughts reprove :
"What is jealousy ? what is love ?
That they should be sung by thee ?
Think this wood is consecrated
To Diana's service solely,
Not to Venus : it is holy.
Wliy then wouldst thou desecrate it
With tliy songs ? Does 't not amaze
Thee thyself — this strangest thing —
In Diana's grove to smg
H^Tuns of love to Cupid's praise ?
But I need not wonder, no.
That thou 'rt so amused, since I
Here see Cynthia with thee.

Cynthia.

Why
Dost thou say so ?

Dakia.

I say so
For good cause : in books profane
Thou unceasingly dehghtest.
Verse thou readest, verse thou writest,
Of their very vanity vain.
And if thou wouldst have me prove
What I say to thy proceeding.
Tell me, what 's this book thou 'rt
reading?

Cynthia.
'T is I'he Remedy of Love.
Whence thou mayst perceive how weak
Is thy inference, thy deduction
From my studious self-instruction ;
Since the patient who doth seek
Eemedies to cure his pain
Shows by tliis he would groAv better ; —
For the slave who breaks his fetter
Cannot surely love his chain.

NiSIDA.

This, though not put quite so strong,
Was involved in the conclusion
Of my lay : Love's disillusion
Was the burden of my song.

Daria.
Remedies and disillusions,

Seek ye both beneath one star?
Ah ! if so, you are not far
From its pains and its confusions :
For the very fact of pleading
Disillusion, shows that thou
'Neath illusion's yoke doth bow, —
And the patient who is needing
Remedies doth prove that still
The sharp pang he doth endure,
For there 's no one seeks a cure
Ere he feels that he is ill : —
Therefore to this wrong proceeding
Grieved am I to see ye clinging —
Seeking thou thy cure in singing —
Thou thy remedy in reading.

Cynthia.
Casual actions of tliis class
That are done without intention
Of a second end, to mention
Here were out of place : I pass
To another point : There 's no one
Who with genius, or denied it, —
Dowered with mind, but has applied it
Some especial track to go on :
This variety suffices
For its exercise and action,
Just as some by free attraction
Seek the virtues and the vices ; —
This blind instinct, or this duty,
We three share;— 't is thy delight
Nisida to sing, — to write
J/me,— and thine to adore thy beauty.
W^hich of these three occupations
Is the best— or those that need
Skill and labour to succeed.
Or thine own vain contemplations ? —
Have I not, when morning's rays
Gladdened grove and vale and moun-
tain.
Seen thee in the crystal fountain
At thyself enamoured gaze ?
Wherefore, once again returning
To our argument of love.
Thou a greater pang must prove,
If from thy insatiate yearning
I infer a cause: the spell
Lighter falls on one who still.
To herself not feeling ill.

28

TJie Two Lovers of Heaven.

Would in other eyes seem well.

Daria.
Ah ! so far, so far from me
Is the wish as vain as weak —
(Now my virtue doth not speak,
Now but speaks my vanity),
Ah ! so far, I say, my breast
Turns away from things of love,
That the sovereign hand of Jove,
Were it to attempt its best.
Could no greater wonder work,
Than that I, Daria, should
So be changed in mind and mood
As to let within me lurk
Love's minutest, smallest seed:—
Only upon one condition
Could I love, and that fruition
Then would be my pride indeed.

Cynthia.
What may that condition be?

Daria.
When of all mankind, I knew
One who felt a love so true
As to give his life for me.
Then, until my own life fled.
Him, Avith gratitude and pride.
Were I sure that so he died,
I would love though he were dead.

NlSLDA.

Poor reward for love so great
Were that tardy recollection.
Since, it seems, for thy affection
He, till life is o'er, must wait.

Cynthia.
Soars thy vanity so high ?
Thy presumption is above
All behef : be sure, for love
No man will be found to die.

Daria.
Why more words then? love must be
In my case denied by heaven :
Since my love cannot be given
Save to one who '11 die for me.

Cynthia.
Thy ambition is a tiling
So subUme, what can be said? —
Better I resumed and read,
Better, Nisida, thou shouldst sing,

This disdain so strange and strongs
Tliis delusion little heeding.

Nisida.
Yes, do thou resume thy reading,
I too will resume my song.

Daria.
I, that I may not renew
Such reproaches, wliilst you sing.
Whilst you read, in this clear spring
Thoughtfully myself shall view.

Nisida sings.
O nightingale, whose sweet exulting

strain
Tells of thy triumphs to the listening

grove.
Thou fiU'st my heart with envy and

with pain ! —
But no, but no, for if thou sing'st of

love
Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears

remain !
Enter Chrysanthus, Claudius, and

ESCARPIN.

Claudius, to Chrysanthus.
Does not the beauty of tliis wood,
This tranquil wood, delight thee?
Chrysanthus.

Yes:
Here nature's lord doth dower and

bless
The world in most indulgent mood.
Who could believe this greemvood here
For the first time has blessed mine

Claudius.
It is the second Paradise,
Of deities the verdant sphere.

Chrysanthus.
'T is more, this green and grassy glade
Whither our careless steps have strolled,
Por here three objects we behold
Equally fair by distance made.
Of these that chain our wilhng feet,
There yonder where the path is lead-

uig,
One is a lady calmly reading,
One is a lady singing sweet.
And one whose rapt though idle air

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

29

Gives us to understand this truth —
A woman blessed with charms and

youth,
Does quite enough in being fair.

ESCARPIN.

You are quite right in that, I 've seen
Beauties enough of that sort too.

Claudius.
If of the three here given to view,
The choice were thine to choose be-
tween.
Which of them best would suit thy

taste?
Which wouldst thou make thy choice
of, say?

Chrtsanthus.
I do not know : for in one way
They so with equal gifts are graced,
So musical and fair and wise.
That while one captivates the mind,
One works her witcheries with the

wind.
And one, the fairest, charms our eyes.
The one who sings, it seems a duty,
Trusting her sweet voice, to think

sweet.
The one who reads, to deem discreet,
The third, we judge but by her beauty :
And so I fear by act or word
To wrong the three by judging ill,
Of one her charms, of one her skill,
And the inteUigence of the third.
For to choose one does wrong to two.
But if I so presumed to dare . . .

Claudius.
Which would it be ?

Chrysanthus.
The one that 's fair.

ESCAKPIN.

My blessings on your choice and you I
That 's my opinion in the case,
'T is plain at least to my discerning
That in a woman wit and learning
Are nothing to a pretty face.

NiSIDA.

Chloris, quick, take up the lyre,
For a rustling noise I hear
In this shady thicket near :

Yes, I 'm right, I must retire.
S^vift as feet can fly I '11 go.
For these men that here have strayed
Must have heard me while I played.

\_Exeunt Nisida and Chloris.
Cynthia.
One of them I think I know.
Yes, 't is Claudius, as I thought,
Now he has a chance : I 'U see
If he cares to follow me.
Guessing rightly what has brought
Me to-day unto the grove : —
Ah ! if love to grief is leading
Of what use to me is reading
In the Remedie$ of Love"? \_ExiL

Daria (to herself^.
In these bowers by trees o'ergrown.
Here contented I remain.
All companionship is vain,
Save my own sweet thoughts alone: —

Claudius.
Dear Chrysanthus, your election
Was to me both loss and gain,
Gave me pleasure, gave me j)ain: —
It seemed plain to my affection
(Being in love) your choice should fall
On the maid of pensive look,
Not on her who read the book :
But your praise made up for all.
And since each has equal force.
My complaint and gratulation.
Whilst with trembling expectation
I pursue my own love's course,
Try your fortune too, till we
Meet again. [JEJxtV.

Chrysanthus.

Confused I stay,
Without power to go away.
Spirit-bound, my feet not free.
From the instant that on me,
As a sudden beam might dart.
Flashed that form which Phidian art
Could not reach, I 've known no rest. —
Babylon is in my breast —
Troy is burning in my heart.

ESCARPIN.

Strange that I should feel as you,
That one thought should fire us two,

30

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

I too, sir, have lost my senses
Since I saw that lady.

Chkysanthus.

Who,
Madman ! fool! do you speak of? you I
Dare to feel those griefs of mine ! —

ESCARPIN.

No, sir, yours I quite resign,
Would I could my own ones too ! —

Chrysantiius.
Leave me, or my -wrath you '11 rue ;
Hence ! "buffoon : by heaven I swear it,
I will kill you else.

ESCARPIN.

Igo:—
For if you address her, oh !
Could my jealous bosom bear it ? [aside

[JiJxit.
Chrtsaxthus (/o Darid).
If my boldness so may dare it,
I desire to ask, senora,
K thou art this heaven's Aurora,
If the goddess of this fountain,
If the Juno of this mountain.
If of these bright flowers the Flora,
So that I may rightly know
In what style should speak to thee
My hushed voice . . . but pardon me
Now I would not thou said'st so.
Looking at thee now, the glow
Of thy beauty so excelleth.
Every charm so plainly telleth
Thou Diana's self must be ;
Yes, Diana's self is she,
Who within her grove here dwelleth.

Daria.
If, before you spoke to me,
You desired my name to know,
I in your case act not so.
Since I speak, whoe'er you be,
Forced, but most unwillingly
(As to listening heaven is plain)
To reply : — a bootless task
Were it in me, indeed, to ask,
Since, whoe'er you be, my strain
Must be one of proud disdain.
So I pray you, cavaHer,
Leave me in this lonely wood,

Leave me in the solitude
I enjoyed ere you came here.

Chrtsaxthus.
Sweetly, but with tone severe,
Thus my error you reprove —
That of asking in this grove
What your name is : you 're so fair.
That, whatever name you bear,
I must tell you of my love.

Daria.
Love ! a word to me unknown.
Sounds so strangely in my ears,
That my heart nor feels nor hears
Aught of it when it has flown.

Chrtsanthus.
Then there is no rashness shown
In repeating it once more,
Since to hear or to ignore
Suits alike your stoic coldness.

Daria.
Yes, the speech, but not the boldness
Of the speaker I pass o'er,
For this word, whate'er it be,
When it breaks upon my ear.
Quick 't is gone, although I hear.

Chrtsanthus.
You forget it?

Daria.

Instantly.
Chrtsaxthus.
What ! love's sweetest word ! ah, me I
Canst forget the mightiest ray
Death can dart, or heaven display?

Daria.
Yes, for hghtning, entering where
Naught resists, is lost in air.

Chrtsaxthus.
How? what way?

Daria.
Well, in this way :
If two doors in one straight line
Open lie, and hghtning falls,
Then the bolt between the walls
Passes through, and leaves no sign.
So 't is with this word of thine ;
Though love be, which I do n't doubt.
Like heaven's bolt that darts about.
Still two opposite doors I Ve here,

The Tteo Lovers of Heaven.

31

And what enters by one ear
By the other ear goes out.

ClIRYSANTHUS.

If this lightning then darts through
Where no door lies open wide
To let it pass at the other side,
Must not fire and flame ensue ?
This being so, 't is also true
That the fire of love that flics
Into my heart, in flames must rise,
Since without its feast of fire
The fatal flash cannot retire,
That has entered by the eyes.

Daria.
If to what I said but now
You had listened, I believe
You would have preferred to leave
Still unspoken love's vain vow.
This you would yourself allow.

Chrtsanthus.
What then was it?

Dakia.

I do n't know :
Something 't was that typified
My presumption and my pride.

Chrtsanthus.
Let me know it even so.
Daria.
That in me no love could grow
Save for one who first would die
For my love.

Chrtsanthus.

And death being past,
Would he win your love at last ? —

Daria.
Yes, on that he might rely.

Chrtsanthus.
Then I phght my troth that I
Will to that reward aspire, —
A poor offering at the fire
By those beauteous eyes supphed.

Daria.
But as you have not yet died,
Pray do n't follow me, but retire. {^Exit.

Chrtsanthus.
In what bosom, at one moment.
Oh ! ye heavens ! e'er met together^
Such a host of anxious troubles ?
Such a crowd of boding terrors ?
Can I be the same calm student
Who awhile ago here wended ?
To a miracle of beauty.
To a fair face now surrendered,
I scarce know what brought me hither,
I my purpose scarce remember.
What bewitchment, what enchantment,
What strange lethargy, what frenzy
Can have to my heart, those eyes
Such divine delirium sent me ?
What divinity, desirous
That I should not know the endless
Mysteries of the book I carry,
In my path such snares presenteth.
Seeking from these serious studies
To distract me and divert me ?
But what 's this I say ? One passion
Accidentally developed.
Should not be enough, no, no,
From myseK myself to sever.
If the violence of one star
Draws me to a deity's service,
It compels not ; for the planets
Draw, but force not, the affections.
Free is yet my will, my mind too.
Free is still my heart : then let me
Try to solve more noble problems
Than the doubts that love presenteth.
And since Claudius, the new Clytie'
Of the sun, whose golden tresses
Lead him in pursuit, her footsteps
Follows through the wood, my servant
Having happily too departed.

« The metre reverts here again to the asonante form, which is kept up for the
remainder of this act. The vowels here used are e, e, or their equivalents.

' " This Clytie knew, and knew she was undone,
Whose soul was fix'd, and doted on the sun".

Ovid, Metamorphoses, b. iv.

32

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

And since yonder rocks where endeth
The dark wood in savage wildness
Must be the rude rustic shelter
Of the Christians who fled thither,
I '11 approach them to endeavour
To find there Carpophorus : —
He alone, the wise, the learned.
Can my understanding rescue
From its night-mare dreams and
guesses. \^Exit.

Scene III. The extremity of the wood:
wild rocks with the entrance to a cave.
Carpophorus comes forth from the
cave, hut is for a while unseen by Chry-
santhus, who enters.

Chrtsanthus.
What a labyrinthine thicket
Is this place that I have entered !
Nature here takes little trouble.
Letting it be seen how perfect
Is the beauty that arises
Even from nature's careless efforts :
Deep within this darksome grotto
Wliich no sunbeam's light can enter,
I shall penetrate : it seemeth
As if until now it never
Had been trod by human footsteps.
There where yonder marge impendeth
O'er a streamlet that swift-flying
Carries with it the white freshness
Of the snows that from the mountains
Ever in its waves are melted.
Stands almost a skeleton ;
The sole difference it presenteth
To the tree-trunks near it is,
That it moves as well as trembles,
Slow and gaunt, a living corse.
Oh ! thou venerable elder
Who, a reason-gifted tree.
Mid mere natural trees here dwelleth. —

Caepophobus.
Wo ! oh I wo is me !— a Roman I
(^At seeing Chrysanthus, he attempts tojly.)

Chrtsanthus.
Though a Roman, do not dread me :
With no evil end I seek thee.

Carpophorus.
Then what wouldst thou have, thou

gentle
Roman youth ? for thou hast silenced
My first fears even by thy presence.

Chrysanthus.
'T is to ask, what now I ask thee.
Of the rocks that in this desert
Gape for ever open wide
In eternal yawns incessant.
Which is the rough marble tomb
Of a Uving corse interred here ?
Which of these dark caves is that
In whose gloom Carpophorus dwell-
eth?
'T is important I speak with him.

Carpophorus.
Then, regarding not the perils,
I will own it. I myself
Am Carpophorus.

Chrysanthus.

Oh 1 let me,
Father, feel thy arms enfold me.

Carpophorus.
To my heart : for as I press thee.
How, I know not, the mere contact
Brings me back again the freshness
And the greenness of my youth.
Like the vine's embracing tendrils
Twining round an aged tree :
Gallant youth, who art thou ? tell me.

Chrysanthus.
Father, I am called Chrysanthus,
Of Polemius, the first member
Of the Roman senate, son.

Carpophorus.
And thy purpose ?

Chrysanthus.
It distresses
Me to see thee standing thus :
On this bank sit down and rest thee.

Carpophorus.
Kindly thought of ; for, alas I
I a tottering wall resemble :
At the mouth of this my cave
Let us then sit down together. [They
sil down.

Tlie Two Lovers of Heaven,

33

What now wouldst thou have. Sir
Stranger ?

Chrysanthus.
Sir, as long as I remember,
I have felt an inclination
To the love of books and letters.
In my casual studies lately
I a difficulty met with
That I could not solve, and knowing
No one in all Rome more learned
Than thyself (thy reputation
Having Avith tliis truth impressed me)
I have hither come to ask thee
To explain to me this sentence :
For I cannot understand it.
'T is, sir, in this book.

Caepophoeus.
Pray, let me
See it then.

Chetsanthus.
'T is at the beginning ;
Nay, the sentence that perplexes
Me so much is that.

Caepophoeus.

Wliy, these
Are the Holy Gospels ! Heavens !

Chrysanthus.
What ! you kiss the book ?

Caepophoeus.

And press it
To my forehead, thus suggesting
The profound respect with which
I even touch so great a treasure.

Cheysanthus.
Why, what is the book, which I
By mere accident selected ?

Caepophoeus.
'T is the basis, the foundation
Of the Scripture Law.

Chrysanthus.

I tremble
With an unknown horror.

Caepophoeus.

Why?

Cheysanthus.
Deeper now I would not enter
Into the secrets of a book
Which are magic spells, I 'm certain.
VOL. V.

Caepophoeus.
No, not so, but vital truths.

Cheysanthus.
How can that be, when its verses
Open with this line that says
(A beginning surely senseless)
" In the beginning was the Word,
And it was with God": and then it
Adds : tliis Word itself was God ;
Then unto the Word reverting,
Says explicitly that It
" Was made flesh " ?

Caepophoeus.

A truth most certain :
For this first evangelist
Here to us our God presenteth
In a twofold way : the first
As being God, as Man the second.

Cheysanthus.
God and Man combined together ?

Caepophoeus.
Yes, in one eternal Person
Are both natures joined together.

Cheysanthus.
Then, for this is what more presses
On my mind, can that same Word
When it was made flesh, be reckoned
God?

Caepophoeus.
Yes, God and Man is Christ
Crucified for our transgressions.

Cheysanthus.
Pray explain this wondrous problem.

Caepophoeus.
He is God, because He never
Was created : He is the Word,
For, besides. He was engendered
By the Father, from both whom
In eternal due procession
Comes the Holy Ghost, three Persons,
But one God, thrice mystic emblem] —
In the Catholic faith we hold
In one Trinity one God dwelleth.
And that in one God is also
One sole Trinity, ever blessed,
Which confounds not the three Persons,
Nor the single substance severs.
One is tlie person of the Father,
3

34

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

One the Son's, beloved for ever,
One, the third, the Holy Ghost's.
But though three, you must remember
That in the Father, and in the Son,
And in the Holy Ghost . . .

Chrysanthus.

Unheard of
Mysteries these!

Carpophorus.

There 's but one Grod,
Equal in the power exerted.
Equal in the state and glory ;
For . . .

Chrysaitthus.
I listen, but I tremble.

Carpophorus.
The eternal Father is
Limitless, even so unmeasured
And eternal is the Son,
And unmeasured and eternal
Is the Holy Ghost ; but then
Three eternities are not meant here,
Three immensities, no, but One,
Who is limitless and eternal.
For though increate the three.
They are but one Uncreated.
First the Father was not made,
Or created, or engendered ;
Tlien engendered was the Son
By the Father, not created ;
And the Spirit was not made
Or created, or engendered
By the Father or the Son,
But proceeds from both together.
This is God's divinity
Viewed as God alone, let 's enter
On the human aspect.

Chrysanthus.

Stay: '
For so strange, so unexpected
Are the things you say, that I
Need for their due thought some leisure.
Let me my lost breath regain.
For entranced, aroused, suspended,
Spell-bound your strong reasons hold

me.
Is there then but one sole God
In three Persons, one in essence.

One in substance, one in power.
One in will?

Carpophorus.
My son, 't is certain.
(^Enter Aurelius and Soldiers.')
AuRELius to the Soldiers.
Yonder is the secret cavern
Of Carpophorus, at its entrance
See him seated with another
Beading.

A Soldier.
Why delay?
Arrest them.

AuRfiLIUS.

EecoUect Polemius bade us.
When we seized them, to envelope
Each one's face, that so, the Christians,
Their accompUces and fellows.
Should not know or recognize them.

A Soldier.
You 're our prisoners.
[A veil is thrown over the head of each ]
Chrysanthus.i
What ! base wretches . . .
Aurelius.
Gag their mouths.

Chrysanthus.

But then I am . . .
Aurelius.
Come, no words : now tie together
Both their hands beliind their backs.

Chrysanthus.
Why I am . . .

Carpophorus.
Oh ! sacred heaven !
Now my wished-for day has come.

A Voice from Heaven.
No, not yet, my faitliful servant : —
I desire the constancy
Of Chrysanthus may be tested: —
Heed not him, as for thyself,
In this manner I preserve thee.

[ Carpophorus disappears.
(Enter Polemius.)
Polemius.
What has happened?

Aurelius.

Oh ! a wonder

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

35

We Carpophorus arrested,
And with him this other Christian ;
Both we held here bound and fet-
tered,
When from out our hands he vanished.

POLEMIUS.

By some sorcery 't was effected,

For those Christians use enchantments,

And then miracles pretend them.

A Soldier.
See, a crowd of them there flying
To the moimtains.

POLEMIUS.

Intercept them,
And secure the rabble rout ;
This one I shall guard myself here : —
[Exeunt Aurelius and soldiers.
IMiserable wretch ! who art thou ?
Thus that I may know thee better.
Judging from thy face thy crimes,
I unveil thee. Gracious heaven !
My own son !

Chrysanthus.
Oh ! heavens ! my father !

POLEMIUS-

Thou with Christians here detected?
Thou here in their caverns hidden?
Thou a prisoner? Wlierefore, where-
fore,
O immense and mighty Jove,
Are thy angry bolts suspended?

Chrtsanthus.
'T was to solve a certain doubt
Which some books of thine presented,
That I sought Carpophorus,
That I wandered to these deserts,
And . . .

POLEMIUS.

Cease, cease ; for now I see
What has led to this adventure :
Thou unhappily art gifted
With a genius ill-directed;
For I count as vain and foolish
All the lore that lettered leisure
Has in human books e'er written;
But this passion has possessed thee,
And to learn their magic rites
Here, a willing slave, has led thee.

Chrtsanthus.
No, not magic was the knowledge
I came here to learn — far better —
The high mysteries of a faith
Wliich I reverence, while I dread them.

POLEMIUS.

Cease, oh ! cease once more, nor let
Such vile treason find expression
On thy lips. What! thou to praise
them!

Aurelius (uithin).
Yonder wait the two together.

POLEMIUS.

Cover up thy face once more,

That the soldiers, when they enter,

May not know thee, may not know

How my honour is affected

By this act, until I try

Means more powerful to preserve it.

Chrysanthus (aside).
God, whom until now I knew not.
Grant Thy favour, deign to help me :
Grant through suffering and through

sorrow
I may come to know Thee better.
(^Enter Aurelius and Soldiers.)
Aurelius.
Though we searched the whole of the

mountain.
Not one more have we arrested.

POLEMIUS.

Take this prisoner here to Rome,
And be sure that you remember
All of you my strict commandg,
That no hand shall dare divest liim
Of his veil:— \_Chrysanthus is led out
Why, why, O heavens ! [a-ide.

Do I pause, but from my breast here
Tear my bleeding heart ? How act
In so dreadful a dilemma?
If I say who he is, I tarnish
With his guilt my name for ever.
And my loyalty if I 'm silent,
Since he being here transgresses
By that fact alone the edict ;
Shall I punish him ? The offender
Is my son. Shall I free him? He
Is my enemy and a rebel : —

3b

36

The Two Lovprs of Heaven.

If between these two extremes
Some mean lies, I cannot guess it.
As a father I must love him,
And as a judge I must condemn him.
{^Exeunt.

ACT THE SECOND.

Scene I.
A hall in the house of Polemius.
Enter Claudius and Escarpin.
Claudius.
Has he not returned? Can no one
Guess in the remotest manner^
Where he is ?

Escarpin.

Sir, since the day
That you left me with my master
In Diana's grove, and I
Had with that divinest charmer
To leave him, no eye has seen him.
Love alone knows how it mads me.

Claudius.
Of your loyalty I doubt not.

Escarpin.
Loyalty 's a different matter,
'T is not wholly that.

Claudius.
What then?

Escarpin.
Dark suspicions, dismal fancies,
That perhaps to live with her
He lies hid within those gardens.

Claudius.
If I could imagine that,
I, Escarpin, would be gladdened
Rather than depressed.
Escarpin.

I 'm not : —
I am filled, like a full barrel,
With depressions.

Claudius.

And for what?
Escarpin.
Certain wild chimeras haunt me,
Jealousy doth tear my heart.
And despairing love distracts me.

Claudius.

You in love and jealous ?

Escarpin.

I
Jealous and in love. Why marvel?
Am I such a monster?
Claudius.

What!
With Daria?

Escarpin.

'T is no matter
What her name is, or Daria
Or Maria, I would have her
Both subjective and subjunctive,
She verb passive, I verb active.

Claudius.
You to love so rare a beauty ?

Escarpin.
Yes, her beauty, though uncommon,
Would lack something, if it had not
My devotion.

Claudius.

How?, explain: —
Escarpin.
Well, I prove it in this manner: —
Mr. Dullard fell in love
(I do n't tell where all this happened.
Or the time, for of the Dullards
Every age and time give samples)
With a very lovely lady:
At her coach-door as he chattered
One fine evening, he such nonsense
Talked, that one who heard his clat-
ter.
Asked the lady in amazement
If this simpleton's advances
Did not make her doubt her beauty? —
But she quite gallantly answered,
Never until now have I
Felt so proud of my attractions.
For no beauty can be perfect
That all sorts of men do n't flatter.

Claudius.
What a feeble jest !

Escarpin.

This feeble?—

In the whole of this scene the asonante vowels are a-e, or their equivalents.

The Two Lovers of Heaven,

37

Claudius.
Yes, the very type of flatness : —
Cease buffooning, for my uncle
Here is coming.

ESCARPIN.

Of his sadness
Plainly is his face the mirror.

Enter Polemius and servants.
Claudius.
Jupiter doth know the anguish,
My good lord, with which I venture
To approach thee since this happened.

Polemius.
Claudius, as thine own, I 'm sure.
Thou dost feel this great disaster.

Claudius.
I my promise gave thee that
To Chrysanthus . . .

Polemius.

Cease ; I ask thee
Not to proffer these excuses,
Since I do not care to have them.

Claudius.
Then it seems that all thy efforts
Have been useless to unra^^el
The strange mystery of Ms fate?

Polemius.
With these questions do not rack me ;
For, though I would rather not
Give the answer, still the answer
Rises with such ready aptness
To my lips from out my heart.
That I scarcely can withstand it.

Claudius.
Wliy conceal it then from me,
Knowing that thy blood meanders
Through my veins, and that my life
Owns thee as its lord and master? —
Oh ! my lord, confide in me,
Let thy '^tongue speak once the lan-
guage
That thine eyes so oft have spoken.

Polemius.
Let the servants leave the apartment.

EscARPiN (^aside).
Ah ! if beautiful Daria
Would but favour my attachment,
Though I have no house to give her.

Lots of stories I can grant her : —

[^Exeunt Escarpin and servants.
Claudius.
Now, my lord, we are alone.

Polemius.
Listen then ; for though to baffle
Thy desire were my intention,
By my miseries overmastered,
I am forced to tell my secret ;
Not so much have I been granted
License to avow my sufferings,
But I am, as 't were commanded
Thus to break my painful silence,
Doing honestly, though sadly,
Willingly the fact disclosing,
Which by force had been extracted.
Hear it, Claudius : my Chrysanthus,
My Clu-ysanthus is not absent :
In this very house he 's living! —
Would the gods, ah ! me, had rather
Made a tomb and not a prison
Of his present locked apartment I
Which is in this house, within it
Is he prisoned, chained, made captive .
Tliis surprises thee, no wonder :
More surprised thou 'It be hereafter, •
When thou com'st to know the reason
Of a fact so strange and startling.
On that fatal day, when I
Sought the mount and thou the gar-
den.
Him I found where thou didst lose

him.
Near the wood where he had rambled :
He was taken by my soldiers
At the entrance of a cavern,
With Carpophorus: — oh! here
Patience, patience may heaven grant

me! —
It was lucky that they did not
See his face, for thus it happened
That the front of my dishonour
Was not in his face made patent :
Him they captured without knowing
Who he was, it being commanded
That the faces of the prisoners
Should be covered, but ere captured
This effectually was done

38

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

By themselves, they flying backward
With averted faces ; he
Thus was taken, but his partner,
That strange prodigy of Rome —
Man in mind, wild beast in manners,
Doubly thus a prodigy —
Saved himself by power of magic.
Thus Chrysanthus was sole prisoner,
Wliile the Christian crowd, disheart-
ened.
Pled for safety to the mountains
From their grottoes and their cavertis.
These the soldiers quickly followed,
And behind in that abandoned
Savage place remained but two —
Two, oh! think, a son and father. —
One a judge, too, in a cause
Wicked, bad, beyond example,
In a cause that outraged Csesar,
And the gods themselves disparaged.
There with a dehnquent son
Stood I, therefore this should hap-
pen,
That both clemency and rigour
In my heart waged fearful battle —
Clemency in fine had won,
I would have removed the bandage
Trom his eyes and let him fly.
But that instant, ah ! unhappy !
Came the soldiers back, and then
It were but more misery added,
If they knew of my connivance :
All that then my care could manage
To protect him was the secret
Of his name to keep well guarded.
Thus to Rome I brought him prisoner,
Where pretending great exactness,
That his friends should not discover
Where this Christian malefactor
Was imprisoned, to this house.
To my o\vn house, I commanded
That he should be brought ; there hid-
den
And unknown, a few days after
I in his place substituted . . .
Ah ! what will not the untrammelled
Strength of arbitrary power
Dare attempt? what law not trample?

Substituted, I repeat,
For my son a slave, whose strangled.
Headless corse thus paid the debt
Which from me were else exacted.
You will say, "Since fortune thus
Has the debt so happily cancelled.
Why imprison or conceal him?" —
And, thus, full of doubts, I answer
That though it is true I wished not,
Woe is me ! the common scaffold
Should his punishment make public,
I as little wished his hardened
Heart should know my love and pity
Since it did not fear my anger :
Ah ! believe me, Claudius,
'Twixt the chastisement a father
And an executioner gives,
A great difference must be granted :
One hand honours what it striketh.
One disgraces, blights, and blackens.
Soon my rigour ceased, for truly,
In a father's heart it lasteth
Seldom long : but then what wonder.
If the hand that in its anger
Smites his son, in his own breast
Leaves a wound that ever rankles —
I one day his prison entered
With the wish (I o^vn it frankly)
To forgive him, and when I
Thought he would have even thanked

me
For receiving a reproof,
Not severe, too lenient rather.
He began to praise the Christians
With such earnestness and ardour.
In defence of their new law.
That my clemency departed.
And my angrier mood returned.
I his doors and windows fastened.
In the room where he is lying.
Well secured by gyv^es and shackles.
Sparingly his food is given Mm,
Through my hands alone it passes,
For I dare not to another
Trust the care his state demandeth.
You wiU think in this I reached to
The extreme of my disasters —
The fuU limits of misfortune,

The 2\co Lovers of Heaven,

89

But not so, and if you hearken,
You '11 perceive they 're but begin-
ning,
And not ended, as you fancied.
All these strange events so much
Have unnerved liim and unmanned

him,
That, forgetful of liimself,
Of liimself he is regardless.
Nothing to the purpose speaks he.
In Ms incoherent language
Frenzy shows itself, delusion
In his thoughts and in his fancies : —
Many times I 've Hstened to him,
Since so high-strung and abstracted
Is his mind, he takes no note of
Who goes in or who departeth.
Once I heard him deprecating
Some despotic beauty's hardness,
Saying, "Since I die for thee,
Thou thy favour sure wilt grant me".
At another time he said,
"Three in one, oh! how can that be?"
Things which these same Christian

people
In their law hold quite established.
Thus it is my life is troubled,
Lost in doubts, emeshed, and tangled.
If to freedom I restore him,
I have little doubt that, darkened
By the Christian treachery, he
Wni declare himself instanter
Openly a Christian, which
Would to me be such a scandal,
That my blood henceforth were tainted.
And my noble name were branded.
If I leave him here in prison,
So excessive is his sadness.
So extreme his melancholy.
That I fear 't will end in madness.
In a word, I hold, my nephew,
Hold it as a certain axiom,
That these dark magician Christians
Keep him bound by their enchant-
ments ;
Who through hatred of my house,
And my otfice to disparage.
Now revenge themselves on me

Through my only son Chrysanthus.
TeU me, then, what shaU I do ;
But before you give the answer
Which your subtle wit may dictate,
I would with your ovrn eyes have thee
See him first, you 'U then know better
What my urgent need demandeth.
Come, he 's not far off, his quarter
Is adjoining this apartment ;
When you see him, I am certain
You will think it a disaster
Far less evil he should die.
Than that in this cruel manner
He should outrage his own blood.
And my bright escutcheon blacken.
[Z/e operis a door, and Chrysanthus is

seen seated in a chair, with his hands

and feet in irons.']

Claudius.
Thus to see my friend, o'erwhelms me
With a grief I cannot master.

POLEMIUS.

Stay, do not approach him nearer;
For I would not he remarked thee,
I would save him the disgrace
Of being seen by thee thus shackled.

Claudius.
What his misery may dictate
We can hear, nor yet attract him.

Chrysanthus.
Was ever human fate so strange as
mine?
Were unmatched wishes ever mated

so?
Is it not enough to feel one form of
woe.
Without being forced 'neath opposite

forms to pine ?
A triune God's mysterious power di-
vine.
From heaven I ask for life, that I

may know.
From heaven I ask for death, life's
grisly foe,
A fair one's favour in my heart to

shrine :
But how can death and life $> well
agree,

40

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

That- I can ask of heaven to end
their strife,
And grant them both in pitying love
to me?
Yet I will ask, though both with
risks are rife.
Neither shall hinder me, for heaven
must be
The arbiter of death as well as life.

POLEMIUS.

See now if I spoke the truth.

Claudius.
I am utterly distracted.

( The door closes.

POLEMIUS.

Lest perhaps he should perceive us,

Let us move a little further.

Now advise me how to act.

Since you see the grief that racks me.

Claudius.
Though it savours of presumption
To white hairs like yours, to hazard
Words of council, yet at times
Even a young man may impart them :
Well-proportioned punishment
Grave defects oft counteracteth.
But when carried to extremes,
It but irritates and hardens.
Any instrument of music
Of this truth is an example.
Lightly touched, it breathes but sweet-
ness.
Discord, when 't is roughly handled.
'T is not well to send an arrow
To such heights, that in discharging
The strong tension breaks the bow-
string.
Or the bow itself is fractured.
These two simple illustrations
Are sufficiently adapted
To my purpose, of advising
Means of cure both mild and ample.
You must take a middle course.
All extremes must be abandoned.
Gentle but judicious treatment
Is the method for Chrysanthus.
For severer methods end in
Disappointment and disaster.

Take him, then, from out his prison,
Leave him free, unchecked, untram-
melled.
For the danger is an infant
Without strength to hurt or harm him.
Be it that those wretched Christians
Have bewitched him, disenchant him.
Since you have the power ; for Nature
With such careful forethought acteth,
That an antidotal herb
She for every poison planteth.
And if, finally, your wish
Is that he this fatal sadness
Should forget, and wholly change it
To a happier state and gladder.
Get him married : for remember
Nothing is so well adapted
To restrain discursive fancies
As the care and the attachment
Centered in a wife and children ;
Taking care that in this matter
Mere convenience should not weigh
More than his own taste and fancy :
Let him choose his wife himself.
Pleased in that, to rove or ramble
Then will be beyond his power,
Even were he so attracted,
For a happy married lover
Thinks of naught except his rapture.

POLEMIUS.

I with nothing such good counsel
Can repay, except the frankness
Of accepting it, which is
The reward yourself would ask for.
And since I a mean must choose
Between two extremes of action.
From his cell, to-day, my son
Shall go forth, but in a manner
That will leave his seeming freedom
Circumscribed and safely guarded.
Let that hall which looketh over
Great Apollo's beauteous garden
Be made gay by flowing curtains.
Be festooned by flowery garlands ;
Costly robes for him get ready ;
Then invite the loveliest damsels
Rome can boast of, to come hither
To the feasts and to the dances.

The Ta-o Lovers of FJeiven.

41

Bring musicians, and in fine
Let it be proclaimed that any
Woman of illustrious blood
Who from his delusive passions
Can divert him, by her charms
Curing him of all his sadness,
Shall become his wife, how humble
Her estate, her wealth how scanty.
And if this be not sufficient,
I will give a golden talent
Yearly to the leech who cures him
By some happy stroke of practice.

lExit.
Claudius.
Oh ! a father's pitying love,
AVhat will it not do, what marvel
Not attempt for a son's welfare,
For hi's life?

Enter Escarpin.

ESCARPIN.

My lord por Baco !
(That 's the god I like to swear by.
Jolly god of all good rascals)
May I ask you what 's the secret?

Claudius.
You gain little when you ask me
For a secret all may know.
After his mysterious absence
Your young lord 's returned home ill.

ESCARPIN.

In what way ?

Claudius.
That none can fathom,
Since he does not tell his ailment
Save by signs and by his manner.

ESOARPIN.

Then he 's wrong, sir, not to tell it
Clearly : with extreme exactness
Should our griefs, our pains be men-
tioned.
A back tooth a man once maddened,
And a barber came to draw it.
As he sat with jaws expanded,
"Which tooth is it, sir, that pains

you?"
Asked of him the honest barber.
And the patient in affected
Language grandly thus made answer.

"The penultimate"; the dentist
Not being used to such pedantic
Talk as this, with ready forceps
Soon the last of all extracted.
The poor patient to be certain.
With his tongue the spot examined,
And exclaimed, his mouth all bleed-
ing,
"Why, that 's not the right tooth, mas-
ter".
"Is it not the ultimate molar?"
Said the barber quite as grandly.
"Yes" (he answered), "but I said
The penultimate, and I 'd have you
Know, your worship, that it means
Simply that that 's next the farthest".
Thus instructed, he returned
To the attack once more, remarking
"In effect then the bad tooth
Is the one that 's noxt the last one?"
"Yes", he said, "then here it is".
Spoke the barber with great smartness,
Plucking out the tooth that then
Was the last but one ; it happened
From not speaking plain, he lost
Two good teeth, and kept his bad one.

Claudius.
Come and something newer learn
In the stratagem his father
Has arranged to cure the illness
Of Chrysanthus, whom he fancies . . .

ESCARPIN.

What?

Claudius.

Is spell-bound by the Christians
Through the power of their enchant-
ments: —
(Since to-day I cannot see thee, \adde.
Cynthia fair, forgive my absence).

{ExU.
EscARpm.
While these matters thus proceed,
I shall try, let what will happen,
Thee to see, divine Daria : —
At my love, oh ! be not angered,
Since the penalty of beauty
Is to be beloved : then pardon.

lExif,

42

The Two Lovers of Heaven

Scene II.— The Wood.

Enter Daria from the chase with how
and arrows.

Daria.

O stag that swiftly flying

Before my feathered shafts the winds
outvieing,

Impelled by wings, not feet,

If in this green retreat

Here panting thou wouldst die,

And stain with blood the fountain mur-
muring by.

Await another wound, another friend.

That so with quicker speed thy life
may end ;

For to a wretch that stroke a friend
must be

That eases death and sooner sets life
free.

\_She stumbles and Jails near the mouth
of a cave.']

But, bless me, heaven ! I feel

My brain grow hot, my curdling blood
congeal :

A form of lire and snow

I seem at once to turn: tliis sudden
blow.

This stumbling, how I know not, by this
stone.

This horrid mouth in which my grave
is shown.

This cave of many shapes.

Through which the melancholy moun-
tain gapes,

This mountain's self, a vast

Abysmal shadow cast

Suddenly on my heart, as if 't were
meant

To be my rustic pyre, my strange new
monument,

All fill my heart with wonder and with
fear.

What buried mysteries are hidden here

That terrify me so.

And make me tremble 'neath impend-
ing woe.

\_A solemn strain of music is heard from
within.]

Nay more, illusion now doth bear to

me
The sweetest sounds of dulcet har-
mony,
Music and voice combine : —
O soUtude! what phantasms are

thine I
But let me listen to the voice that

blent
Sounds with the music of the instru-
ment.

Music from tvithin the cave.
Song.
Oh ! be the day for ever blest.
And blest be pitying heaven's decree,
That makes the darksome cave to be
Daria's tomb, her place of rest I

Daria.
Blest ! can such evil auguries bless ?
And happy can that strange fate be
That gives this darksome cave to me
As monument of my sad life?
Music.

Yes.
Daria.
Oh ! who before in actual woe
The happier signs of bliss could read?
Will not a fate so rigorous lead
To misery, not to rapture ? —
Music.

No.
Daria.
O fantasy ! unwelcome guest !
How can this cave bring good to me ?

Music.
Itself will tell, when it shall be
Daria's tomb, her place of rest.

Daria.
But then, who gave the stem decree.
That tliis dark cave my bones should
hide?

Music.
Daria, it was he who died.
Who gave his life for love of thee.

Daria.
"Who gave his life for love of me I"
Ah ! me, and can it be in sooth
That gentle noble Roman youth

The Two Lovers of IJeaven.

43

I answered with such cruelty
In this same wood the other day,
Saying that I his love would be
If he would only die for me I
Can he have cast himself away
DowTi this dark cave, and there lies

dead,
Buried within the dread abyss.
Waiting my love, his promised bhss?—
My soul, not now mine own, has fled !

CvNTinA (within).
Forward! forward! tlirough the gloom
Every cave and cavern enter.
Search the dark wood to its centre.
Lest it prove Daria's tomb.

Daria.
Ah ! me, the sense confounding.
Both here and there are opposite voices

sounding.
Here is my name in measured cadence

greeted.
And there in hollow echoes oft repeated.
Would that the latter cries that reach

my ear
Came from my mates in this wild forest

sphere.
In the dread solitude that doth sur-
round me
Their presence would be welcome.
{Enter Cynthia with bow and ar-
rows.']

Cynthia.

Till I found me.
Beauteous Daria, by thy side once

more,
Each mountain nook my search had
well gone o'er.

Daria {aside).
Let me dissemble
The terror and surprise that make me

tremble.
If I have power to feign
Amid the Avild confusion of my brain : —
Following the chase to-day.
Wishing Diana's part in full to play.
So fair the horizon smiled,
I left the wood and entered on the wild,
Led by a wounded deer still on and on.

And further in pursuit I would have

gone.
Nor had my swift career
Even ended here.
But for this mouth that opening in the

rock,
With horrid gape my vain attempt

doth mock,
And stops my further way.

Cynthia.
Until I found thee I was all dismay.
Lest thou some savage beast, some

monstrous foe,
Hadst met.

Daria (aside).
Ah ! would to Jove 't were so !
And that my death in his wild hands

had paid
For future chastisement by fate de-
layed !
But ah ! the wish is vain.
Foreboding horror fills my heart and

brain.
This mystic music borne upon the air
Must surely augur ill.

{Enter Nisida.)

NiSIDA.

Daria fair,
And Cynthia wise, I come to seek ye

two.

Cynthia.
Has any thing occurred or strange or

new?

Nisida.
I scarce can tell it. As I came along,
I heard a man, in a clear voice and

strong.
Proclaiming as he went
Through all the mountain a most

strange event :
Rome hath decreed
Priceless rewards to her whose charms

may lead
Through lawful love and in an open

way
By public wedlock in the light of day,
The son of proud Polemius from the

state

44

Tiie Two Lovers of I haven.

Of gloom in which his mind is sunk of

late.

Cynthia.
And what can be the cause that he is

so?

NiSIDA.

Ah ! that I do not know,
But yonder, leaving the Salarian "Way,
A Roman soldier hither ward doth stray :
He may enlighten us and tell us all.

Cynthia.
Yes, let us know the truth, the stranger
call.

Daria (aside).
Ah ! how distinct the pain
That presses on my heart, and dulls
my wildered brain !

(^Enter Escarpin.)

NiSIDA.

Thou, O thou, whose wandering foot-
steps

These secluded groves have en-
tered . . .9

ESCARPIN.

Thou four hundred times repeated —
Thou and aU the thous, your servant.

Nisid A.
Tell us of the proclamation
Publicly to-day presented
To the gaze of Rome.

ESCARPIN.

I '11 do so ;
For there 's nothing I love better
Than a story {aside, if to tell it
In divine Daria's presence
Does not put me out, for no one,
When the loved one listens, ever
Speaks his best) : Polemius,
Rome's great senator, whose bended
Shoulders, like an Atlas, bear
All the burden of the empire.
By Numerian's self entrusted.
He, this chief of Rome's great senate.
Has a son, by name Chrysanthus,
Who, as rumour goes, at present

Is afflicted by a sadness

So extreme and so excessive,

That 't is thought to be occasioned

By the magic those detested

Christians (who ablior his house.

And his father, who hath pressed

them
Heavily as judge and ruler)
Have against, his life effected,
All through hatred of our gods.
And so great is the dejection
That he feels, there 's nothing yet
Found to rouse him or divert him.
Thus it is Numerianus,
Who is ever well-affected
To his father, hath proclaimed
All through Rome, that whosoever
Is so happy by her beauty,
Or so fortunately clever
By her wit, or by her graces
Is so powerful, as to temper
His affliction, since love conquers
All things by his magic presence,
He will give her (if a noble)
As his wife, and will present her
With a portion far surpassing
All Polemius' self possesses.
Not to speak of what is promised
Him whose skiU may else effect it.
Thus it is that Rome to-day
Laurel wreaths and crowns presenteth
To its most renowned physicians,
To its sages and its elders.
And to wit and grace and beauty
Joyous feasts and courtly revels ;
So that there is not a lady
In all Rome, but tliinks it certain
That the prize is hers already,
Since by all 't will be contested,
Some through vanity, and some
Through a view more interested :
Even the ugly ones, I warrant.
Will be there well represented.
So with this, adieu. {Aside, Oh! fairest
Nymph Daria, since I ventured

9 The asonante in e-e, recommences here, and continues mitil the entry of
Chrysanthus.

The Two Lovers of [leaven.

45

Here to see thee, having seen thee
Now, alas! I must absent me!) [Eiit.

Cynthia.
What strange news !

Nisid A.
There 's not a beauty
But for victory will endeavour
When among Rome's fairest daughters
Such a prize shall be contested.

Cynthia.
Thus by shomng us the value
Thou upon the victory settest,
We may understand that thou
Meanest in the lists to enter.

NiSIDA.

Yes, so far as heaven through music
Its most magic cures effecteth,
Since no witchcraft is so potent
But sweet music may dispel it.
It doth tame the raging wild beast,
Lulls to sleep the poisonous serpent,
And makes evil genii, who
Are revolted spirits — rebels —
Fly in fear, and in this art
I have always been most perfect :
Wrongly would I act to-day.
In not striving for the splendid
Prize which will be mine, when I
See myself the loved and wedded
Wife of the great senator's son,
And the mistress of such treasures.

Cynthia.
Although music is an art
Which so many arts excelleth,
Still in truth 't is but a sound
Which the wanton air disperses.
It the sweet child of the air
In the air itself must perish.
I, who in my studious reading
Have such learned lore collected.
Who in poetry, that art
Which both teacheth and diverteth,
May precedence claim o'er many
Geniuses so prized at present,
Can a surer victory hope for
In the great fight that impendeth,
Since the music of the soul
Is what keeps the mind suspended.

In one item, Nisida,

We two differ : thy incentive

Thy chief motive, is but interest :

Mine is vanity, a determined

Will no other woman shall

Triumph o'er me in this effort,

Since I wish that Rome should see

That the glory, the perfection

Of a woman is her mind.

All her other charms excelling.

Dakia.
Interest and vanity
Are the two things, as you tell me.
That, O Cynthia ! can oblige thee,
That, O Nisida, can compel thee
To attempt this undertaking
By so many risks attended.
But I think you both are wrong.
Since in this case, having heard that
The affliction this man suffers
Christian sorcery hath effected
Through abhorrence of our gods,
By that atheist sect detested,
Neither of these feelings should
Be your motive to attempt it.
I then, who, for this time only
Will believe these waves that tell me —
These bright fountains — that the

beauty
Which so oft they have reflected
Is unequalled, mean to lay it
As an offering in the temple
Of the gods, to show what little
Strength in Christian sorcery dwelleth.

Nisida.
Then 't is openly admitted
That we three the list will enter
For the prize.

Cynthia.
And from this moment
That the rivalry commences.

Nisida.
Voice of song, thy sweet enchantment
On this great occasion lend me,
That through thy soft influence
Rank and riches I may merit. [^Exit.

Cynthia.
Genius, offspring of the soul.

iQ

The Tioo Lovers of Heaven.

Prove this time thou 'rt so descended,
That thy proud ambitious hopes
May the laurel crown be tendered.

[Exit.
Daria.
Beauty, daughter of the gods.
Now thy glorious birth remember :
Make me victress in the fight,
That the gods may live for ever. \^Exit.

Scene III A hall in the house of Po^

lemius, opening at the end upon a gar-
den.
{Enter Pohmius and Claudius.')

POLEMIUS.

Is then everything prepared? —

Claudius.
Everjrthing has been got ready
As you ordered. This apartment
Opening on the garden terrace
Has been draped and covered over
With the costliest silks and velvets.
Leaving certain spaces bare
For the painter's magic pencil.
Where, so cunning is his art,
That it nature's self resembles.
Flowers more fair than in the garden,
Pinks and roses are presented :
But what wonder when the fountains
Still run after to reflect them ? —
All things else have been provided,
Music, dances, gala dresses ;
And for all that, Rome yet knows not
What in truth is here projected ;
'T is a fair Academy,
In whose floral halls assemble
Beauty, wit, and grace, a sight
That we see but very seldom.
All the ladies too of Rome
Have prepared for the contention
With due circumspection, since
As his wife vnW be selected
She who best doth please him ; thus
There are none but will present them
In these gardens, some to see him.
Others to show off themselves here.

POLEMIUS.

Oh, ray Claudius, would to Jove

That all this could dispossess me
Of my dark foreboding fancies.
Of the terrors that oppress me ! —
{Enter Aurelius.)

AURELIUS.

Sir, a very learned physician
Comes to proffer his best service
To Chrysanthus, led by rumour
Of his illness.

POLEMIUS.

Bid him enter.
[^Aurelius retires, and returris imme-
diately with CarpojjhoruSf dviguised
as a physician '\

Carpophokus (aside').
Heaven, that I may do the work
That this day I have attempted.
Grant me strength a little while ;
For I know my death impendeth! —
Mighty lord, thy victor hand, [aloud.
Let me kiss and kneeling press it.

POLEMIUS.

Venerable elder, rise
From the ground ; thy very presence
Gives me joy, a certain instinct
Even at sight of thee doth tell me
Thou alone canst save my son.

Carpophorus.
Heaven but grant the cure be perfect !

POLEMIUS.

Whence, sir, art thou?

Carpophorus.

Sir, from Athens.

POLEMIUS.

'T is a city that excelleth
All the world in knowledge.
Carpophorus.

There
All are teachers, all are learners.
The sole wish to be of use
Has on this occasion led me
From my home. Inform me then
How Chrysanthus is affected-

POLEMIUS.

With an overwhelming sadness ;
Or to speak it more correctly
(Since when we consult a doctor
Even suspicions should be mentioned).

Tlie Two Lovers of Heaven.

He, my son, has been bewitched ; —
Thus it is these Christian perverts
Take revenge through him on me :
In particular an elder
Called Carpophorus, a wizard . . .
May the day soon come for vengeance I

Carpophorus.
May heaven grant it . . . (aside, For

that day
I the martyr's crown may merit).
Where at present is Chrysanthus ?

POLEMIUS.

He is just about to enter: —
You can see him ; all his ailment
In the soul you '11 find is centered.

Carpophorus.
In the soul then I will cure him,
If my skill heaven only blesses.

[^JMusic ts heard from within.
Claudius.
That he 's leaving his apartment
This harmonious strain suggesteth,
Since to counteract his gloom
He by music is attended.
{Enter Chrysanthus richly dressed, pre-
ceded by musicians playing and sing-
ing, and Jollowed by attendants.')

Chrysanthus.
Cease ; my pain, perchance my folly,
Cannot be by song diverted ;
Music is a power exerted
For the cure of melancholy,
Which in truth it but augmenteth.

A Musician.
This your father bade us do.

Chrysanthus.
'T is because he never knew
Pain like that which me tormenteth.
For if he that pang incessant
Felt, he would not wish to cure it,
He would love it and endure it.

POLEMIUS.

Think, my son, that I am present.
And that I am not ambitious
To assume your evil mood,
But to find that it is good.
Chrysanthus.
No, sir, you mistake my wishes.

I would not through you relieve me
Of my care ; my former state
Seemed, though, more to mitigate
What I suffer : why not leave me
Thereto die?

POLEMIUS.

That yet I may.
Pitying your sad condition.
Work your cure : — A great physician
Comes to visit you to-day.

Chrysanthus (aside).
Who do I behold? ah, me!

Carpophorus.
I will speak to him with your leave.

Chrysanthus (aside).
No, my eyes do not deceive,
'T is Carpophorus that I see !
I my pleasure must conceal.

Carpophorus.
Sir, of what do you complain?

Chrysanthus.
Since you come to cure my pain,
I will tell you how I feel.
A great sadness hath been throAvn
O'er my mind and o'er my feelings,
A dark blank whose dim revealings
Make their sombre tints mine own.

Carpophorus.
Can you any cause assign me
Whence this sadness is proceeding ?

Chrysanthus.
From my earliest years to reading
Did my studious tastes incline me.
Something thus acquired doth wake
Doubts, and fears, and hopes, ah me I
That the things I read may be.

Carpophorus.
Then from me this lesson take.
Every mystery how obscure.
Is explained by faith alone ;
All is clear when that is known :
'T is through faith I '11 work your cure.
Since in that your healing lies,
Take it then from me.

Chrysanthus.
From you
I infer all good : that true
Faith I hope which you advise.

48

The Two Lovers of Heaven,

Carpophorus (to Folemius).
Give me leave, sir, to address
Some few words to him alone,
Less reserve will then be shown.

(T/iP two retire to one side.
Have you recognized me ?

Chrysanthus.

Yes,
Every sign shows you are he
Who in my most perilous strait
Fled and left me to my fate.

Carpophorus.
God did that ; and would you see
That it was His own work, say,
K I did not then absent me
Through His means, could I present

me
As your teacher here to-day?

Cfrysanthus.
No.

Carpophorus.
How just His providence !
Since I was preserved, that I
Here might seek you, and more nigh
Give you full intelligence
Leisurely of every doubt
Wliich disturbs you when you read.

Chrysanthus.
Mysteries they are indeed,
Difficult to be made out.

Carpophorus.
To the believer all is plain.

Chrysanthus.
I would believe, what must I do ? —

Carpophorus.
Your intellectual pride subdue.

Chrysanthus.
I will subdue it, since 't is vain.

Carpophorus.
Then the first thing to be done
Is to be baptized.

Chrysanthus.

I bow,
Father, and implore it now.

Carpophorus.
Let us for the present shun
Further notice ; lest suspicion
Should betray what we would smother ;

Every day we '11 see each other,
\NTien I '11 execute my mission :
I, to cure sin's primal scath.
Will at fitting time baptize you,
Taking care to catechise you
In the principles of the faith ;
Only now one admonition
Must I give ; be armed, be ready
For the fight most fierce and steady
Ever fought for man's perdition ;
Oh ! take heed, amid the advances
Of the fair who wish to win you,
'Mid the fires that burn within you,
'Mid lascivious looks and glances,
'Mid such various foes enlisted.
That you are not conquered by them.

Chrysanthus.
Women ! oh ! who dare defy them
By such dread alUes assisted ?

Carpophorus.
He whom God assists.

Chrysanthus.

Be swayed
By my tears, and ask him.

Carpophorus.

You
Must too ask him : for he who
Aids himself, him God doth aid.

POLEMIUS.

What, sir, think you of his case?

Carpophorus.
I have ordered him a bath,
Strong restoring i)owers it hath.
Which liis illness must displace: —

POLEMIUS-

Sir, relying on you then,

I will give you ample wealth.

If you can restore his health.

Carpophorus.
Still I cannot tell you when,
But I shall return and see liim
Frequently ; in fact 'till he
Is from all his ailment free.
From my hand I will not free him.

POLEMIUS.

For your kindness I am grateful.

Crysanthus.
He alone has power to cure me.

The Two Lovers of Heaven-

49

Since he knows what will allure me,
When all other modes are hateful.

[^Exit Carpophorus.
{Enter Escarpin.)

ESCARPIN.

All this garden of dehght
Must be beauty's birth-place sure,
Here the fresh rose doubly pure,
Here the jasmin doubly white,
Learn to-day a newer grace,
Lovelier red, more dazzling snow.

POLEMIUS.

Why?

Escarpin.
Because the world doth show
Naught so fair as this sweet place.
Falsely boasts th' Elysian bower
Peerless beauty, here to-day
More, far more, these groves dis-
play:—
Not a fountain, tree, or flower . . .

POLEMIUS.

WeU?

EscARpm.
But by a nymph more fair
Is surpassed.

POLEMIUS.

Come, Claudius, come,
He will be but dull and dumb,
Shy the proffered bliss to share,
Through the fear and the respect
Which, as son, he owes to me.

Claudius.
He "who gave the advice should see
Also after the effect.
Let us all from this withdraw.

POLEMIUS.

Great results I hope to gather :

Escarpin (ande).
Well, you 're the first pander-father
Ever in my life I saw.

Chrtsanthus.
What, Escarpin, you, as well,
Going to leave me ? Mum for once.

Escarpin.
Silence suits me for the nonce.

Chrtsanthus.
Why?

VOL V.

Escarpin.
A tale in point I '11 tell :
Once a snuffler, by a pirate
Moor was captured, who in some
Way affected to be dumb,
That his ransom at no high rate
Might be purchased : when his owner
Tliis defect perceived, the shuffle
Made him sell this Mr. Snuffle
Very cheaply: to the donor
Of his freedom, through his nose,
Half in snuffle, half in squeak,
Then he said, "Oh! Moor, I speak,
I 'm not dumb as you suppose".
" Fool, to let your folly lead you
So astray", replied the Moor.
" Had I heard you speak, be sure
I for nothing would have freed you".
Thus it is I moderate me
In the use of tongue and cheek,
Lest when you have heard me speak.
Still more cheaply you may rate me.

Chrtsanthus.
You must know the estimation
I have held you in so long.

Escarpin.
Well, my memory is not strong.
It requires consideration
To admit that pleasant fact.

Chrtsanthus.
What of me do people say? —

Escarpin.
Shall I speak it?

Chrtsanthus.

Speak.

Escarpin.

Why, they
Say, my lord, that you are cracked.

Chrtsanthus.
For what reason? Why this blame ?

Escarpin.
Reason, sir, need not be had,
For the wisest man is^mad
If he only gets the name.

Chrtsanthus.
Well, it was not wrongly given,
If they only knew that I
Have consented even to die

50

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

So to reach the wished-for heaven
Of a sovereign beauty's favour.

ESCARPIN.

For a lady's favour you
Have agreed to die?

Chbtsanthus.

'T is true.

EsCARPIIf.

Does not this a certain savour
Of insanity give your sadness ?

Chrtsanthus.
Were I certain as of breath
I could claim it after death,
There was method in my madness.

ESCARPIN.

A brave soldier of the line,
On his death-bed lying ill.
Spoke thus, " Item, 't is my will,
Gallant friends and comrades mine.
That you '11 bear me to my grave.
And although I 've Httle wealth.
Thirty reals to drink my health
Shall you for your kindness have".
Thus the hope as vain must be
After death one's love to wed,
As to drink one's health when dead.
\_Nisida advances from the garden.']

Chrysanthus.
But what maid is this I see
Hither through the garden wending?

ESCARPIN.

If you take a stroll with me
Plenty of her sort you '11 see.

NiSIDA.

One who would effect the ending
Of thy sadness.

Chrtsanthus (aside).

Now comes near thee,
O my heart, thy threatened trial !
Lady, pardon the denial,
But I would nor see nor hear thee.

Nisid A.
Not so ungallantly surely
Wilt thou act, as not to see
One who comes to speak ^vith thee?

Chrtsaxthus.
To see one who thinks so poorly
Of herself, and with such lightness

Owns she comes to speak with me,
Rather would appear to be
Want of sense than of politeness.

NiSIDA.

All discourse is not so slight
That thou need'st decline it so.

Chrtsanthus.
No, I will not see thee, no.
Thus I shut thee from my sight.

Nisid A.
Vainly art thou cold and wise.
Other senses thou shouldst fear,
Since I enter by the ear.
Though thou shut me from the eyes.

Sings.
" The blessed rapture of forgetting
Never doth my heart deserve,
What my memory would preserve
Is the memory I 'm regretting'^.

Chrtsanthus.
That melting voice, that melody
Spell-bound holds th' entranced soul.
Ah! from such divine control
Who his fettered soul could free;? —
Human Siren, leave me, go !
Too well I feel its fatal power.
I faint before it like a flower
By warm-winds wooed in noontide's

glow.
The close-pressed lips the mouth can

lock,
And so repress the vain reply.
The lid can veil th' umviUing eye
From all that may offend and shock, —
Nature doth seem a niggard here,
Unequally her gifts disposing.
For no instinctive means of closing
She gives the unprotected ear.
{Enter Cynthia.)

CirSTBIA.

Since then the ear cannot be closed,
And thou resistance need'st not try,
Listen to the gloss that I
On this sweet conceit composed :
" The blessed rapture of forgetting
Never doth my heart deserve ;
What my memory would preserve
Is the memory I 'm regretting".

The 7 wo Lovers of Heaven.

51

When Nature from the void obscure
Her varied world to life awakes,
All things find use and so endure : —
Thus she a poison never makes
Without its corresponding cure :
Each thing of Nature's careful set-
ting,
Each plant that grows in field or grove
Hath got its opposite floAver or weed ;
Tlie cure is with the pain decreed ;
Thus too is found for feverish love
The blessed rapture of forgetting.
The starry wonders of the night.
The arbiters of fate on high,
Nothing can dim : To see their light
Is easy, but to draw more nigh
The orbs themselves, exceeds our

might.
Thus 't is to know, and only know,
The troubled heart, the trembling

nerve,
To sweet oblivion's blank may owe
Their rest, but, ah ! that cure of woe
Never doth my heart deserve-
Then what imports it that there be,
For all the ills of heart or brain,
A sweet obhvious remedy,
If it, when 't is applied to me,
Fails to cure me of my pain?
Forgetfulness in me doth serve
No useful purpose : But why fret
My heart at this? Do I deserve.
Strange contradiction ! to forget
What my memory would preserve ?
And thus my pain in straits like

these,
Must needs despise the only sure
Remedial means of partial ease —
That is— to perish of the cure
Rather than die of the disease.
Then not in wailing or in fretting.
My love, accept thy fate, but let
This victory o'er myself, to thee
Bring consolation, pride, and glee,
Since what I wish not to forget
Is the memory I''m regretting.

Chrtsanthus.
'T is not through the voice alone
Music breathes its soft enchantment."*
All things that in concord blend
Find in music their one language.
Thou Avith thy delicious sweetness [ To
Nisida"]
Hast my heart at once made captive ; —
Thou with thy melodious verses [ To
Cynthia']
Hast my very soul enraptured.
Ah! how subtly thou dost reason!
Ah ! how tenderly thou chantest !
Thou -with thy artistic skill.
Thou with thy clear understanding.
But what say I? I speak falsely.
For you both are sphinxes rather,
WTio with flattering words seduce me
But to ruin me hereafter : —
Leave me ; go : I cannot listen
To your wiles.

ESCARPIN.

My lord, oh ! hearken
To my song once more.
Cynthia.

Wait! etay!
Nisid A.
Why thus treat with so much harshness
Those who mourn thy deep dejection ?

ESCARPIK.

Oh ! how soon they 'd have an answer
If they asked of me these questions.
I know how to treat such tattle :
Leave them, sir, to me.

Chrtsanthus.

My senses
'Gainst their lures I must keep guarded :
They are crocodiles, but feigning
Human speech, so but to drag me
To my ruin, my destruction.

NlSEDA.

Since my voice will still attract thee,
'T is of little use to fly me.

Cynthia.
Though thou dost thy best to guard
thee.

^0 The metre changes to the asonante in a e for the remainder of this Act.

4b

52

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

While I gloss the words she singeth
To my genius thou must hearken.

Chrtsanthus {aside.)
God vrhom I adore ! since I
Help myself, Thy help, oh ! grant me !

NiSIDA.

"Ah! the joy"

(she becomes confused.
But what is this ?
Icy torpor coldly fastens
On my hands ; the lute drops from me,
And my very breath departeth.

Cynthia.
Since she cannot sing ; then listen
To tliis subtle play of fancy :
"Love, if thou 'rt my god" ....

{she becomes confused.
But how.
What can have my mind so darkened
Wliat my memory so confuses,
What my voice can so embarrass ?

NiSIDA.

I am turned to frost and fire,
I am changed to living marble.

Cynthia.
Frozen over is my breast,
And my heart is cleft and hardened.

Chrysanthus.
Thus to lose your wits, ye two,
What can have so strangely happened?

ESCARPIN.

Being poets and musicians.

Quite accounts, sir, for their absence.

NiSIDA.

Heavens ! beneath the noontide sun
To be left in total darkness !

Cynthia.
In an instant, O ye heavens !
O'er your vault can thick clouds gather ?

Nisid A.
'Neath the contact of my feet
Earth doth tremble, and I stagger.

Cynthia.
Mountains upon mountains seem
On my shoulders to be balanced.

ESCARPIN.

So it always is with those

Who make verses, or who chant them.

Chktsanthu8.
Of the one God whom I worship
These are miracles, are marvels.

{Enter Daria.)
Daria.
Here, Chrysanthus, I have come . . .

NiSIDA.

Stay, Daria.

Cynthia.

Stay, 't is rashness
Here to come, for, full of Avonders,
Full of terrors is this garden.

ESCARPIN.

Do not enter : awful omens
Threat'ning death await thy advent.

NiSIDA.

By my miseries admonished ....

Cynthia.
By my strange misfortune startled . . .

NiSIDA.

Flying from myself, I leave
This green sphere, dismayed, dis-
tracted.

Cynthia.
Without soul or life I fly.
Overwhelmed by this enchantment.

Nisid A.
Oh ! how dreadful !

Cynthia.

Oh ! how awful !

NiSIDA.

Oh ! the horror !

Cynthia.
Oh ! the anguish !
l^Exeunl Cynthia and Nisida.']

ESCARPIN.

Mad with jealousy and rage
Have the tuneful twain departed.

Daria {aside).
Chastisements for due offences
Do not fright me, do not startle,
For if they through arrogance
And ambition sought this garden,
Me the Avorship of the gods
Here has led, and so I 'm guarded
'Gainst all sorceries whatsoever,
'Gainst all forms of Christian magic: —
Art thou then Chrysanthus?

Tlie Two Lover's of Heavev,

53

Chrtsanthus.

Yes.

Daria.

Not confused or troubled, rather

With a certain fear I see thee,

For which I have grounds most ample.

Chrtsanthus.
Why?

Dakia.
Because I thought thou wert
One who in a darksome cavern
Died to show thy love for me.

Chrtsanthus.
I have yet been not so happy
As to have a chance, Daria,
Of thus proving my attachment.

Daria.
Be that so, I 've come to seek thee,
Confident, completely sanguine,
That I have the power to conquer,
I alone, thy pains, thy anguish ;
Though against me thou shouldst use
The Christian armoury — enchant-
ments.

Chrtsanthus.
That thou hast alone the power
To subdue the pains that wrack me,
I admit it ; but in what
Thou hast said of Christian magic
I, Daria, must deny it.
Daria.
How? from what cause else could

happen
The effects I just have witnessed?

Chrtsanthus.
Miracles they are and marvels.

Daria.
Why do they affect not me ?

Chrtsanthus.
'T is because I do not ask them
Against thee ; because from aiding
Not myself, no aid is granted.

Daria.
Then I come here to undo them.

Chrtsanthus.
Most severe will be the battle,
Upon one side their due praises
On the other side thy anger.

Daria.
I would have thee understand
That our gods are sorely damaged
By thy sentiments.

Chrtsanthus.

And I
That those gods are false — mere phan-
toms.

Daria.
Then get ready for the conflict.
For I wiU not lower my standard
Save with victory or death.
Chrtsanthus.
Though thou makest me thy captive,
Thou my firmness wilt not conquer.

Daria.
Then to arms ! I say, to arms, then !

Chrtsanthus.
Though the outposts of the soul,
The weak heart, by thee be captured ;
Not so will the Understanding,
The strong warden who doth guard
it.

Daria.
Thou 'It believe me, if thou 'It love me.

Chrtsanthus.
Thou not me, 'till love attracts thee.

Daria.
That perhaps may be ; for I
Would not give thee this advantage.

Chrtsanthus.
Oh ! that love indeed may lead thee
To a state sO sweet and happy !

Daria.
Oh ! what power will disabuse thee
Of thy ignorance, Chrysanthus?

Chrtsanthus.
Oh ! Avhat pitying power, Daria,
Will the Christian faith impart thee?

ACT THE THIRD.

Scene I. — The Garden of Polemius.

Enter Polemius, Aurelius, Clau-
dius, and EscARPiN.
Polemius.
All my house is in confusion.

54

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

Full of terrors, fuU of horrors;"

Ah ! how true it is a son

Is the source of many sorrows I —

Claudius.
But, my lord, reflect . . .

ESCARPIN.

Consider . . .
Think . . .

POLEMIUS.

Wliy think, when misery follows ? —
Cease : you add to my affliction,
And in no way bring me solace.
Since you see that in his madness
He is now more firm and constant.
Falling sick of new diseases,
Ere he 's well of old disorders :
Since one young and beauteous maiden,
Whom love wished to him to proffer.
Free from every spot and blemish.
Pure and perfect in her fondness,
Is the one whose fatal charms
Give to him such grief and torment.
That each moment he may perish,
That he may expire each moment ;
How then can you hope that I
Now shall list to words of comfort ? —

Claudius.
Why not give this beauteous maiden
To your son to be his consort,
Since you see his inclination?

POLEMIUS.

For this reason : when the project
I proposed, the two made answer,
That before they wed, some problem.
Some dispute that lay between them
Should be settled : this seemed proper :
But when I would know its nature
I could not the cause discover.
From this closeness I infer
That some secret of importance
Lies between them, and that tliis
Is the source of all my sorrows.

AUEBLIUS.

Sir, my loyalty, my duty
Will not let me any longer

Silence keep, too clearly seeing
How the evil has passed onward.
On that day we searched the moun-
tain. . . .

PoLEMius (aside).
Woe is me! could he have known then
All this time it was Chrysanthus?

AURELIUS.

I approaching, where with shoulders
Turned against me stood one figure.
Saw the countenance of another,
And methinks he was . . .

PoLEMius (aside).

Ye gods !
Yes, he saw him ! help I support me I

AUKELIUS.

The same person who came hither
Lately in the garb of a doctor.
Who to-day to cure Chrysanthus
Such unusual treatment orders.
Do you ascertain if he
Is Carpophorus ; let no portent
Fright you, on yourself rely.
And you '11 find that all will prosper.

POLEMIUS.

Thanks, Aurelius, for your warning,
Though 't is somewhat tardily offered.
Whether you are right or wrong,
I to-day will solve the problem.
For the sudden palpitation
Of my heart that beats and throbbeth
'Gainst my breast, doth prove how

true
Are the suspicions that it fostered.
And if so, then Rome will see
Such examples made, such torments.
That one bleeding corse will show
Wounds enough for myriad corses.

\_Exeunt Aurelius and Polemius.

Claudius.
Good Escarpin . . .

Escarpin.
Sir.

Claudius.

I know not

*» The asonante in this scene is generally in o-e, o-o, o-a, which are nearly
all alike in sound. In the second scene the asonante is in a-e, as in "scatter",
etc.

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

55

How to address you in my sorrow.
Do you say that Cynthia was
One of those not over-modest
Beauties who to court Chrysanthus
Hither came, and who (strange por-
tent!)
Had some share of his bewitchment
In the stupor that came on them?

EscARpm.
Yes, sir, and what 's worse, Daria
Was another, thus the torment
That we both endure is equal,
K my case be not the stronger,
Since to love her would be almost
Less an injury than to scorn her.

Claudius.
Well, I will not quarrel with you
On the point (for it were nonsense)
Whether one should feel more keenly
Love or hate, disdain or fondness
Shown to one we love ; enough
'T is to me to know, that prompted
Or by vanity or by interest.
She came hither to hold converse
With him, 't is enough to make me
Lose the love I once felt for her.

ESCARPIN.

Sir, two men, one bald, one squint-eyed,
Met one day . . .

Claudius.
What, on your hobby ?
A new story ?

ESCAKPIN.

To tell stories,
Sir, is not my Jorte, 'i^on honour: —
Though who would n't make a hazard
When the ball is over the pocket? —

Claudius.
Well, I do not care to hear it.

Escarpin.
Ah, you know it then : Another
Let me try : A friar once . . .
Stay though, I have quite forgotten
There are no friars yet In Kome :
Well, once more : a fool . . .

Claudius.

A blockhead
Like yourself, say : cease.

Escakpin.

Ah, sir,
My poor tale do n't cruelly shorten.
Wliile the sacristan was blowing . . .

Claudius.
Why, by heaven ! I '11 kill you, donkey.

ESCARPIN.

Hear me first, and kill me after.

Claudius.
Was there ever known such folly
As to think 'mid cares so grave
I could listen to such nonsense ? (exit.
[jEn/er Chrysanthus and Daria, at op-
posite sides.']

Daria (to herself).
O ye gods, since my intention
Was in empty air to scatter
All these prodigies and wonders
Worked in favour of Chrysanthus
By the Christians' sorcery, why,
Having you for my copartners.
Do I not achieve a victory
Which my beauty might make facile ?

Chrysanthus.
O ye heavens, since my ambition
Was to melt Daria's hardness,
And to bring her to the knowledge
Of one God who works these marvels,
Why, so pure is my intention,
Why, so zealous and so sanguine.
Does not easy victory follow,
Due even to my natural talent?

Daria (aside).
He is here, and though already
Even to see him, to have parley
With him, Ughts a living fire
Li my breast, which burns yet glads

me,
Yet he must confess my gods,
Ere I own that I am vanquished.

Chrysanthus (aside).
She comes hither, and though I
By her beauty am distracted.
Still she must become a Christian
Ere a wife's dear name I grant her.

Daria (aside).
Venus, to my beauty give
Power to make of him my vassal.

56

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

Cheysanthub (aside).
Grant, O Lord, unto my tongue
Words that may dispel her darkness.

Daria (aside).
To come near him makes me tremble.

Chkysanthus (aside).
To address her, quite unmans me : —
Not in vain, O fair Daria, (aloud.

Does the verdure of this garden,
When it sees thee pass, grow young
As beneath spring's dewy spangles;
Not in vain, since though 't is evening,
Thou a new Aurora dazzleth.
That the birds in public concert
Hail thee with a joyous anthem ;
Not in vain the streams and fountains,
As their crystal current passes.
Keep melodious time and tune
With the bent boughs of the alders ;
The light movement of the zephyrs
As athwart the flowers they 're wafted,
Bends their heads to see thee coming,
Then uplifts them to look after.

Daria.
These fine flatteries, these fine phrases
Make me doubt of thee, Chrysanthus.
He who gilds the false so well.
Must mere truth find unattractive.

Chrysanthus.
Hast thou then such little faith
In my love ?

Daria.
Thou needst not marvel.
Chrysanthus.
Why?

Daria.
Because no more of faith
Doth a love deserve that acteth
Such deceptions.

Chrysanthus.
What deceptions ?
Daria.
Are not those enough, Chrysanthus,
That thou usest to convince me
Of thy love, of thy attachment.
When my first and well-known wishes

Thou i)erver8ely disregardest ?

Is it possible a man

So distinguished for his talents,

So illustrious in his blood,

Such a favourite from his manners,

Would desire to ruin all

By an error so unhappy.

And for some delusive dream

See liimself abhorred and branded ?

Chrysanthus.
I nor talents, manners, blood,
Would be worthy of, if madly
I denied a Great First Cause,
Who made all things, mind and mat-
ter.
Time, heaven, earth, air, water, fire,
Sun, moon, stars, fish, birds, beasts,
Man then.

Daria,
Did not Jupiter, then, make heaven.
Where we hear his thunders rattle ?

Chrysanthus.
No, for if he could have made
Heaven, he had no need to grasp it
For himself at the partition.
When to Neptune's rule he granted
The great sea, and heU to Pluto ; —
Then they were ere all this happened."

Daria.
Is not Ceres the earth, then ?
Chrysanthus.

No.
Since she lets the plough and harrow
Tear its bosom, and a goddess
Would not have her frame so mangled.

Daria.
Tell me, is not Saturn time ?

Chrysanthus.
He is not, though he dispatcheth
All the children he gives birth to ;
To a god no crimes should happen,

Daria.
Is not Venus the air ?

Chrysanthus.

Much less.

Since they say that she was fasliioned

^'i See note referring to the auto, "The Sacred Parnassus", Act 1, p. 21.

The Tu'O Lovers of Heaven.

57

From the foam, and foam, we know,
Cannot from the air be gathered.

Daria.
Is not Neptune the sea ?

Chrysanthus.
As nttle,
For inconstancy were god's mark then.

Daria.
Is not the sun Apollo ?

Chrysanthus.

No.
Daria.
The moon Diana ?

Chrysanthus.
All mere babble.
They are but two shining orbs
Placed in heaven, and there comman-
ded
To obey fixed laws of motion
Wliich thy mind need not embarrass.
How can these be called the gods —
Gods adulterers and assassins !
Gods who pride themselves for thefts.
And a thousand forms of badness,
If the ideas God and Sin
Are opposed as light to darkness ? —
With another argument
I would further sift the matter.
Let then Jupiter be a god,
In his cicn sphere lord and master :
Let Apollo be one also :
Should Jove wish to hurl in anger
Down his red bolts on the world.
And Apollo would not grant them,
He the so-called god of fire;
From the independent action
Of the two does it not follow
One of them must be the vanquished ?
Then they cannot be called gods,
Gods whose wills are counteracted.
One is God whom I adore . . .
And He is, in fine, that martyr
Wlio has died for love of thee ! —
Since then, thou hast said, so adverse
Was thy proud disdain, one only
Thou couldst love with love as ardent
Almost as his own, was he
Who would ...

Daria.

Oh ! proceed no farther,
Hold, delay thee, listen, stay,
Do not drive my brain distracted,
Nor confound my wildered senses.
Nor convulse my speech, my lan-
guage.
Since at hearing such a mystery
All my strength appears departed.
I do not desire to argue
With thee, for, I own it frankly,
I am but an ignorant woman,
Little skilled in such deep matters.
In this law have I been born.
In it have been bred : the chances
Are that in it I shall die :
And since change in me can hardly
Be expected, for I never
At thy bidding will disparage
My own gods, here stay in peace.
Never do I wish to hearken
To thy words again, or see thee,
For even falsehood, when apparelled
In the garb of truth, exerteth
Too much power to be disregarded.

lExit.
Chrysanthus.
Stay, I cannot live without thee.
Or, if thou wilt go, the magnet
Of thine eye must make me follow.
All my happiness is anchored
There. Eeturn, Daria. . . .
{Enter Carpophorus.)

Carpophorus.

Stay.
Follow not her steps till after
You have heard me speak.

Chrysanthus.

What would you ?

Carpophorus.
I would reprimand your lapses,
Seeing how ungratefully
You, my son, towards me have acted.

Chrysanthus.
I ungrateful!

Carpophorus.
You ungrateful,
Yes, because you have abandoned,

58

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

Hare forgotten God's assistance,
So effectual and so ample.

Chrtsanthus.
Do not say I have forgotten
Or abandoned it, wise master.
Since my memory to preserve it
Is as 't were a diamond tablet.

Carpophorus.
Think you that I can beheve you.
If when having in this garment
Sought you out to train and teach you,
In the Christian faith and practice,
Until deep theology
You most learnedly have mastered ;
If, when having seen your progress.
Your attention and exactness,
I in secret gave you baptism.
Which its mark indelibly stampeth ;
You so great a good forgetting,
You for such a bliss so thankless.
With such shameful ease surrender
To this love-dream, this attachment ?
Did it strike you not, Chrysanthus,
To that calling how contrasted
Are delights, deUrious tumults.
Are love's transports and its raptures,
WTiich you should resist ? Recall too.
Can you not ? the aid heaven granted
When you helped yourself, and prayed

for
Its assistance : were you not guarded
By it when a sweet voice sung,
When a keen wit glowed and argued.
When the instrument was silenced.
When the tongue was forced to stam-
mer.
Until now, when with free will
You succumb to the enchantment
Of one fair and fatal face,
Wliich hath done to you such damage
That 't will work your final ruin,
If the trial longer lasteth? —

Chrysanthus.
Oh ! my father, oh ! my teacher.
Hear me, for although the charges
Brought against me thus are heavy,
Still I to myself have ample
Reasons for my exculpation.

Since you taught me, you, dear mas-
ter,
That the union of two wills
In our law is well established.
Be not then displeased, Carpopho-
rus . . .
(Aside.) Heavens ! what have I said ?
My father !

(Entrr Polemius.)
PoLEMius (aside).
Ah ! this name removes all doubt.
But I must restrain my anger,
And dissemble for the present.
If such patience Jove shall grant

me: —
How are you to-day, Chrysanthus ?

{aloud.
Chrysanthus.
Sir, my love and duty cast them
Humbly at your feet: {aside, Thank

heaven.
That he heard me not, this calmness
Cannot be assumed).

POLEMIUS.

I value
More than I can say your manner
Towards my son, so kind, so zealous
For liis health.

Carpophorus.
Heaven knows, much farther
Even than this is my ambition.
Sir, to serve you : but the passions
Of Chrysanthus are so strong,
That my skill they overmaster.

POLEMIUS.

How?

Carpophorus.
Because the means of cure
He perversely counteracteth.

Chrysanthus.
Ah ! sir, no, I 've left undone
Nothing that you have commanded.

Carpophorus.
No, not so, his greatest peril
He has rashly disregarded.

POLEiUUS.

I implicitly can trust you,

Of whose courage, of whose talents

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

59

I have been so well informed,
That I mean at once to grant them
The reward they so well merit.

Carpophorus.
Sir, may heaven preserve and guard
you.

POLEMIUS.

Come with me; for I desire
That you should from my apartments
Choose what best doth please you ; I
Do not doubt you 'U find an ample
Guerdon for your care.

Carpophorus.

To be
Honoured in this public manner
Is my best reward.

PoLEMius (aside).

The world
Shall this day a dread example
Of my justice see, transcending
All recorded in time's annals.
{Exeunt Polemius and Carpophorus.)

Chrtsanthus.
Better than I could have hoped for
Has it happened, since my father
Shows by his unruflfled face
That his name he has not gathered.
What more evidence can I wish for
Than to see the gracious manner
In which he conducts him whither
His reward he means to grant him ?
Oh ! that love would do as much
In the fears and doubts that rack me,
Since I cannot wed Daria,
And be faithful to Christ's banner.

{En'er Daria.)

Daria (asiWe).
Tyrant question which methought
Timely flight alone could answer,
Once again, against my will
To his presence thou dost drag me.

Chrysanthus Qaside).
But she comes again : let sorrow

Be awhile replaced by gladness: —
Ah ! Daria, so resolved" (aloud,

Not to see or hear me more,
Art thou here ?

Daria.
Deep pondering o'er,
As the question I revolved,
I would have the mystery solved :
'T is for that I 'm here, then see
It is not to speak with thee.

Chrysanthus.
Speak, what doubt wouldst thou de-
cide?

Daria.
Thou hast said a God once died
Through His boundless love to me :
Now to bring thee to conviction
Let me this one strong point try . . .

Chrysanthus.
What?

Daria.
To be a God, and die,
Doth imply a contradiction.
And if thou dost still deny
To my god the name divine.
And reject him in thy scorn
For beginning, I opine.
If thy God could die, that mine
Might as easily be born.

Chrysanthus.
Thou dost argue with great skill,
But thou must remember still,
That He hath, this God of mine,
Human nature and divine,
And that it has been His will
As it were His power to hide —
God made man — man deified—
When this sinful world He trod.
Since He was not born as God,
And it was as man He died.

Daria.
Does it not more greatness prove.
As among the beauteous stars.

'3 The asonante changes here into five-lined stanzas in ordinary rhyme.
Three lines rhyme one way and two the other. Poems in this metre are called
in Spanish Versos de arte mayor, from the greater skill supposed to be required
for their composition.

60

The Tivo Lovers of Heaven.

That one deity should be Mars,
And another should be Jove,
Than this blending God above
With weak man below? To thee
Does not the twin deity
Of two gods more power display,
Than if in some mystic way
God and man conjoined could be ?

Chrysanthus.
No, I would infer this rather,
If the god-head were not one,
Each a separate course could run :
But the uncreated Father,
But the sole-begotten Son,
But the Holy Spirit who
Ever issues from the two,
Being one sole God, must be
One in power and dignity : —
Until thou dost hold this true,
Tin thy creed is that the Son
Was made man, I cannot hear thee,
Cannot see thee or come near thee.
Thee and death at once to shun.

Daria.
Stay, my love may so be won,
And if thou wouldst wish this done,
Oh ! explain this mystery !
What am I to do, ah ! me.
That my love may thus be tried?

Carpophorus {within).
Seek, O soul ! seek Him who died
Solely for the love of thee.

Chrtsanthus.
All that I could have replied
Has been said thus suddenly
By this voice that, sounding near,
Strikes upon my startled ear
Like the summons of my death.

Daria.
Ah ! what frost congeals my breath,
ChilUng me with icy fear.
As I hear its sad lament :
Whence did sound the voice ?

[^Enter Polemius and soldiers.

POLEMIUP.

From here :
'T is, Chrysanthus, my intent
Thus to place before thy sight-

Thus to show thee in what light
I regard thy restoration
Back to health, the estimation
In which I regard the wight
Who so sldlfully hath cured thee.
A surprise I have procured thee,
And for him a fit reward :
Raise the curtain, draw the cord,
See, 't is death ! If this . . .
(A curtain is drawn aside, and Carpo-
phorus is seen beheaded, the head being
at some distance from the body.)
Chrysakthus.

I freeze ! —
Polemius.
Is the cure of thy disease,
Wliat must that disease have been !
'T is Carpophorus. . . .
Daria.

Dread scene!
Polemius.
He who with false science came
Not to give thee life indeed,
But that he himself should bleed : —
That thy fate be not the same.
Of his mournful end take heed :
Do not thou that dost survive,
My revenge still further drive,
Since the sentence seems misread —
The phj^sician to be dead.
And the invalid alive. —

Chrysajtthus.
It were cruelty extreme.
It were some delirious dream.
That could see in this the cure
Of the ill that I endure.
Polemius.
It to him did pity seem.
Seemed the sole reward that he
Asked or would receive from me :
Since when dying, he but cried . .
The Head of Carpophorus.
Seek, O soul ! seek Him who died
Solely for the love of thee ! —

Chrysaxthus.
What a portent !

Daria.
What a wonder I

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

()I

ESCARPIN.

Jove ! my own head splits asun-
der! —

POLEMIUS.

Even though severed, in it dwells
Still the force of magic spells.

Chrysanthus.
Sir, it were a fatal blunder
To be blind to this appalling
Tragedy you Avrong by calling
The result of spells — no spells
Are such signs, but miracles
Outside man's experience falling.
He came here because he yearned
With his pure and holy breath
To give life, and so found death.
'T is a lesson that he learned —
'T is a recompense he earned —
Seeing what his Lord could do,
Being to his Master true :
Kill me also : He had one
Bright example : shall / shun
Death in turn when I have two ?

POLEMIUS.

I, in listening to thy raving,

Scarce can calm the wrath thou 'rt

braving.
Dead ere now thou sure wouldst lie,
Didst thou not desire to die.
Chrysanthus.
Father, if the death I 'm craving . . .

POLEMIUS.

Speak not thus : no son I know.

Chrysanthus.
Not to thee I spoke, for though
Humanly thou hast that name,
Thou hast forfeited thy claim :
I that sweet address now owe
Unto him whose holier aim
Kindled in my heart a flame
Which shall there for ever glow.
Woke within me a new soul
That thou 'rt powerless to control —
Generated a new life
Safe against thy hand or knife :
Him a father's name I give
Who indeed has made me live.
Not to him whose tyrant will

Only has the power to kill.
Therefore on this dear one dead,
On this pallid corse laid low,
Lying bathed in blood and snow,
By this lifeless lodestone led,
I such bitter tears shall shed,
That my grief . . .

POLEMIUS.

Ho ! instantly
Tear him from it.

Daria (aside).

Thus to be
By such prodigies surrounded,
Leaves me dazzled and confounded.

POLEMIUS.

Hide the corse.

Escarpin.

Leave that to me
{The head and body are concealed).

POLEMIUS.

Bear Chrysanthus now away
To a tower of darksome gloom
Which shall be his living tomb.

Chrysanthus.
That I hear with scant dismay.
Since the memory of this day
With me there will ever dwell.
Fair Daria, fare thee well.
And since now thou knowest who
Died for love of thee, renew
The sweet vow that in the dell
Once thou gav'st me, Hivi to love
After death who so loved thee.

POLEMIUS.

Take him hence.

Daria.

Ah! suddenly
Light descendeth from above
Which my darkness doth remove.
Now thy shadowed truth I see,
Now the Christian's faith profess.
Let thy bloody lictors press
Round me, racking every limb.
Let me only die with him,
Since I openly confess
That the gods are false whom we
Long have worshipped, that I trust
Christ alone — the True — the Just —

Q2

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

The One God, whose power I see,
And who died for love of me.

POLEMIUS.

Take her too, since she in this
Boasts how dark, how blind she is.

Daria.
Oh ! command that I should dwell
With Chrysanthus in his cell.
In our hearts we long are mated,
And ere now had celebrated
Our espousals fond and true,
If the One same God we knew.

Chrysanthus.
This sole bliss alone I waited
To die happy.

POLEMIUS.

How my heart
Is with wrath and rage possest ! —
Hold thy hand, present it not,
For I would not have thy lot
By the least indulgence blest;
Nor do thou, if thy wild brain
Such a desperate course maintain,
Hope to have her as thy bride —
Trophy of our gods denied : —
Separate them.

Chrysanthus.

O the pain !
Daria.
O the woe ! unhappy me !

POLEMirS.

Take them hence, and let them be
(Since my justice now at least
Makes amends for mercy past)
Punished so effectually
That their wishes, their desires.
What each wanteth or requires,
Shall be thwarted or denied.
That between opposing fires
They for ever shall be tried : —
Since Chrysanthus' former mood
Only wished the solitude
Whence such sorrows have arisen,
Take him to the public prison,
And be sure in fire and food
That he shall not be preferred
To the meanest culprit there.
Naked, abject, let him fare

As the lowest of the herd :
There, while chains his body gird,
Let him grovel and so die : —
For Daria, too, hard by
Is another public place.
Shameful home of worse disgrace.
Where imprisoned let her lie :
If, relying on the powers
Of her beauty, her vain pride
Dreamed of being my son's bride,
Never shall she see that hour.
Soon shall fade her virgin flower,
Soon be lost her nymph-like grace —
Roses shall desert her face,
Waving gold her silken hair.
She who left Diana's care
Must with Venus find her place :
'Mong vile women let her dwell,
Vile, abandoned even as they.

EscARPiN {aside).
There my love shaU have full play.
O rare judge, you sentence well !

Chrysanthus.
Sir, if thou must have a fell
Vengeance for this act of mine,
Take my life, for it is thine ;
But my honour do not dare
To insult through one so fair.

Daria.
Wreak thy rage, if faith divine
So offends thee, upon me.
Not upon my chastity : —
'T is a virtue purer far
Than the light of sun or star.
And has ne'er offended thee.

POLEMIUS.

Take them hence.

Chrysanthus.

Ah me, to find
Words, that might affect thy mind !
Melt thy heart I

Daria.

Ah, me, who e'er
Saw a martyrdom so rare ? —

POLEMIUS.

Wouldst thou then the torment fly.

Thou hast only to deny

Christ.

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

63

Chrtsanthus.
The Saviour of mankind ?
This I cannot do.

Daria

Nor I.

POLEMIUS.

Let them instantly from this
To their punishment be led. —

ESCARPIN.

Do not budge from what you said.
It is excellent as it is.

Chrtsanthus.
Woe is me ! but wherefore fear,
O beloved betrothed mine ? —
Trust in God, that power divine
For whose sake we suffer here : —
He will aid us and be near : —

Daria.
In that confidence I live,
For if He His life could give
For my love, and me select,
He His honour will protect.

Chrtsanthus.
These sad tears He will forgive.
Ne'er to see thee more ! thus driven. . .

Daria.
Cease, my heart like thine is riven,
But again we '11 see each other.
When in heaven we '11 be, my brother.
The two lover saints of Heaven.

(They are led out.

Scene 11.— The hall of a bordel.

Soldiers conducting Daria.

A Soldier.

Here Polemius bade us leave her,

The great senator of Rome.i'* (exeunt.)

Daria.
As the noonday might be left
In the midnight's dusky robe,
As the light amid the darkness.
As 'mid clouds the solar globe :
But although the shades and sha-
dows.

Through the vapours of Heaven's dome.
Strive with villainous presumption
Light and splendour to enfold.
Though they may conceal the lustre,
Still they cannot stain it, no.
And it is a consolation
This to know, that even the gold,
How so many be its carats.
How so rich may be the lode,
Is not certain of its value
'Till the crucible hath told.
Ah ! from one extreme to another
Does my strange existence go :
Yesterday in highest honour.
And to-day so poor and low 1
Still, if I am self-reliant.
Need I fear an alien foe ?
But, ah me, how insufficient
Is my self-defence alone ! —
O new God to whom I offer
Life and soul, whom I adore, '
In Thy confidence I rest me.
Help me, Lord, I ask no more.
(Enter Escarpin.)

ESCARPIN.

Where I wonder can she be ?

But I need not farther go.

Here she is :— At length, Daria,

My good lady, and soforth,

Now has come the happy moment,

When in open market sold,

All thy charms are for the buyer.

Who can spend a little gold ;

And since happily love's tariff

Is not an excessive toll.

Here I am, and so, Daria,

Let these clasping arms enfold . . .

Daria.
Do not Thou desert Thy handmaid
In this dreadful hour, Lord ! —
Cries of people within.
A Voice (within).
Oh, the lion! oh, the lion!

Another Voice (within).
Ho 1 take care of the lion, ho I

^* The asonante is single here, consisting only of the long accented o, as in
"Rome", "globe", "dome", etc.

(54

The Two Loiters oj Heaven.

ESCARPIN.

Let the lion care himself,
I 'm engaged and cannot go.
A Voice (within).
From the mountain wilds descending,
Through the crowded streets he goes.

Ak^other Voice (within).
Like the hghtning's flash he flieth,
Like the thunder is his roar.

ESCARPIN.

Ah ! all right, for I 'm in safety,
Thanks to this obhging door :
Lightning is a thing intended
For high towers and stately domes.
Never heard I of its falling
Upon Uttle lowly homes :
So if lion be the lightning,
Somewhere else will fall the bolt :
Therefore once again, Daria,

Come, I say, embrace me

(A Hon enters, places himself before Da-
ria^ and seizes Escarpin.)
Daria.

Oh!
Never in my life did I
See a nobler beast.

Escarpin.

Just so,

Nor a more affectionate one

Did I ever meet before.

Since he gives me the embraces

That I asked of thee and more :

O god Bacchus, whom I worship

So devoutly, thou, I know,

Workest powerfully on beasts.

Tell our friend to let me go.
Daria.

Noble brute, defend my honour,

Be God's minister below.
Escarpin.

How he gnaws me ! how he claws me !

How he smells ! His breath, by Jove,

Is as bad as an emetic.

But you need n't eat me, though.

That would be a sorry blunder,

Like what happened long ago.

Would you like to hear the story ?

By your growling you say no.

What ! you 'U eat me then ? You '11

find me
A tough morsel, skin and bone.

Daria ! I implore thee.

Save me from this monster's throat,
And I give to thee my promise
To respect thee evermore.

Daria.
Mighty monarch of these deserts,
King of beasts, so plainly known
By thy croAvn of golden tresses
O'er thy tawny forehead thro^vn,
In the name of Him who sent thee
To defend that faith I hold,

1 command thee to release him.
Free this man and let him go.

Escarpin.
What a most obsequious monster !
With his mane he sweeps the floor.
And before her humbly falling.
Kisses her fair feet.

Daria.

What more
Need we ask, that Thou didst send
him,

great God so late adored.
Than to see his pride thus humbled
When he heard thy name implored ?
But upon his feet uprising.

The great roaring Campead&r^^
Of the mountains makes a signal

1 should follow : yes, I go,
Fearless now since Thou hast freed

me
From this infamous abode.
What will not that lover do
Who for love his life foregoes ! —

( Goes out preceded by the lion.
Escarpin.
With a lion for her bully
Ready to fight all her foes,
Who ^vill dare to interrupt her?
None, if they are wise I trow.
With her hand upon his mane,

1* Champion, or combater, the name generally given the Cid.

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

65

Quite familiarly they go
Through the centre of the city.
Crowds give way as they approach,
And as he who looketh on
Knoweth of the game much more
Than the players, I perceive
They the open country seek
On the further side of Rome.
Like a husband and a >vife,
In the pleasant sunsliine's glow,
Taking tlie sweet air they seem.
Well the whole affair doth show
So much curious contradiction,
That, my thought, a brief discourse
You and I must have together.
Is the God whose name is known
To Daria, the same God
Whom Carpophorus adored ?
Why, from this what inference fol-
lows?
Only this, if it be so,
That Daria He defends.
But the poor Carpophorus, no.
And as I am much more likely
His sad fate to undergo,
Than to be like her protected,
I to change my faith am loth.
So part pagan and part christian
I '11 remain— a bit of both. {Exit.

Scene 111.— The Wood.

{Enter NisroA and QirsmBix, flying.)
Cynthia.
Fly, fly, Nisida.

NiSIBA.

Fly, fly, Cynthia,
Since a terror and a woe
Threatens us by far more fearful
Than when late a horror froze
All our words, and o'er our reason
Strange lethargic dulness flowed.

Cynthia.
Thou art right, for then 't was only
Our intelligence that owned
The effect of an enchantment,
A mere pause of thought alone.

Here our very life doth leave us,
Seeing with what awful force
Stalks along tliis mighty lion
Trampling all that stops liis course.

Nisida.
Whither shall we fly for shelter ?

Cynthia.
O Diana, we implore
Help from thee ! But stranger still ! —
Him who doth appal us so,
The Avild monarch of the mountain
See ! a woman calm and slow
Follows.

Nisida.
O astounding sight 1
Cynthia,
'T is Daria.

Nisida.

I was told
She had been consigned to prison :
Yes, 't is she : on, on they go
Through the forest.

Cynthia.

Till the mountain
Hides them, and we see no more.
(Enter Escarpin.)

ESCARPIN.

All Rome is full of wonder and dis-
may.i«

Nisida.
What has occurred ?

Cynthia.
Oh ! what has happened, say ?

ESCARPIN.

Chrysanthus, being immured

By his stern sire, a thousand ills en-
dured.

Daria too, the same,

But in a house my tongue declines to
name.

It pleased the God they both adore

Both to their freedom strangely to re-
store,

And from their many pains

To free them, and to break their gal-
ling chains,

*^ The metre changes to an irregular couplet in long and short lines.
VOL. V. 5

66

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

Giving Daria, as attendant squire,
A roaring lion, rolling eyes of fire : —
In fine the two have fled,
But each apart by separate instinct

led
To this wdld mountain near.
Numerianus coming then to hear
Of the event, assuming in his wrath,
That 't was Polemius who had oped

the path
Of freedom for his son and for the

maid,
Has not an hour delayed,
But foUows them with such a nume-
rous band.
That, see, his squadrons cover all the
land.

Voices (within).
Scour the whole plain.

Others (vnthin).

Descend into the vale.
Others (within).
Pierce the thick wood.

Others (within).

The rugged mountain scale.

ESCARPIN.

This noise, these cries, confirm what I

have said :
And since by curiosity I 'm led
To sift the matter to the bottom, I
Will follow with the rest.
Cynthia.

I almost die
With fear at the alarm, and yet so

great
Is my desire to know Daria's fate.
And that of young Chrysanthus, that

I too
WiU follow, if a woman so may do.

ESCARPIN.

What strange results such strange

events produce !
The very wonder serves as an excuse.

NiSIDA.

Well, we must only hope that it is so.
Come, Cynthia, let us follow her.
Cynthia.

Let us go.

ESCARPIN.

And I with love most fervent,
Ladies, will be your very humble ser-
vant. \^Exeunt.

Scene IV. — A wilder part of the wood
near the cave.

{Enter Daria guided hy the lion.)
Daria.
O mighty lion, whither am I led ?
Where wouldst thou guide me with thy

stately tread,
That seems to walk not on the earth,

but air ?
But lo ! he has entered there
Where yonder cave its yawning mouth

lays bare,

\_The lion enters a cave.']
Leaving me here alone.
But now fate clears, and all will soon

be knoAvn ;
For if I read aright
The signs this desert gives unto my

sight.
It is the very place whence echo gave
Responsive music from this mystic

cave.
Terror and wonder both my senses

scare.
Ah ! whither shall I go ?

Chrysanthus (within).

Daria fair I
Daria.
Who calls my hapless name ?
Each leaf that moves doth thrill this

wretched frame
With boding and Avith dread.
But why say wretched ? I had better

said
Thrice blessed : O great God whom I

adore.
Baptize me in those tears that I out-
pour.
In no more fitting form can I declare
My faith and hope in thee.

Chrysanthus (within).

Daria fair.

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

67

Daria.

Who calls my name? who wakes those
wild alarms ?

(^Enter Chrysanthns.)

Chrysanthus.

Beloved bride, 't is one to whom thy

charms
Are even less dear than is thy soul,

ah! me.
One who would live and who will die
with thee.

Dabia.
Beloved spouse, my heart could not

demand
Than thus to see thee near, to clasp

thy hand,
A sweeter solace for my long dismay,
And all the awful wonders of this day.
Hear the surprising tale,
And thou wilt know . . .

Voices {within).
Search hill.
Others.

And plain.
Others.

And vale.
Chrysanthus.
Hush ! the troops our flight pursuing
Have the forest precincts entered. "

Daria.
What then shall I do, Chrysanthus ?

Chrysanthus.
Keep thy faith, thy life surrender : —

Daria.
I a thousand lives would offer :
Since to God I 'm so indebted
That I '11 think myself too happy
If 't is given for Him.

PoLEMiDS (within).

This centre
Of the mountain, whence the sun
Scarcely ever is reflected —
Tills dark cavern sure must hold them.
Let us penetrate its entrails.
So that here the twain may die.

Daria.
One thing only is regretted
By me, in my life thus losing,
I am not baptized.

Chrysanthus.

Reject then
That mistrust ; in blood and fire^*
Martyrdom the rite effecteth : —
(Enter Polcmius and Soldiers.)

POLEMIUS.

Here, my soldiers, here they are.
And the hand that death presents

them
Must be mine, that none may think
I a greater love could cherish
For my son than for my gods.
And as I desire, when wendeth
Hither great Numerianus,
That he find them dead, arrest them
On the spot, and fling them headlong
Into yonder cave whose centre
Is a fathomless abyss : —
And since one sole love cemented
Their two hearts in life, in death
In one sepulclire preserve them.

Chrysanthus.
Oh ! how joyfully I die 1
Daria.
And I also, since the sentence
Gives to me the fuU assurance
Of a happiness most certain

" The metre changes to the double asonante in e-e, which continues to the
end of the drama.

*8 Baptism hy blood and fire through martyrdom. Calderon refers here evi-
dently to the words of St. John the Baptist : " He shall baptize you in the Holy
Ghost and fire" — >S^ Matth., c. iii. v. ii. The following passage in the Legend
of St. Catherine must also have been present to his mind :

" Et cum dolerent, quod sine baptismo decederent, virgo respondit : Ne
timeatis, quia effusio vestri sanguinis vobis baptismus reputabitur et corona".
Legenda Aurea, c. 167.

5b

68

The Two Lovers of Heaven.

On the day this darksome care
Doth entomb me in its centre.

{They are cast into the abyss.)

POLEMIUS.

Coyer the pit's mouth with stones.
(J. sudden storm of thunder and light'

niny: Enter Numerianus, Claudius,

Aurelius, and others.

NUMERIANUS.

What can have produced this tempest ?

POLEMIUS.

When within the care they threw

them,
Dark eclipse o'erspread the heavens.

Claudius.
Shadowy shapes, phantasmal shadows
Are upon the wind projected.

Cynthia.
Lightnings like swift birds of fire
Dart along with burning tresses.

Claudius.
Lo ! an earthquake's awful shudder
Makes the very mountains tremble.

POLEMIUS.

Yes, the solid groimd upheaveth,
And the mighty rock descendeth
O'er our heads.

Nisid A.

While on the instant
Dulcet voices soft and tender
Issue from the cave's abysses.

NUMERIANUS.

Rome to-day strange sights presenteth,
When a grave exhibits gladness,
And the sun displays resentment.
{A choir of angels is heard singing from

within the cave.')
"Happy day, and happy doom,
May the gladsome world exclaim.
When the darksome cave became
Saint Daria's sacred tomb".
{A great rock falls from the mountain,

and covers the tomb, over it is seen an

angel.)

Angel.
This great cave wliich holds to-day
In its breast so great a treasure,
Never shall by foot be trodden ; —
Thus it is I 've sealed and settled
This great mass of rock upon it,
Wliich doth shut it up for ever.
And in order that their ashes
On the Avind be ne'er dispersed,
But wliile time itself endureth
Shall be honoured and respected,
This brief epitaph, this simple
Line shall tell this simple legend
To the ages that come after :
" Here the bodies are preserved
Of Chrysanthus and Daria,
The two lover-saints of Heaven".

Claudius.
Wherefore humbly we entreat
Pardon for our many errors.

69

Art. III. — Biblical Manuscripts of the Early Irish Church.
By Very Rev. Patrick F. Moran, D.D.

1. nPHE lives of the early saints of Ireland abound with
JL examples which prove the zeal of our fathers in tran-
scribing the Sacred Scriptures, and the vigilance with which
they sought to guard the copies of the Sacred Volume from
even the slightest faults. Indeed the Venerable Bede attests
that in his own time so general was the study of the Sacred
Scriptures in the Latin tongue, that, though Angles, Britons,
Picts, and Irish, had each their own peculiar language, yet
the Latin had become the common language of all.' A few
facts will best illustrate this feature of our early Church.

Nennius writes, regarding our apostle, St. Patrick, that
he bequeathed to his spiritual children no fewer than three
hundred copies of the Gospels, written with his own hand.
Again, in the " Tripartite Life" of the same Saint it is recorded
that when he proceeded to Tara to announce the tidings of re-
demption to King Laoghaire and the assembled Druids, he
wished to be accompanied by the youthful Benen, who bore on
his shoulders the sacred volume of the Scriptures ; and subse-
quently, when St. Mac Carthen was commissioned to found the
see of Clogher, it is expressly stated that our Apostle bestowed
on him as a precious treasure a copy of the Holy Gospels.

It is recorded of St. Finbarr, founder of the city and see of
Cork, that when the religious of more than twenty monasteries
and convents chose him for their spiritual head, " he placed in
each of these houses a ministh\^ and the seven Books of the
Law and the four Books of the Gospel, and there was not one
of them to w^hich he did not bring some gift belonging to the
Church of God".3

In the very ancient scholia on the Felire of St. ^ngus, pre-
served in the Leahhar Breac, the following account is given of
the words used by St. Cummian Foda, when instructing the
king of Connaught, Guaire Aidhne, at the church of Iniskeltra
in Lough Derg:

^ Hist. Ec, lib. i. cap. i.

' Minisiir probably, like the mediaeval Latin word ministertuvi, means a
Cumdach, or shrine. The abbot Dungal writes to a French abbot about the
year 810 : "Misi aliquid de argento per ill. vestrum servientem, et volo rogare,
si vobis facile est, ut jubeatis uni bono et perito de vestris fabricare illud et
facere inde ministerium, calicem et patenam" {Epistolae CaroHnae, edit. Jaffe,
Berlin, 1867, pag. 485).

' Irish Life of St. Finnbarr, Curry MSS. of Catholic University, pag. 9.

70 Biblical Manuscripts of the

"Amongst other things St. Cumin Foda said to Guaire: O
king ! what wouldst thou desire to have this church filled vnXh.
to use according to thy will ? Guaire answered : ' I would wish to
have treasures of gold and silver as much as this church could
contain, not from any lust of worldly wealth, but that I might
employ them for the salvation of souls, the good of God's
saints, the building of churches, and the benefit of the poor of
Christ'. The holy man of God, moved by the Holy Ghost, said
to the king : ' The Lord will favourably regard thy goodly wish,
and will give thee great wealth, to be piously employed in the
salvation of thy soul, and then shalt thou possess the kingdom'.
Guaire exulting in that prophetic promise, and giving great
thanks to God, said: 'And thou, O servant of God, what
things wouldst thou desire to have this church filled -with f St.
Cumin Foda replied : ' I would wish to have as many sacred
books as this church could hold, to be given to those who seek
for divine wisdom, to spread amongst the people the saving
knowledge of Christ, and to turn them from the service of the
devil to a faithful keeping of God's commandments".*

Baithen was a favourite disciple of St. Columba. Ha\'ing
transcribed a copy of the Psalter, he brought it to his master
that, as usual, it might be re\ased by one of the brethren ; but
St. Columba, knowing by spiritual intuition how free it was
from every fault, told him he might spare all further trouble, as
his transcript contained but a single error, only one vowel i
being omitted in it.^

2. The early Biblical MSS. of our Church shared the fate
of the other ancient monuments of our island. Many of them
were lost when the Irish monasteries were plundered by the
Danes in the eighth and ninth centuries. Many, again, were
destroyed in the ages of turmoil and barbarism consequent on
the Anglo-Norman invasion ; but more disastrous still was the
Reformation period, when the storm of persecution swept
away the time-honoured landmarks of our ancient faith, and
brought destruction on the records of the piety of our fathers.
Nevertheless, a considerable number of Irish Biblical MSS.
remains to us, partly preserved through the devoted reverence
of our faithful people, and partly treasured up in distant coun-
tries, whither they were borne by Irish missionaries in the
golden age of faith. The words which were wi'itten twenty-
three years ago on this subject by the late lamented Dr. Todd,

* Felir^of Mngus, at 25th March, in Leabhar Bieac. For an account of
this MS., see O'Curry's Lectures, vol. i, p. 352, seq.

* Colgan, Acta Sanctorum, p. 426.

Early Irish Cliurch. 71

convey an accurate statement of the case, and will be read with
interest by all who have at heart the literature of our country :
" I have often felt the greatest wonder, not only at the number
and almost incredible antiquity of the Irish Biblical manuscripts
that still remain, but at the amazing ignorance that exists about
them, and the small amount of interest they appear to excite.
Whoever examines the annals of Ireland, will find them one
mass of records of burnings and slaughters, battles, murders,
plundering of churches, and sacking of monasteries. Amidst
all these enormities we may be assured that books were not
spared; and when we remember that, at the period of the
Reformation, church books were the especial object of destruc-
tion commanded to be sought out and destroyed by act of
parliament — that again, during the Commonwealth, this was still
more remarkably the case, and that then not only the ancient
ritual books, missals, antiphonaries, etc., which of course were
peculiarly obnoxious, but also the still more precious manu-
scripts of the Gospels, the Psalms, and other parts of the Bible,
were indiscriminately destroyed as remnants of Popery and
monuments of superstition : when we remember these things, we
may well wonder that any such manuscripts still remain, and
we must also conclude that the original number of such books
must have been vast indeed, to render it possible for so many
as we now possess to have survived such long-continued and
wholesale destruction ".^

To proceed with order, I will first mention the few frag-
ments of the Old Testament that have come down to our times,
and then I will proceed to the MSS. of the New Testament.

3. The Psalter of St. Columbkille is the most precious frag-
ment of the Old Testament Irish MSS. that is now known to
exist. This great apostle of North Britain died at lona in the
year 597, and on the vigil of his death was engaged with his
loved disciple Baithen in copying the Psalter. We find the
narrative thus detailed by Adamnan: "St. Columba having
announced to one of his religious that that day would be his
last in this world, ascended an adjoining eminence, and lifting
up his hands, blessed the monastery. Returning thence, he
reclined in a cell belonging to the monastery, writing a Psalter^
and having come to that verse in Psalm xxxiii. ' Inquirentes
autem Dominum non deficient omni bono\ he said, 'The page is
here ended, I must now desist ; let what follows be written by
Baithen ". This disciple succeeded St. Columbkille as abbot of
lona; and Adamnan adds, "that, even as the verse just cited

« Irish Eccles. Journal, Sept. 1846, p. 36.

72 Biblical Manuscripts of the

appropriately marked the close of the earthly career of that
great saint, so the following verse : ' Venite^ filii, audite me,
timorem Domini docebo vos\ was befittingly allotted to one who
was chosen to be his heir, both in teaching and in Avriting".''

Another fact mentioned in St. Columba's life proves him to
have been familiar with the Psalter at a much earlier stage of
his missionary career. "He was seated with a few of the
religious", says his biographer, "near the fortress of king
Brude, on the banks of Lough Ness. They began to chaimt
the evening psalms, according to their custom, when some
Magi or Druids came around them, and endeavoured, by making
loud noises, to prevent the soimd of their psalmody being heard
by the people of the neighbourhood. But St. Columba, with a
voice of thunder, which drowned the outcry of the Druids, and
struck the king and people with inexpressible awe, began to
entone the psalm : Eructavit cor meum verbum bonum'\^

The Psalter of St. Columba which has been handed down to
our times is known by the Irish name of Cathach, i. e., the
" Book of Battle'V and is at present deposited in the Royal
Irish Academy in this city. It is encased in a richly- ornamented
silver shrine, the inscriptions of which bring us back to the
eleventh century, and for more than a thousand years it
has been guarded, as a family treasure, by the sept of the
O'Donnells. The most modern inscription on the shrine records
that it was partially restored in the year 1723 by Daniel
O'Donel, who fought at the battle of the Boyne, and subse-
quently attained the highest honours in the Austrian army.
The ancient inscription dates from the eleventh century,
and- informs us that the rich cover was made by order of

' Adamnan, edit. Reeves, page 233.

® Reeves's Adamnan, p. 73.

^ O'Donnell, in his life of St. Columbkille, explains in the follo-vving manner
the origin of this name and the peculiar circumstances under which this tran-
script of the Psalter was made. On one occasion, he says, St. Columbkille paid
a visit to St. Finnen, of Dromfinn, in Ulster, and while on the visit used, when
reciting his daily Office, St. Finnen's copy of the Psalms. Admiring the
accuracy of this text, and anxious to haie a transcript of it, he each day
remained in the church after the others had gone away and devoted some time
to make a hurried copy. This was observed by St. Finnen's companions,
who reported it to the Saint, but he took no notice of it, waiting until the copy
was finished ; he then sent to St. Columbkille, saying, that as the original was
his and he had given no permission to copy it, the transcript should be also his.
St. Columbkille refused to comply with this demand. The matter was then
referred to the Monarch in Tara, and he gave the remarkable judgment, which
for centuries was proverbial throughout Ireland, that " as to every cow be-
longeth her calf, so to every book belongeth its copy". The warlike tribe of Tir-
connell, to which St. Columbkille belonged, was enraged at this, and assembled
an army to assert the rights of the saint. A battle ensued, in which the royal
army was routed with great loss (Colgan, Trias Thaum., page 400).

Early Irish Church. 73

Cathbar O'Donnell (son of Gillachrist, who died in AD. 1038),
and of Domhnall Mac Robhartaigh, successor of St. Co-
lumba in the monastery of Kells, who died, according to
the Four Masters, in 10^8. To any one acquainted with the
usages of our early Church, the fact of our MS. having been
thus encased at such a period will be a sufficient proof of the
venerable character of the MS. itself. Independent, however,
of all this, the best authorities on the matter of our ancient
MSS. attest that the character of the vellum and the writing
would suffice to bring back its date to the age of St. Columba.
We may add that, as appears from an entry in the Four Mas-
ters (ad an. 14y7), this MS. was borne with the army of Con
O'Donnell, as the great reliquary of Tirconnell, to ensure suc-
cess in his military undertakings.

The Caihach at present consists of fifty-eight membranes
written in the cursive Irish hand. Each membrane is about
seven inches long and four inches broad. The text, except
at the extremities of each page, is in excellent preservation, and
towards the middle and close of the volume retains the rubrics
which marked the heading of each psalm. A fac-simile of the
two first verses of Psalm ciii. is - given by Betham : they are
as follows :

" Benedic anima mea Domino et omnia qu-^ intra me

SUNT NOMINI SANCTO EJUS. BeNEDIC ANIMA MEA DOMINO
ET NOLI OBLIVISCI OMNES RETRIBUTIONES EJUS'.'°

Betham also cites the verse 18 of Psalm cxiii., which of itself
woidd suffice to identify the text of St. Columba with our Vul-
gate, and rims thus :

" IlLIC PASSERES NIDinCABUNT : ErODI DOMUS dux EST

eorum".

I will add a few passages copied from the original MS, of St.
Columbkille. Thus Psalm cxxxiv. begins:

" JUDICA DOMINE NOCENTES ME, EXPUGNA IMPUGNANTES
ME. AdPR^HENDE ARMA ET SCUTUM ET EXSURGE IN ADJU-
TORIUM MIHI. ErrUNDE FRAMEAM ET CONCLUDE AD VERSUS
EOS QUI PERSEQUUNTUR ME. DiC ANIMAE MEAE SALUS TUA
EGO SUM. CONFUNDANTUR ET REVEREANTUR QUAERENTES
ANIMAM MEAM".

Psalm xxxvi. runs as follows :

"XOLI EMULARI IN MALIGNANTIBUS NEQUE ZELAVERIS
FACIENTES INIQUITATEM QUONIAM TAMQUAM FENUM VELO-

citer arescent et quemadmodum holera herbarum cito
decident. Spera in Domino et fac bonitatem et inha-

** Antiquar. Res., page 112.

74 Biblical Manuscripts of the

BITA TEKRAM ET PASCERIS IN DIVITIIS EJUS. DeLECTARE IN

Domino et Dabit tibi petitiones cordis tui. Eevela
Domino viaivi tua^i et spera in eo et ipse faciet et

EDUCET quasi lumen JUSTITIA3^I TUA3I ET JUDICIUM TUUM

tamquam meridiem. subditus esto domino et ora eum.
Noli emulari in eo qui prosperatur in via sua in ho-

MINE FACIENTE INJUSTITIAS DeCLINA A MALO ET

FAC BONUM ET INHABITA IN S^CULUM S^CULI QUIA DOMI-
NUS A3IAT JUDICIUM ET NON DERELINQUET SANCTOS SUOS, IN
STERNUM CONSERVABUNTUR. InJUSTI PUNIENTUR ET SE-
MEN IMPIORUM PERIBIT, JUSTI AUTEM H^REDITABUNT TER-
RAM ET INHABITABUNT IN S^CULUM S^CULI, OS JUSTI MEDI-
TABITUR SAPIENTIAM ET LINGUA EJUS LOQUETUR JUDICIUM,

LEX Dei ejus in corde ipsius".

Psalm Ixv. has the rubric: ^^ Psalmus David: vox Apos-
tolorum ad populum\ It begins, *' Jubilate Deo omnis

TERRA, PSALMUM DICITE NOMINI EJUS".

Psahn Ixxv. has also the rubric, " In finem in laudihus Asaph,

canticum vox Ecclesice ad Christum\ Its first verses

are as follows :

"NOTUS IN JUD^A DeUS, IN ISRAHEL MAGNUM NOMEN

EJUS. Et factus est in pace locus ejus et habitatio

EJUS IN SlON. IbI CONFREGIT POTENTIA ARCUM et SCUTUM

et gladium et bellum. Inluminas tu mirabiliter de
montibus .^ternis, turbati sunt omnes insipientes
corde".

The reading " conf regit potentia arcwn^ is peculiar to this
MS. In the margin is written the word diabolus, probably
meaning that the sacred text here figuratively portrayed the
triumph of Christ over Satan.

From these examples it must be sufficiently e^ddent that the
psalter of St. Columbkille presents to us a very ancient copy of
the Vulgate text of the Psalms, surpassed in antiquity by but
few of the continental psalters. I will conclude the notice
of this venerable MS. with the words of our late Celtic master,
Eugene O' Curry ;

" The Cathach consists of a highly ornamented shrine or box,
enclosing a fragment of a copy of the Psalms on vellum, con-
sisting of fifty-eight leaves, written on both sides. All the
leaves before that which contains the psalm xxxi. are gone, but
the leaves from this to the psalm cvi. still remain. The writing

is of a very ancient character When we recollect that

this fragment was written about thirteen himdred years ago, by
one whose name, next to that of our great apostle St. Patrick,
has held the highest place in the memory of tlic people of his

Early Irish Church. 75

own as well as of foreign countries, we have reason indeed to
admire, and reason to be proud of the intense and tenacious de-
votion which could, under most unfavourable circumstances,
preserve even so much of so ancient and fragile a monu-
ment".''

4. The Rev. Dr. Reeves was betrayed into an error when he
wrote that " of all the Bibles w^hich existed, not one copy of
the Old Testament has been preserved, or of any part thereof,
except a mutilated copy of the Psalms of David ; and the ex-
istence of this we ow^e to the veneration in which it was
held, being supposed to be in St. Columba's handwriting, and
encased in a costly shrine of silver" *^ This is not correct. An
Irish Psalter used by St. Salaberga, who was trained to piety
by the disciples of St. Columbanus, is preserved, together with
her relics, at Laon in France '^ The Commentary of St. Colum-
banus on the Psalms, so rich in its Celtic glosses, and preserved
in the Ambrosian Library, Milan, retains a great part of the
text of the Psalter.'* A small Cottonian MS. marked Galha A.
5, which gives a few of the Psalms, is pronounced by West-
wood to be Irish, '^ and he gives a/ac simile^ w^hich is undoubt-
edly Irish, of the following verses :

"BeNEDICAM DoMINE, in OMNI TEMPORE, SEMPER LAUS
EJUS IN ORE MEO. In DoMINO LAUDABITUR ANIMA MEA,
AUDIANT MANSUETI ET LAETENTUR. MaGNIFICATE DoMI-
NUM MECUM ET EXALTEMUS NOMEN EJUS IN IDIPSUM. Ex-
QUISIVI DOMINUM ET EX^^UDIVIT ME ET EX OMNIBUS TRIBU-
LATIONIBUS MEIS ERIPUIT Me".

Dr. ZeUer, the learned librarian of Zurich, to whom we were
already indebted for the recovery of Dorbhene's long-lost auto-
graph of Adamnan's Life of St. Columbkille,'^ was the first to
call attention to another Irish Psalter preserved in the town

'• Lectures, i. 327-332.

'2 Memoir of the Book of Armagh by W. Reeves, D.D. 1681, pag. 1.

^3 See O'Conor's Rer. Hib. Scriptores, 1. ccxxii. seqq. : and Bolland, Acta SS.

'* Vallarsi, in his edition of the Op^ra S. Hieronymi, vol, 7, appendix, has
published, as a specimen of St. Columban's work, a commentary on the 1st,
3rd, and 4th psalms. It is only the commentary on the 1st psalm, however,
that really belongs to our saint. The commentary on the 3rd and 4th psalms
is also from the Ambrosian library, but from a quite different MS., and is
probably the work of Florus. By some error the various extracts supplied to
Vallarsi from the Ambrosian library became mixed up together, and the Comm.
on all three psalms was referred to St. Columban. Zeuss, in his Gram. Celtica,
repeats this mistake, although he visited the Ambrosian library, and looked at
the original MS. Cowper, in appendix A to his official report on the Foedera,
reprints the statement of Vallarsi, and thus the whole extract still passes as the
genuine work of St. Columban! See Report on Foedera, aj^p. A, pag. 175.

^* Paleogr. Sac. ** Irish MS.", pag. 4.

"^ See Preface to Keeves's Adamnan's Life of St. Columha, pag. xxiii.

76 Biblical Manuscripts of the

library at Basel.'" It is marked A, vii. 8, and gives the Greek
text of the Psalms with the Latin Vulgate interlinear version.
This MS. belongs to the eighth or ninth century, and, from the
lock fastened on the binding, seems to have been intended for
public use in the sacred liturgy. It is to be regretted that
the last five psalms are wanting in this important MS. Some
hymns and other liturgical pieces are inserted in a contemporary
hand at the beginning and end of the book. Dr. Todd makes
mention of some of these hymns in his edition of the Liber
Hymnorum ("Publications of the I. A. S.", for 1855, pag. 55),
and the Bishop of Brechin, in the Preface to the Missal of
Arbutlinott^ has since published further extracts.'* Both of
these distinguished writers, however, omitted all reference to
a prayer which is written in the same Irish hand, and follows
immediately after, or rather forms part of, the fragment De
conscientiae reatu ante Altar e, published by the Bishop of Bre-
chin. It is, perhaps, the sweetest and most striking prayer that
has come down to us from our early Church, and I am sure I
need offer no apology for here inserting it in full :

" Precor vos omnes sancti Angeli et Archangeli, Virtutes Po-
testates Dominationes Throni Principatus Cherubim ac Seraphim
et omnes sanctae virtutes coelestes, milia milium decies centena
milia qui assistitis et ministratis ante claritatem Dei, precamini
pro me pium Dominimi ut indulgeat mihi omnia peccata mea et
perducat me ad vitam aeternam.

'* Precor te Sancta Maria 'mater Domini nostri Jesu Christi
semperque virgo ut digneris intercedere pro me misero.

" Precamini pro me sancti Martyres innocentesque Christi, qui
sequimini Dominum nostrum Jesum Christum quocumque ierit.
f^ " Precamini pro me omnes sanctae virgines quae cum sancta
Maria exultatis in gloria,

" Precamini pro me omnes sancti Apostoli, Joannes Baptista,
Petre, Paule, Andrea, Jacobe, Joannes Evangelista, Thoma,
Philippe, Jacobe, Bartholomaee, Matthaee, Simon Thadei, et
Stephane.

'* Precamini pro me omnes sancti et electi Dei quicumque
gratiam Dei habetis per vos et ilium precor qui vobis tantam
gratiam contulit : Dignare me exaudire Domine Jesu Christe
qui cum Patre vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum. Amen.

" In SSitber unb ®cl)rifsugc in ben 3rBt)cn sSflanugcripten bcr ®wcitserigd)cn
aStbliott)e!en/ published among the Papers of the Antiquarian Society of
Munich in 1851, and translated by Dr. Reeves for the Ulster Journal of Arch-
(Eologv. July, 1860. ^ , a -r. t- i.

^^ Liber Ecclesiae Beati Terenani de Arbuihnoit, edited by A. P. Forbes,
Bishop of Brechin, 1864, pag. xl. seqq.

Early Irish Church. 77

** Et ego te Domine Jesu Christe pcto ut tu ad Patrem petas
pro me Qui dignatus es dicere Quodcumque petieritis Patrem
in nomine meo det vobis.

" Ego peto ut accipiam,

"Ego quaero ut inveniam,

" Ego pulso ut aperiatur mihi janua tua sancta,

" Remitte mea peccata et concede mihi yitam aetemam.

*' Et tam pro me quam pro omnibus precor.

" Dignare me exaudire, dulcissima pietas, adjuva pastores et
omnem populum Catholicum.

*' Libera eos de peccato et de manibus inimicorum.

"Adjuva omnes animas quae ad me pertinent et quicumque
me rogaverint ut precarer pro eis.

" Ob seer o Domine Deus piissime ut liberes illos a peccato
qui milii bona faciunt propter te.

*' Redde illis bona in vitam aeternam.

" Et libera servos et ancillas tuas.

" Da eis sanctam perseverantiam in bono et qui mala volunt
aut faciunt da illis indulgentiam.

"Indulge mihi misero.

" Libera me de jactantia, de vana gloria, de pravis cogita-
tionibus diabuli, de gastrimargia, de acedia et de omnibus ini-
mici artibus per quas animae in infernum demerguntur.

" Deus Deus mens ad te de luce vigilo usque ad jinem\

5. There is yet another fragment of the Old Testament
Scriptures^^ to which I would wish to call attention. It is the
beautiful text of the Psalm " Beati Immaculati", which is pre-
served in the Library of St. Isidore's at Rome, and rivals in
antiquity the venerable Psalter of St. Columbkille, which just
now engaged our attention.

This MS. formerly belonged to the Franciscan convent of
Donegal, and it was long cherished in the family of Mac Brody
as an heir-loom of St. Caimin of Inniskeltra, being traditionally
venerated as written by the hand of that great saint. Colgan,
treating of St. Caimin, says :

" He is supposed to have written a commentary on the
Psalms, and we have seen with our own eyes his notes on
Psalm cxviii. (the Beati) written, according to tradition, with
his own hand".^°

" Westwood, in his magnificent and costly work just published, mentions
three other psalters, proceeding from the Irish school, and dating from the ninth
or tenth century. One is preserved at St. John's College, Cambridge, No. C.
9, another in the Cottonian Psalter (No. " Vitellius" F. xi.) ; the third is known
as the Psalter of St, Owen, and is preserved in the public library of llouen.
See ^'Facsimiles of the Miniatures and Ornaments of Anglo-Saxon ana Irish
MSS. By J. O. Westwood, M.A., London, 1868.

20 Acta SS., page 746.

78 Biblical Manuscripts of the

Ware writes : " St. Caimin is thought to have written a com-
ment on the Psalms : for among the books of the convent of
Franciscans at Donegall, there were some very ancient frag-
ments on Psahn cxix. (cx^dii. of the Vulgate), which, accord-
ing to tradition, he writ with his own hand"."

Usher also makes mention of the Psalter of St. Caimin, and
adds : " St. Caimin of Inishkealtair belonged to the third order
of Irish saints, and died, according to the Annals of Innisfail,

about the year 653 Inish-keltra is situated in Loch Derg,

into which the Shannon falls about sixteen miles from
Limerick. There was a psalter, of which I could see only one
quatemio, most accurately divided with marks and asterisks,
being collated with the Hebrew text on the upper part of the
page, and short scholia being added on the outer margin; and
it was the common tradition that it was written by St. Caimin's
own hand".""

There can be but little doubt that the six vellum leaves now
preserved in St. Isidore's are the same that were known to
Usher, Ware, and Colgan in the seventeenth century. The
first page still bears inscribed on it, " Ex lihris conventus de
DunnagaW\ and it also presents a memorandum in the Irish
language in the handwriting of the illustrious Franciscan
Michael O'Clery, which we here print in the original, together
with a literal translation :

"X)o |Aei|A ^nAccbuimne "According to the tradi-

Chtoiiine ineic bpuAixje-OA tion of the sons of Mac Brody,
(I'iAn A^uf bejinAiAt)) aiuaiI Flan and Bernard, as it was
•00 cuAtAUUA]! A^A ri-AUAi|i handed down to them from
A^ui" A^A CAC 50 coiccionn their father and people, it was
A-p e CAirrnn riAom 6 inif ceAl- Caimin, the saint from Inis
CjAA fOjA toe 'oeipce "oeipc Cealtra on Lough Derg, in
iucuAt)mtimAn "oo -pcciiiob An north Munster, who wrote the
teAbAjA mriA -pAibe An 'ouitl- book in which this leaf was.
enn-pA, hi mACUAnAiii p]Ainne I doubt not that that learned
tjo beic AccA n-Ae-p eAtA*6nA family has spoken truly ; for it
pn,6i|\ i-picceiATTionn CbAimin is in the Termon lands of
ACAT) in ... A^uf m Ap- Caimin they have lived and
CjiebAX) A^up AfinpijA nempu. resided, as well as their ances-
Ap'pA^iA'OAm meipeAn bnACAi|A tors before them. It is well
bocc TTIiceAt 6 Ctepiig 50 for me, the poor brother, Mi-
'ppACA'6<3'p . . . b^iUAi-oe-oA chael O'Clery, that the said
nA coimneACA icce^inion Cai- Mac Brodys have been resi-

21 Ware, Irish Writers, page 32.
^'Britt.Eccksiar. Antiqq., vol. vi. page 544.

Early Irish Church. 79

tnin, A^iif A clATin ia]\ tia dents in the Termon lands of
eccj'om. ApA-ofein ^511^ Caimin, and their children
•oiAtvmAic 6 "oub . . . 'oo after their decease. It was
^AX) riA 'ouilieAriA fo -00 leA- they and Dermod O'Duib . . .
bA]A 'OATTi-pA, An b|AACAi|v |Aeni- who gave these leaves of the
-pAiue, A^tJ-p ^tJi'oe'o 5AC Aun book to me, the aforesaid poor
-DOf . . . A)A A]A n An in An- friar, and may each person
nAib 'oibbimb". who reads pray for the souls

of both of us".

St. Caimin of Iniskeltra died in the year 653, and his feast
is marked in the Martyrology of Donegal on the 24th of March.
Thus this MS., if written by him, should be referred to the seventh
century, and it is not too much to say that the beautiful style
of writing, and especially the large uncial text, as well as the
vellum itself, are precisely such as we should expect from that
golden era of our monasteries.

The explanation of the letter Aleph (with which in the
Hebrew text the first eight verses of Psalm cxviii. begin), and
the first page of the text itself, will serve as a specimen of this
venerable fragment :

" Ut meritum divini carminis honore tituli possit agnosci est
etiam ebreis elimentis ad rudes et docibiles in scola Christi po-
pulos instituendos tali ordine depictus ut ab unaquaque littera
octoni versus incipiant ubi misterium puto resurrectionis et
verae circumsisionis ostensum. Joseph vero refert in libris arcai-
ologiae hunc psalnum et cxliiii. et Deuteronomi canticum ele-
giaco metro esse compositos, quia scilicet prior versus sex pedi-
bus constet et inferior uno minus in pentrametrum finiunt. Per
totum Psalmiun universalis sanctorum chorus loquitur qui ab
initio mundi sive fuerunt sive sunt sive futuri esse creduntur
inter quos reperiuntur Apostoli, profetae, martires, confessores,
Ecclesiastici ordines qui sancta Domino in dignitate famulan-
tur. Quia ergo in singulis quibusque dementis secundum in-
terpretationem eorum debent intelligi quae sequuntur. Bene
prima littera Aleph doctrina interpretatur in qua immaculatis in
via Domini beatitudo aeterna promittitur".

"Beati immaculati in via qui ambulant in lege Do-
mini Beati qui scrutantur testimonia ejus in toto
corde exquirunt eum. non enim qui operantur ini-
quitatem in viis ejus aiubulaverunt. Tu mandasti

MANDATA TUA CUSTODIRI NIMIS. UtINAM DIRIGANTUR VIAE

meae ad custodiendas justificationes tuas. Tunc non
confundar cum perspexero in omnibus mandatis tuis.
confitebor tibi in directione cordis in eo quod dedict
judicia justitiae tuae..."

80 Biblical Manuscripts of tha

6. The Booh of Armagh^ now preserved in the library of
Trinity College, Dublin, is the only MS. of the early Irish
Church now known to exist that contains the whole of the
Sacred Scripture of the New Testament. It is a small quarto vo-
lume, about eight inches in height and six in breadth, con-
sisting of two hundred and twenty vellum leaves, written on
each side, and in double columns. The writing is in the small
cursive Irish character, and is throughout remarkably distinct
and uniform. Dr. Graves, now Protestant Bishop of Limerick,
aided by Eugene O'Curry, succeeded in deciphering the colo-
phon, which registers the name of the scribe, Ferdomnach, by
whom the volume was written, and of Torbach, the Archbishop
of Armagh, for whom it was transcribed.^^ Now, Ferdomnach,
"the wise and very admirable scribe of Armagh'^* died,
according to the Four Masters, before the middle of the ninth
century; and Torbach held the primatial see only for one
year, dying in 808.^^ Thus we may safely assert, without fear
of error, that the Book of Armagh has outlived the vicissitudes
of ten centuries and a half, and dates from the first years of the
ninth century. What still gives more importance to it, how-
ever, is, that it was copied from older texts, which, even at
that early date, were partly obliterated through age, and some
of which at least were supposed to have been written by
St. Patrick's own hand. The text of the Book of Armagh is
the Latin Vulgate, but, as is usual in the Irish MSS., with
many important variations.

This MS. was held in the highest veneration throughout
the whole of Ireland. It was generally styled the " Canon of
Patrick". As early as the year 937^^ a rich case was made for
it by Donogh, son of Flann, monarch of Ireland. When, in the
year 1004, King Brian Boromhe made his royal progress as far
as Armagh, this MS., as the most precious record that could be

23 See an interesting paper on " the Date of the Book of Armagh", by Rev.
Charles Graves, in Proceedings oj the Royal Insh Academy, vol. iii. The colo-
phon is thus read by Dr. Graves : " Ferdomnach hunc tibrum {bene^ dictante
Torbach Herede Patricii scripsit".

24 Annals of thf, Four Masters, ad an. 844.

«5 Ibid., ad an. 807. At the end of the Gospel of St. Matthew is the half-
Latin memorandum, written in Greek letters, as foUow : " t xTrXtKir aevavyytkiutv
Kara ixaTTTivfi (xk^itttvix arKve (piviTV/j, iv <pi]pLa fiaTrnC\ This shows that tliis por-
tion of the Gospel was finished on the Feast of St. Matthew, the 2 1 st of September.
Now Torbach held the primacy, according to the catalogues of the Psalter of
Cashel and the Leabhar Breac, for a single year, and died on the 16th July
(Colgan, Tr. Th., p. 294). Thus, the feast of St. Matthew, on which the Gospel
was finished, must have been the 21st of September, 807.

26 u The Canon of Patrick was encased by Donogh, son of Flann, king of Ire-
land ".—4 nna/s oj Ireland, by the Four Masters, ad an. 937.

Early Irish Church. 81

found, was chosen to receive the entry of his donations to the
see. This entry may still be seen in our MS. in a vacant
space on the reverse of folio 16. In later times, the possession
of this relic of our Apostle was regarded as one of the title-
deeds to the Primatial See; and the great St. Bernard, when
commemorating the labours of St. Malachy in reforming the
disciplinary abuses which had crept in during the turmoil of
the Danish invasions, writes: "The text of the Gospels, which
belonged to the blessed Patrick, and the pastoral staiF covered
over with gold and adorned with the most precious gems, were
generally known and in great repute among the natives, and
were held in such reverence by all, that the silly and ignorant
multitude acknowledged him as bishop in whose possession
they were preserved" (^In Vit. Malach., chap. 5). Full
details regarding the subsequent history of the MS. will be
found in a paper entitled, "Memoir of the Book of Armagh",
by W. Reeves, D.D., published in 1861. As Dr. Reeves is
now engaged in publishing a fac-simile of the whole volume, we
may hope that its text will soon be accessible to the public.

The volume, besides the New Testament, contains some
memoirs of our apostle written by Tirechan and Maccuthenus,
"the confession of St. Patrick", and the "Life of St. Martin*^of
Tours", The New Testament portion of the MS. begins with
St. Jerome's Preface : the Four Gospels follow in their usual
order; next come the fourteen Epistles of St. Paul, and with
them is inserted the apocryphal Epistle to the Laodiceans.
The Epistle of St. James, with the two Epistles of St Peter,
the three Epistles of St. John, and the Epistle of St. Jude,
hold the next place. The Apocalypse follows after the Catholic
Epistles. This, however, does not close the New Testament,
for the Apocalypse is followed by the Acts of the Apostles, an
arrangement wholly peculiar to this MS.

The Gospel of St. Matthew begins with :

" Liber generationis Jesu Xti, filii David, filii
Abraam, Abraam autem genuit Isaac, Isaac autem ge-
NUiT Jacob, Jacob autem Judam et fratres ejus".

At the end of the genealogies the heading Kara MaTTrjvfi
(sic) is written in Greek characters, and then follows, with an
elaborately ornamented capital letter:

" Xti autem generatio sic erat cum esset disponsata
mater ejus maria joseph antequam convenirent inven-

TA EST IN UTERO HABENS DE SPIRITU SANCTO".

In the sixth chapter of St. Matthew, the Latin text of the
Lord's Prayer is written in Greek letters One of the peculiar
petitions of this prayer, ne patiaria nos induct in tentationem^ is
VOL. V. 6

82 Biblical Manuscripts of the

met with in some early Fathers, and will be found repeated
in some other very ancient MSS. of our Church. This pas-
sage is also interesting, as affording a clue to the pronun-
ciation of Latin in this country at least eleven hundred years
ago:

YlaTYip VOGTtp KVl £C L^ KUeXlQ <jaVTL(^LKr\rvp ViVjilEV TVV/X

a^vBviar peyvvfi rvvfi (piar voXvvrag rva ctikvt iv KaeXtj er iv
reppa iravijui voaTpvfx KOTiSiavvfi da vwj3ff ho^tc (sic) er di/uiiTTe
V(i)j5ig Bej3iTa rjoaTpa (tlkvt tr viog dtjULKTtTipvg dej^LTwpifSvg voarpig
er vr\ irariapig vwg ivSvkl lv TijXKTaTiwvifx cteS Xi^epa vog a
jULaXto.

In the 27th chapter of St. Matthew, after the 49th verse,
comes the apocryphal passage, interpolated from the Gospel of
St John: Alius autem accepta lancea pupungit latus ejus et
exiit aqua et sanguis. Then follows the account of our Sa-
viour's death, as in our 50th verse: Jesus autem iterum da-
mans voce magna emisit spiritum. It is remarkable that this
curious interpolation, which was adopted as genuine by some
ecclesiastical writers till condemned by Pope Clement the
Fifth in the Council of Vienna, in 1311, is found in the great
majority of the Irish Gospels

At the end of St. Matthew's Gospel is added, in Latin, the
following beautiful prayer: "O God, whose mercy is infinite,
and whose holiness passeth speech, with humble voice have I
boldness to implore that, like as thou didst call Matthew to be
a chosen apostle from being a receiver of custom, so of thy
compassion thou wilt vouchsafe to direct my steps during this
life into the perfect way, and place me in the angelic choir of
the heavenly Jerusalem, that, on the everlasting throne of end-
less joy, I may be deemed worthy to join with the harmonious
praises of archangels in ascribing honour to Thee; through
thine only begotten Son, who liveth with Thee in the unity of
the Holy Ghost throughout all ages. Amen".

The apostle St. John was held in particular veneration by
our fathers in the first ages of the Irish Church, and he was
generally known by the endearing epithet of " aS^. John of the
bo£om'\ on account of the special privilege he enjoyed of
reclining on the bosom of his Divine Master at the Last
Supper. It was probably as a tribute of honour that in
the Book of Armagh his Gospel has finer vellum allotted to
it, and the writing in its delicate tracery surpasses that of
all the other parts of the volume, exquisite as their execu-
tion is.

In the first Epistle of St. John, fifth chapter, our seventh and
eighth verses are blended into one as follows : —

Early Irish Church.

83

" QUONIAM TRES SUNT QUI TESTIMONIUM DANT IN CCELO
SPIRITUS ET AQUA ET SANGUIS ET TRES UNUM SUNT"."

The whole volume concludes with the following beautiful
prayer written in the original hand : —

"Te Domine Sancte, Pater "Thee, O Holy Lord, Om-

omnipotens, ante saecula sine nipotent Father, Eternal, with-

out a beginning, I faithfully
presume to pray through Thine
only-begotten Son, the Author
of our salvation, and the Holy
Ghost, the Paraclete, and
through all the choirs of the
heavenly Jerusalem :

"Through our chief Fa-
thers :

" Through the Apostles :
" Especially through Holy
Mary, the Virgin-Mother of
Thy Son our Saviour Jesus
Christ, born, tried, sentenced
to death, crucified, buried, de-

initio, per vmigenitum Filium
tuum nostras salutis auctorem
ac Spiritum Sanctum Paracle-
tum ac per universum Hieru-
salem clerum coelestis.

" Per praecipuos Patres nos-
tros.

*' Per Apostolos.

" PrsBcipue per sanctam Ma-
riam genitricem virginem Filii
tui ac Salvatoris nostri Jesu
Christi, nati, processi, passi,
crucifixi, sepulti, ad infernos
descendentis, protoplastum
nostrum in humeris deferentis,
in pascha resurgentis, apos-
tolis ostendentis, ad coelos as-
scendentis, in novissimis diebus
ad judicium pervenientis, fide-
liter rogare pr^sumo.

" Ut me vilissimum servu-
lum tuum in temporali hac
vita prospero cursu auxiliari
digneris et per misericordiam
tuam infinitam bonum finem
in voluntate tua inveniam at-
que sapientiae meae minimae
praemia in caelesti gaudio in-
venire merear per omnia sae-
cula saeculorum. Amen".

scending into hell, receiving
on His shoulders our first pa-
rent, arising from the dead on
Easter-day, manifesting Him-
self to the apostles, ascending
into heaven, coming -to judg-
ment on the last day.

" Deign to grant to me, Thy
most worthless servant, a pros-
perous career in this temporal
life, that through Thy infinite
mercy I may at'tain a happy
end in Thy good will, and may
receive in heavenly bliss the
reward of my lowly wisdom,
throughout all ages. Amen".

7. St. Patrick's Gospels. Perhaps, however, the most precious

" Dr. Reeves, in his Memoir of the Book of Armagh, page 3, writes : " In the
first Epistle of St. John the famous passage concerning the witnesses, which
in our Testaments is the seventh verse of the fifth chapter, is in this MS. en-
tirely omitted .... What is our eighth verse succeeds immediately to the
sixth, and commences, for there are three which bear witness in earth, etc.*'. This
is incorrect. The true reading is, for there are three who bear witness in heaven.

6 B

84 Biblical Manuscripts of the

Biblical MS. that has been preserved from the early ages of our
Church, is the Domnach-Airgid, or " Gospels of St. Patrick".
The name Domnach-Airgid, i.e., " Silvery Shrine", was given to
it on account of the elaborately worked and richly ornamented
shrine of silver in which it was encased. Petrie, in Ti^ansactions
of R. 1. A.^ vol. xviii., gives a lengthened description of this
shrine, illustrated with engravings as well as facsimiles of the
first two folios of the text, the only ones which had been then
detached from the precious volume. He justly concludes that
it is one of the most remarkable specimens extant of mediaeval
workmanship.^^ The outer and most modern cover bears in-
scribed on it the name of the abbot of Clones, " John O'Karbri,
Comharb (i.e. successor) of St. Tighernach", whose demise is
marked in the Annals of the Four Masters at the year 1353.
The abbey of Clones, founded by St. Tighernach, and dating
back to the sixth century, was situated in the diocese of Clogher,
and was for a long time the place of residence of the bishops
of that see, and it was probably on this account that the Do)n-
nach-Airgid was preserved there from the earliest times.

The very ancient life of St. Patrick known as the Vita Tri-
partita^ tells us that it was to St. Maccarthen, first successor of
St. Patrick in the see of Clogher, that our apostle entrusted
this spiritual treasure, and thus explains the reason why the
privilege of guarding it was entrusted to the see of Clogher :
"The saint left Bishop Mac Carthenn at Clogher, and bestowed
on him the Domnach-Airgid^ which had been given to St. Patrick
from heaven when he was on the sea coming to Erinn".^^ I
may add that one compartment of the old relievo which still
adorns the case, represents this historic fact, our apostle being
seated and handing the Domnach-Airgid to St. Maccarthen.

Our most expert antiquarians, judging from the intrinsic fea-
tures of this MS., have concluded that it may be justly referred
to the fifth or sixth century, and thus their opinion fully coin-
cides with the historical data. The very name Domnach^ which
is applied to it, would be of itself, according to Dr. Petrie, a
sufficient proof that it was consigned to the Irish Church by
our apostle, there being no instance in Irish history of that
name being even once applied to any place or shrine except
when hallowed by connection with the memory of St. Patrick.

28 See the principal passages from Petrie's paper, together with a facsimile
of the first page of the second folio, in O'Curry's Lectures, i. 321, seqq. It was
one of the first archaeological essays of Dr. Petrie, and the anti-Catholic tone
that pervades it almost entirely disappears from the later productions of this
great promoter of antiquarian studies in this kingdom.

»9 O'Curry'8 Lectures, i. 325

Early Irish Church. 85

Eugene O'Curry, having quoted the conclusions of Petrie,
which we have endeavoured to compendiate, adds : " In these
conchisions of Dr. Petrie I entirely concur, and I believe that
no reasonable doubt can exist that the Domlmach-Airgid was
actually sanctified by the hand of our great apostle" (Lectures^
i. 327).

This national monument is now preserved in the R. I. Aca-
demy. Owing to age and damp, the membranes of the MS.
have become so tenaciously incorporated that they seem to
form one mass. However, the few sheets that have been de-
tached suffice to show that it is a Latin MS. of the Gospels,
written in uncial letters and representing an Anti-Hieronymian
text.

The following verses, which I have copied from the detached
membranes, will serve to give some idea of this important text : —

"Li TiONis Jesu . . . FiLii David riLii Abka-

HAM AbRACHAM^® . . . GENUIT IsSAC ISSAC AUTEM GENUIT

Jacob Jacob autem genuit Judam et featees ejus. Judas

AUTEM GENUIT FEATEES FaEIS ET ZaEAM

AbIAS autem GENUIT ASSA ASSA AUTEM GENUIT JOSAPHAT
JOSAPHAT AUTEM GENUIT JOEAM JOEAM AUTEM GENUIT
OziAM OZIAS AUTEM GENUIT JOTHAM JOTHA AUTEM GENUIT
ACHAZ ACHAZ AUTEM GENUIT EzECHIAM EzECHIAS AUTEM
GENUIT MaNASSEN MaNASSES AUTEM GENUIT AmON AmON

autem genuit josiam, josias autem

Omnes eego geneeationes . . . ab Abracham usque ad
David geneeationes xiiii et a David usque ad teansmi-

GEATIONEM BaBILONIS GENEEATIONES XIIII ET A TEANSMI-
GRATIONE BaBILONIS USQUE AD CeISTUM GENEEATIONES
XIIII

Angelus Domini et accepit conjugem suam et non cog-

NOSCEBAT EAM DONEC PEPEEIT FILIUM SUUM PEIMOGENITUM

et vocavit nomen ejus Jesum. Cum eego natus esset
Jesus in Bethlehem in diebus Heeodis Regis ecce Magi
ab oeiente veneeunt Jeeusolima dicentes ubi est qui

natus est eex Judeoeum vidimus enim .

Tunc Heeodis videns quoniam illussus esset a Magis

HIEATUS est VALDE ET MITTENS^J OMNES PUEROS

A BIMATU ET INFEA ....

AUDIENS AUTEM QUOD AeCHIAUAUS EEGNAEET JuDE PEO

Heeode patee suo Joseph timuit illo ieae et

^ There is a space vacant after Abracham, but Dr. Todd was of opinion that
it retained no traces of any letters.

3* The vacant space would leave room for the words Btihlehem occidit.

86 Biblical Manuscripts of the

LOCUSTA ET MEL SILVESTRE. TUNC EXIBANT AD EUM JeRU-
SOLIMA ET OMNES REGIO CIRCA JORDANEM ....

8. No name, after those of our great Patrons St. Patrick and
St. Brigid, is more honoured in the traditions of Ireland than
that of St. Columba. He devoted himself with special ardour
to the study of the Sacred Scriptures, and already mention has
been made of the precious copy of the Psalms with which he
enriched the Irish Church. His biographer, O'Donnell, informs
us that " he left behind him three hundred volumes of the Gos-
pels or other sacred books, written with his own hand, many of
which, in gold or silver covers, adorned with gems, like the
most precious relics, are preserved by posterity, and held in
the highest veneration to the present day ; but the rest wara
and the injury of time have destroyed".^* In the lives of the
early saints we often meet with reference to these Gospels of
St. Columba. Thus in the life of St. Berach, we read that
when Columba visited Cluain Coirpre, which was the monas-
tery of that saint, " he left there many good gifts. He left
heaven to its priests and abbots, provided they prayed three
times at the cross of Columbkille for his helpful assistance : he
left to them that every monk who goes thither to make his pil-
grimage shall receive equally with himself in heaven : he left
the Gospel which he wrote with his own hand in token of his
friendship with Berach, and many other blessings". ^^

The most remarkable of these Gospels is known as the Book
of Kells^ which, to use the words of Dr. Todd, " is probably the
most splendid manuscript of its class and age now extant in
Europe". " Ireland", writes Westwood, " may justly be proud
of the Book of Kells. This copy of the Gospels, traditionally
asserted to have belonged to St. Columba, is unquestionably
the most elaborately executed MS. of early art now in exis-
tence, far excelling, in the gigantic size of the letters in the
frontispieces of the Gospels, the excessive minuteness of the
ornamental details, the number of its decorations, the fineness
of the writing, and the endless variety of initial capital letters
with which every page is ornamented, the famous Gospels of
Lindisfarne in the Cottonian library. But this MS. is still more
valuable on account of the various pictorial representations of
different scenes in the life of our Saviour, delineated in a style
totally unlike that of every other school, and of which I believe
the only other specimens are to be found in the Psalter of St.
John's College, Cambridge, and at St. Gall ; the latter, however,

3» Colgan, Trias Th., page 438. O'Donnell wrote this life of St. Columba
In the year 1522.

33 Curry MSS., Catholic Universit}'. Life of St. Berach, pag. 25.

Early lrif<h. Church. 87

being far inferior in execution to those in the Book of Kells"
(Palaeogr. /Sac, The Book of Kells, page 2).

It received its present name from being preserved in the
ancient monastery of Kells, founded by St. Columba. The
town of Kells, anciently called Kenannas, was at one time of
considerable importance, and the residence of the kings of
Ireland, till one of these, Diarmait Mac Fergusa Cearbhail
(regn. 544-565), made a gift of it to St. Columba. In the
year 804 the religious community of Hy sought an asylum
here, when driven from their monastery by the incursions of
the Danes ; and in 807, perhaps in consequence of this increase
in the community of Kells, our Annalists record the erection of
a new monastery there : " Nova civitas Colvmhe-Cille in Kenan-
nas'. From that time the bishop of the district seems to have
resided there. Usher, in his day, speaks of our MS. as being
*' held sacred by the inhabitants of Meath, in the town called
Kenlis, ^.g., Kells". ^* More than six hundred years before Usher's
time it was honoured there with equal reverence, as we learn
from the following entry of the Annals of Ulster:

" A.D., 1006. The large Gospel of Columbkille was sacrile-
giously stolen in the night out of the western erdom {i.e., sacristy
or treasury) of the great church of Kells. This was the chief
relic of the western world on account of its singular cover : it
was found after twenty nights and two months with its gold
stolen off, and a sod over it".^^

This important entry proves that as far back as the beginning
of the eleventh century the Book of Kells was known as "the
large Gospel of St. Columba"; that it was even then considered
so ancient and so venerable that it was encased in a precious
shrine adorned with gold ; and that it was so precious as to be
deemed "the chief Relic of the West".

The Book of Kells is now preserved in the Library of Trinity
College, Dublin, and although it no longer retains its rich case,
and some leaves of the precious MS. have been lost, yet it is
still the gem of that Library, and its beautiful illuminated pages
are some of the noblest specimens of ancient Irish art that have
come down to our times. "That the book we now possess in
the Library of Trinity College", writes Dr. Todd, " is the great
Gospel of St. Columbkille, to which our ancient annals refer, is
certain. It is proved by many satisfactory evidences, external
and internal. The MS. bears all the characters known by those
who have made manuscripts their study, to belong to the latter

** Works, vol. vi. p. 232.

3* Annals nf Ulster, and also Annals of Four Masters, ad an. 1006.

88 Biblical Manuscripts of the

half of the sixth century : it is a large^ an unusually large copy
of the Gospels, the letters being throughout about three-eighths
of an inch in height, a size very uncommon at that time, when
it was customary to write in a very small hand : it belonged to
the church of Kells, as is evident from the curious charters re-
lating to the clergy of Kells which it contains, and it continued
among the treasures of that church down to the time of Arch-
bishop Usher, that is to say, down to the seventeenth century,
as we learn from the archbishop's own testimony. We must
therefore regard it as a valuable monument of the piety and
zeal of the Irish Church of the sixth century".^

The most remarkable feature in the venerable manuscript is
its singularly ornamental initial letters and its richly illuminated
pages/' I must again use Dr. Todd's words : " I have for many
years", he writes, " had the custody of the Book of Kells ^ as assis-
tant Librarian to the University ; I have examined it minutely
and attentively over and over again, and I can say of it, as old
Giraldus said of the Book of Kildare : ' Haec equidem quanto
frequentius et diligentius intueor, semper quasi novis obstupeo,
semperque, magis et magis admiranda conspicio'. To describe
its marvellous illuminations, and those wonderfully twisted, in-
terlaced ornaments, which Giraldus so greatly admired in the^
Book of Kildare, and which are to be found in abundance in
every page of the Book of Kells, would be wholly impossible ;
no description could give any adequate idea of their beauty and
marvellous variety". ^^ The first illuminated page presents to us
a highly ornamented picture of the Blessed Virgin and the
Divine Infant. Mr. Westwood, in his Palceographia Sacra, has
given a fac-simile of this beautifid work of art, and it is thus
described by Dr. Todd: "The page is wholly occupied with a
beautiful illumination containing a full-length sitting figure ot
the Virgin and Child, surrounded by a frame-work of the most
elaborate workmanship, adorned with an infinite variety of the
interlaced tracery work which is characteristic of our ancient
Irish Biblical MSS., and which in the Book of Kells is executed
with a skill and exquisite minuteness which indicates a high
state of the art, and in truth baffles description". He subse-
quently gives a more minute account of the picture itself:

3« Todd on The Book of KelJs, in Irish EcclesiasticalJournal, vol. iv. p. 38.

*' One of these has been admirably copied by Miss Stokes, and published with
" Descriptive Kemarks" of Dr. Todd, in the Vetusta Monumenta, London, 1869,
vol. vi. Stuart has justly remarked that " the mantle of our early illuminators
has fallen upon Miss Stokes, who has reproduced, among others, one of the
marvellous pages of the Book of Kells with wonderful fidelity" {Sculptured
Stones of Scotland, etc.. vol. 2. p. Ixxxii.).

^o Ibid., page 39.

Early Irish Church. 89

"This singular figure of the Blessed Virgin and Child", he says,
" is executed in the rudest style of art, as far as perspective is
concerned, although in other respects consummate skill is dis-
played in the complicated interlaced tracery of the ornaments
and border with which it is surroimded. The head of the Vir-
gin is encompassed by a singular glory or aureola^ consisting of
two consecutive circles enclosing bead-work, and within the
smaller circle three crosses, one at each ear and one at the top
of the head. Two angels are represented at each of the upper
corners of the picture, in attendance on the Virgin, holding in
their hands sceptres with a small cross surrounded by a circle
at the top of each. There are angels also below in the lower
angles, one holding in his hand a sceptre or staff, on the top of
which is a circle containing within it what seems a representa-
tion of the sun ; the other has in his hand an instrument con-
sisting of a stem separating itself into two convoluted branches,
each terminating in a large leaf resembling a shamrock".-'^ To
this description of our Irish archaeologist, I will add the words
of the English antiquarian. It is thus that Westwood writes :
" The verso of folio 7 contains the drawing of the Virgin and
Child, which is inclosed within a highly elaborate border com-
posed of intertwined lacertine animals with dogs' heads. This
singular composition is interesting from the proof it affords of
the veneration of the Virgin Mary in the early Irish Church :
the large size in which she is represented, as well as the glory
around her head, which singularly bears three crosses, evidently
indicating the high respect with which the Mother of Christ was
regarded".*'' In a later work the same illustrious author devotes
four plates to illustrate this MS., and writes : "The very nume-
rous illustrations of the Book of Kelts render it a complete store-
house of artistic interest. Foremost, and quite unique of their
kind, are three pictures representing scenes of the life of the
Saviour, namely, first, the representation of the Virgin and
Child ; second, the temptation of Jesus Christ ; and third, the

seizure of Christ by the Jews The Virgin Mother is

here represented seated in a low-bottomed chair of elegant de-
sign, represented in profile. The Virgin is drawn of a large
size, as was often done by way of showing veneration in draw-
ing the Sacred Persons by early artists. As usual with figures
of females also, at this early period, the head is covered with
drapery and surrounded by a purple circular nimbus, bearing
three pale yellow Maltese crosses, and several groups of three

3» Ibid., page 55 and 78.

*° Westwood, Paloeographia Sacra, Bool- of KeUs, page 3.

90 Biblical Manuscripts of the

white dots arranged in a triangle ; the nimbus being edged with

a narrow band of pearls on a sienna ground Besides these

illustrations, the text itself is far more extensively decorated
than in any other now existing copy of the Gospels"/^ Mr.
Westwood also adds that in this plate of the Blessed Virgin, the
heads of six persons are grouped together into a small square
space taken out of the right hand border : " It it difficult", he
says, "to comprehend the object of this group of heads". We
may be allowed to conjecture that they are intended to convey
some idea of the angelic choir at Bethlehem, or of the adoration
of the Magi.

Admiration for this volume is not confined to our native
"Tvriters and those of the sister isle. Foreigners have freely
joined in the same chorus of praise, and yielded the palm in or-
namentation to the Irish MS. It is thus that Dr. Waagen,
the conservator of the Royal Museum of Berlin, writes of it :
*' Its ornamental pages, borders, and initial letters exhibit such
a rich variety of beautiful and peculiar designs, so admirable a
taste in the arrangement of the colours, and such an uncommon
perfection of finish, that one feels absolutely struck with amaze-
ment".^2

The Book of Kells at present consists of 339 leaves of very
thick but finely-glazed vellum, each page measuring, even after
the cruel work of the modern binder's knife, thirteen inches by
nine and a half. Some pages of the MS. are unfortunately
wanting. The page with which it now opens contains the con-
clusion of the explanation of Hebrew proper names, which is
attributed to St. Jerome. On the reverse begins a concord-
ance of the Gospels, or the Eusebian Tables, which occupy
several pages. A vacant space at the end of these Tables was
appropriated, in later times, to various charters, in the Irish
language, connected with the church of Kells ; and the vacant
spaces which occur elsewhere throughout the volume are
utilised in the same manner. These deeds or charters are
invaluable as monuments of the Celtic language at the various
periods to which they refer, and they also throw much light on
the civil and religious usages of our people."

At fol. 8 begin the summaries of the Gospel of St. Matthew,
which correspond to the heads of chapters in our Bibles. The

*' Facsimiles, etc., page 27 seqq.

*2 Ap. Westwood, loc. cit. Lhuyd long ago described the volume as being
"miri operis et antiquitatis qui liber Colum Kill vulgo diccbatur". Archctolog.
Oxford, 1707, page 436.

*» They have been published in the original text, with translation, by O'Do-
novan, in Miscellany oj Irish Archaeol. iSoc. for 1846, p. 127.

Early Irish Church. 91

opening sentence is ; " Nativitas Xti in Bethlehem Judeae Magi
munera ofFerunt et infantes interficiuntur Regressio Jesu ex
Egypto in Nazareth". The summaries are followed by the
*' Argument" of the Gospel: "Matthaeus ex Judaeis sicut pri-
mus ponitur ordine ", etc., as may be seen in many editions of
the Vulgate. The same order is observed in regard to St. Mark,
but it is reversed for the other Gospels. First comes the
"Argument" of the Gospel of St. Luke, then the "Argument" of
St. John's Gospel, and next in order we find the " Summaries "
of these two Gospels.

The text of the Gospels begins at folio 29, and a whole page
is occupied by the two words " Liher Generationis^\ which are
beautifully ornamented in the elaborate style peculiar to this
manuscript. Throughout the volume the Vulgate text is in the
main adopted ; but there are many peculiar readings and some
passages introduced from ante-Hieronymian versions.

The following passages will suffice as specimens of this
remarkable MS. :

" Liber generationis Jesu Xti filii David filii
Abracha^i. Abracham autem genuit Isac Isac autem
GENUiT Jacob Jacob autem genuit Judam et fratres
ejus Judas autem genuit Fhares et Zarad de Thamar
Fhares autem .... Joseph virum Mariae de qua
NATUS EST Jesus qui vocatur Xtus (Matt. cap. i.).

" ViDENS AUTEM JeSUS TURBAS ASCENDIT IN MONTEM ET
CUM SEDISSET ACCESSERUNT AD EUM DISCIPULI EJUS ET
APERIENS OS SUUM DOCEBAT EOS DICENS BeATI PAUPERES
SPIRITU QUONIAM IPSORUM EST REGNUM CAELORUM. BeATI
MITES QUONIAM IPSI POSSIDEBUNT TERRAM. BeATI QUI
LUGENT NUNC QUONIAM IPSI CONSULABUNTUR. BeATI QUI
ESSURIUNT et SITIUNT JUSTITIAE QUONIAM IPSI SATURABUN-
TUR (Ibid., cap. v.).

" Et FACTUM EST CUMSUMMASSET JeSUS SERMONES HOS
TRANSTULIT SE A GaLILEA ET VENIT IN FINES JuDEAE
TRAN JORDANEM ET SAECUTAE SUNT EUM TURBAE MULTAE
ET CURABIT^* EOS IBI (IMd., cap. xix.).

" Alius autem accepta lancea pupungit latus ejus
ET EXiiT AQUA ET SANGis (Ibid., cap. xxxvii. 48).^^

" Joseph qui fuit Heli, qui fuit Matha, qui fuit Levi,

QUI FUIT MeLCHI, qui FUIT JaMNE, QUI FUIT JoSEPH, QUI
FUIT MaTHATHIAE, QUI FUIT AmOS, QUI FUIT NaUUM, QUI
FUIT ESLI, QUI FUIT NaGGE, QUI FUIT MaATH, etC. (LuC.

cap. iii.).

** Curabit for curavit, according to the usual Celtic substitution of 6 for v.
'♦* This interpolated passage is found in most of the Irish Gospels.

92 Biblical Manuscripts of the

"In principio erat verbum et verbum erat apud Deum

ET DeUS erat verbum HOC ERAT IN PRINCIPIO APUD DeUM
OMNIA PER IPSUM FACTA SUNT ET SINE IPSO FACTUM EST
NIHIL QUOD FACTUM EST IN IPSO VITA ERAT ET VITA ERAT

LUX hominum" (Joan., cap. i.).

*' Quod natum est ex carne caro est quiade carne na-
tum est et quod natum est ex spiritu spiritus est quia
Deus SPIRITUS EST ET EX Deo natus est" (Ibid., cap. iii.
vv. 5 and 6).

This last passage, which so clearly expresses the divinity of
the Holy Ghost, was for a long time supposed to exist ^only in
one MS., viz., the Silver Gospels of Yercelli. Father Simon
went so far as to assert that there was no Latin MS. in exist-
ence in which it was to be found."*^ The passage is referred to
by St. Ambrose in his work De Spiritu Sancto, and it is sup-
posed to have been cancelled by the Afians from the Sacred
Text. Westwood found it also in the copy of the Latin Gos-
pels preserved at Treves, which is written in part in the Irish
character, and in the remainder in Merovingian uncials. The
passage there runs as follows: "Quod natum est de carne caro
est, et quod natum est de spiritu spiritus est quia Deus spiritus
est, ex Deo natus est. J^oli mirari quia dixi tibi oportet vos
nasci de novo\ The words here printed in italics are written
in the MS. on erased lines.'"'

How the Book of Kelts passed from the possession of the
monastery of Kells into the hands of Usher, cannot now be
fully explained. Dr. Todd merely states that Usher took it in
charge, fearing lest it might be lost amidst the turbulent scenes
of 1641. After the death of Usher it shared the perils of his
library; but at last " ex dono Caroli Secundi", came with most
of his books to its present guardianship in Trinity CoUege."

9. The copy of the Gospels written by St. Columbkille, and
known as the Book of Durrow, is also preserved in Trinity
College, Dublin (A. 4, 5), and consists of :i48 leaves of vellum,
nine and a half inches in length and six inches in breadth. Each

*^ Simon, Histoire Critique du Texte, p. 355 ; also Blanchini, Vindicia. Rome,
1740, p. 373.

<7 Fac-simihs, 11, etc., p. 72, seqq.

<8 O'Conor, in Rer. Hih. Scriptores, vol. i., was betrayed into a serious error
regarding this MS. He had asked to see the Book of Kells, and a beautiful
MS. richly ornamented was shown to him, which he minutely describes as the
Book of Kells. His guide, however, either through ignorance or malice, had
shown him a different MS., viz., the Book of Durrow, and thus the description
of the learned antiquarian is found not to correspond with the text which he
proposed to describe. This, however, was not his fault. His guide on this occa-
sion was no otherthan Dr. Elrington, Provost of Trinity College, Dublin (See
O'Conor, loc. cit., p. ccxxxviii.).

Early Irish Church. 93

page has twenty-five lines, and consists of a single column. At
the commencement of the volume, and immediately preceding
each Gospel, there are richly illuminated pages entirely covered
with tesselated interlaced ornaments.''^ The description of one
of these pages from the pen of the learned Dr. O'Conor will
suffice to give an accurate idea of the whole: "Vetera", he
says, "sese oiFerunt ornamenta, lineis eleganter intertextis, rubris,
flavis, piu'pureis, et violaceis coloribus depicta, quae marginem
exhibent quadrilaterum, in cujus areae medio Crux iisdem
coloribus et lineis pulchre delineata conspicitur, et in quatuor
spatiis, quae a Crucis crure et brachiis formam quadratam sibi
vindicant quatuor depictae sunt figurae quae quatuor Evange-
listas repraesentant, idque stylo elegantiori quam in codicibus
Ceaddae et Cuthberti".*"

The text of the Gospels contained in this volume is that of
the Latin Vulgate. ""^^ It begins with the letter of St. Jerome
to Pope Damasus, which is followed by an explanation of the
Hebrew names, the Eusebian Canons, and the Breves Causae,
or Synoptical Tables of the Four Gospels. These occupy the
first twelve leaves of the MS. As a specimen of the Gospel
text I take from the fac-simile of Westwood the following
verses of the Gospel of St. Mark :

" Inicipit evangelium secundum Marcum.

" Initium Evangelii Jesu Xti filii Dei sicut scriptum
EST IN Eseia profeta Ecce mitto angelum meum ante

FACIEM TUAM QUI PRAEPARABIT VIAM TUAM.

" Vox CLAMANTIS IN DESERTO PARATE VIAM DOMINI RECTAS
FACITE SEMITAS EJUS

" FUIT JOHANNIS IN DESERTO BARTIZANS ET PRAEDICANS
BAPTISMUM PAENITENTIAE IN REMISSIONEM PECCATORUM Et

egrediebatur ad ileum omnes rege^^ judeae regio et
hyerusolimitae unviversi et baptizabantur ab illo in
lordane flumine confitentes peccata sua.

" Et erat Johannis vestitus pylis camelli".

A fac-simile of the following passage is given by O'Conor,
JRer Hih. Script., vol i , p clxxxx:

" Evangelium secundum Lucam.

" QUONIAM QUIDEM MULTI CON ATI SUNT ORDINARE NARRA-

*8 Westwood, Facsimiles, p. 22; and O'Conor, Rerum Eibernic. Script.,
vol. i. ccxxxvii. seqq.

^* Rerum Bib. Script., ccxxxix. Westwood, in Facsimiles, etc., devotes four
plates to this MS.

*i Westwood, Facsimiles, p. 22 ; and O'Conor, Rerum Eibernic. Script.,
vol. i. ccxxx., seqq.

^ This word is marked in the text as to be erased.

94 Biblical Manuscripts of the

TIONEM QUAE IN NOBIS COMPLETAE SUNT RERUM SICUT TRA-
DIDERUNT NOBIS QUI AB INITIO IPSI VIDERUNT ET MINISTRI
FUERUNT SERMONI8 VISUM EST ET MIHI ADSAECUTO A PRINCI-
PIO OMNIBUS DILIGENTER EX ORDINE TIBI SCRIBERE OPTIME
THEOFILE UT COGNOSCAS EORUM VERBORUM DE QUIBUS ERU-
DITUS ES VERITATEM.

*' FUIT IN DIEBUS HeRODIS REGIS JUDAE SACERDOS QUIDAM
NOMINE ZaCHARIAS DE VICE AbIA ET UXOR ILLI DE FILIABUS

Aaron".

As regards the age of the Durrow Gospels, there seems to
be no doubt but that they must be referred to the sixth cen-
tury. The words of Petrie are particularly explicit: "What-
ever doubt", he says, " may be felt as to the exact date of the
Book of Kells, no doubt whatever can be entertained as to the
age of the Book of Durrow".^^ Usher in his day pronounced
it a most ancient relic: "Durrow" he thus writes, "had a
monastery dedicated to St. Columbkille, and among its KeifirjXia
was preserved a most ancient manuscript of the Gospels".^*
The volume was formerly encased in a rich shrine, but of this
no fragments now remain. Its loss, however, is the less to be
deplored as the historical inscription which it bore has been
recorded by O'Flaherty, writing on the lyth June, 1677. This
learned antiquarian thus attests that important fact : "An Irish
inscription engraved on the silver cross which adorns the cover
of this book, gives us on the transverse part the name of the
artist, and on the longitudinal part, in three lines, runs as fol-
lows: A prayer and the blessing of St. Columbkille for Fiann,
the son of Malachy, king of Ireland, by whom this cover was
made^\^^ Thus Flann, the monarch of Ireland, who, according
to the Annals of Ulster and the Chronicon Scotorum, died in
the year 916, adorned this MS. with a precious shrine, no
doubt through reverence for St. Coltmaba, and in reward for
the religious spirit which he thus displayed, invokes for himself
" a prayer and the blessing " of the saint. What, however,
removes all doubt as to the venerable antiquity of this MS., is
the remarkable colophon written by St. Columba himself:
" Rogo beatitudinem tuam sancte Presbyter Fatrici ut quicumque
hunc libellum manu tenuerit meminerit Columbae scriptoris qui
hoc scripsi ipsemet evangelium per xii dierwn spatium gratia
Domini nostri\ And underneath, " in a contemporary hand",
as Petrie states ; " in a more angular but not later hand", as
Reeves writes,^ is added, " ora pro me frater mi Dominus
tecum sit'\

63 Westwood, p. 23. ^ Usher's Works, vi. 232.

»* Reeves's Adamnan, p. 327. ^ Adamnan, p. 242.

Early Irish Church. 95

The monastery and church of Durrow, in the Queen's County,
were founded by St. Columba about the middle of the sixth
century. A sculptured cross, still called the cross of St. Co-
lumbkille, which stands in the churchyard, and the well of
kSL Columbkille, which is not far distant, are now the only
monuments which recall his memory. The MS. of which we
treat was preserved there with religious care down to the era
of the so-called Reformation, when it was taken from the
monastery by Dr. Henry Jones, the Protestant Bishop of
Meath under Elizabeth, for Durrow was situated within the
limits of his see, and he being at the same time vice-chancellor
of Trinity College, presented it in his own name to the library
of that institution. It stUl bears the record inscribed on its
first page: "Liber S. et individuae Trinitatis CoUegii juxta
Dublinum ex dono Rev. in Xto Patris Episcopi Medensis".
Through all the wars of a thousand years this precious memo-
rial of St. Columba was guarded with loving care by the monks
of Durrow. How does it happen that its rich shrine has disap-
peared since it was conveyed to the library of Trinity College*?

10. The Gospels of St Gildas. This MS., commonly known as
"The Lichfield Gospels", or " Gospels of St. Chad", from being
preserved in the cathedral of St. Chad, at Lichfield, was judged
by Lluyd in his days to be more than eleven hundred years old.
Its Anglo-Saxon entries, and still more the fragments of the an-
cient British language which it preserves, render this MS. spe-
cially dear to our philologists. It is in folio, measuring twelve
inches by nine and a-half, and at present consists of only 110
leaves : the whole of St. John's Gospel is wanting, and the MS.
abruptly terminates at Luke iii. y. The first page of the Gos-
pel of St. Matthew, and several other portions of the MS., are
richly illimiinated.

All our antiquarians seem to be agreed as to the antiquity of
this precious work, and Mr. Haddan, the latest writer on the
subject, does no more than repeat their unanimous judgment,
when he states that it must be referred at least to the eighth
century, and that it possibly may claim an earlier date." Should
the lost leaves of the MS. be discovered, they probably may
contain some entry to mark the name of the scribe and the age
when he lived.

The oldest entry in these Gospels refers to the purchase of
the book for the service of God and the church of St. Teilo in
Llandafi*, and is referred by our antiquarians to the ninth cen-
tury. This entry may be thus translated : " This is to record that

*' Councils, etc.j of Great Britain, Clarendon Press, 1869, page 190.

96 Biblical Manuscripts of the

Gelbi the son of Arihtiud purchased this Gospel from Cingal,
and gave for it an excellent horse (equum optimum) : and he pre-
sented this Gospel on the altar, to God and St. Teilo, for the bene-
fit of his soul". There are also several other entries which show
that it was held in high honour in LlandaiF, and was regarded as
specially venerable and sacred. From Llandaff it passed to Lich-
field, though at what time is uncertain. The earliest Lichfield
entry refers to the eleventh century ; but it is probable that this
entry, like some of those in the Book ofKells, was copied at a later
date. At all events, for not less than five centuries it has been
preserved at Lichfield, and is justly regarded as one of the most
precious treasures of that see.

Harwood, in his history of Lichfield, refers to a description
of this MS. written by Smalbroke, who states that, according to
the tradition of the see, those Gospels originally belonged to
Llandafi'in Wales, and "were written by St. Gildas before the
year 720".^^ Now if we turn to the life of St. Gildas, com-
posed by Caradoc of Wales in the twelfth century, we learn
that precisely some such MS. had been written by that saint,
and that at the time of Caradoc it was preserved with religious
veneration in the church of St. Cadoc in the diocese of Llandaff*.
Having mentioned the journey of St. Gildas from- Ireland to
Britain, he thus continues : " Cadocus Abbas Nancarbanensis
Ecclesiae rogavit eum ut regeret studium scholarium per anni
spatium et rogatus rexit utillimum, nulla mercede accepta a
scholaribus, praeter orationes cleri et scholarium, ubi ipsemet
scripsit opus iv. Evangeliorum, quod adhuc remanet in Eccle-

sia S. Cadoci, auro et argento undique coopertum Tenent

Wallenses indigenae illud volumen praetiosissimum in conjura-
tionibus suis, nee audent aperire ad videndum, nee confirmant
pacem et amicitiam inter inimicos, nisi^illud affuerit imprimis
appositum".*^^

There can be no doubt that St. Gildas is a representative
of the Irish school,^® and were it certain that the present Gos-
pels were copied by him, they should necessarily be referred
back to the sixth century, as the death of St. Gildas is registered
in the Annals of Ulster in the year 569. Its intrinsic data
point also to the sixth centuiy for its origin. Westwood de-
votes a special chapter to this MS., and declare s*]that it repre-
sents " the rude style of the early Irish School". He subse-
quently writes: "From the peculiarities of the text no less

** Harwood, Histori/ of Lichfield^ page 107.

*9 O'Conor, Rer. Hib. Scrip., i. page cc.

^ See this point very ably illustrated in O'Conor, loc. cit., cxcviii.

Early IrUh Church- 97

than from the style of the writing and illustrations, I infer
that this MS. is one of the productions of the ancient schools of
Ireland. Hickes, Lhuyd, Astle, and others, have indeed con-
sidered it to have been written in England ; but these authors
were unacquainted with the existence of a school of art in Ire-
land. Moreover, there seems no reason to doubt the opinion of
Lhuyd, that it was in his days eleven hundred (now more than
twelve hundred) years old".^*

The Gospel of St. Matthew thus begins :

" Liber gexerationis Jesu Christi filii David filii
Abracha^i Abracham autem genuit Is AC Isac autem
genuit Jacob Jacob autem genuit Judam et fratres
ejus Judas autem genuit phares et Zaram de Thamar.
.... Joseph virum Mariae de qua natus est Jesus qui

VOCATUR ChRISTUS".

A fac-siniile of the following passage from the commence-
ment of St. Luke, is given by O'Conor :

" ET MIHI ADSECUTO A PRINCIPIO OMNIBUS DILIGENTER EX
ORDINE TIBI SCRIBERE OBTIME ThEOFILE UT COGNOSCAS
EORUM VERBORUM DE QUIBUS ERUDITUS ES VERITATEM".^^

11. The Book of lids Meic Nesain, commonly known as the
" Garland of Howth", and also as " Ceathair Leabhair", i.e. the
Four Books, is a copy of the four Gospels, "written, as it would
seem from its penmanship, early in the seventh century'^.®'
Usher tells us that this MS. was preserved down to his time in
the island called Ireland's Eye, and anciently known as Inis
Meic Nessain, i.e. "the island of the sons of Nessan", opposite
the mouth of the harbour of Howth, at a distance of less than a
mile from the shore. He adds that the natives gave it the
name of Ceathair Leahhair, or " Quadruple Book", from the
Four Gospels which it contains. Usher also teUs us that in his
time there was " a small clasp or tongue of silver attached to the
book, on which was inscribed the name of St. Talmavi'.^^ All
traces of this clasp have now disappeared.

The name " Insula filiorum Nessani" occurs in the letter of
Pope Alexander the Third to St. Laurence O'Toole in 1179.^*
The old name of the island in the Dinnseanchus was lids Erenn^
translated by the Danes, " Ireland's I", which, like the similar
names Anglesey, Dalkey, Lambay, etc., meant Ireland's island,
and not, as it was interpreted by the English settlers, heland's Eye.

^' Palatograph. Sac, " The Gosp. of St. Chad", page 2.

^2 Rer hib. Script., i. page cxcii.

*3 Dr. Todd, Descriptive Remarks, etc., 1869, page 13,

^' Works, vol. vi. page 531.

** Usher, SyUoge, epist. xlviii.

VOL, V, 7

98 Biblical Manuscripts of the

Dr. Allan, Archbishop of Dublin in 1538, makes mention of
the present MS., and records the tradition that it belonged to
St. Nessan, and that at the time he wrote, it was held in the
highest veneration in the island : " Habetur hodie inibi in magno
precio et veneratione non modica ita ut vix Justus audet jurare
super ipsum propter Dei vindictam ostensam hominibus perju-
ris in ilium".®®

St. Nessan was descended, in the eleventh generation, from
Cathair Mor, monarch of Ireland (a.d. 174-177), and had seven
sons, all of whom are mentioned in the calendar of saints. Three
of them, named Dichull Derg, Munissa, and Neslug, founded a
monastery on this island before the close of the seventh century,
and gave their name to it.

The MS., as Dr. Todd informs us, " ultimately found its way
to the collection of Archbishop Usher, and was at length de-
posited with his grace's library, in the safe keeping of its present
possessors, the Provost and Senior Fellows of Trinity College,
Dublin".®' It is to be regretted that their safe keeping did not
preserve the silver clasp with which the MS. was ornamented in
Usher's time. Two pages of this venerable volume are given
in facsimile by Miss Stokes, in the Vettusta Monumenta already
referred to. I have copied the following passages from the
original MS. in T.C.D. (A. 4. 6.) :—

** Cum ergo natus esset Ihesus in Bethlem Judae in
diebus herodis regis judae ecce magi ab oriente vene-
runt in hirusolimam dicentes ubi est qui natus est rex
JuDEORUM. Vidimus enim stellam ejus in oriente et

VENIMUS ADORARE EUM. AUDIENS AUTEM HeRODIS REX

turbatus est et omnes hirusolima cum illo et congre-
gans omnes principes sacerdotum et scribas populi sci-

SCITABATUR INTERROGABAT AB EIS AB EIS {sic) UBI XtUS
NASCERETUR. At ILLI DIXERUNT IN BeTHLEM JuDAE SIO
ENIM SCRIPTUM EST PER PROFETTAM ET TU BeTHLEM TERRA
JUDA NEQUAQUAM MINIMA ES IN PRINCIPIBUS JUD...EXIET
DUX QUI REGAT POPULUM MEUM ISR..." — (Matth, ii.).

" Qui fuit Adam qui fuit Dei Jesus autem plenus
spiritu sancto regressus est a jordane et agebatur in

SPIRITU IN DESERTUM DIEBUS QUADRAGENTA. Et TEMPT A-
BATUR A ZaBULO. Et NIHIL MANDUCAVIT IN ILLIS DIEBVS
ET CONSVMMATIS ILLIS ESSURIIT. DiXIT AUTEM ILLI DIABULUS

SI FiLius Dei es dig lapidibus istis ut panes fiant Et res-

PONDIT AD EUM JhESUS SCRIPTUM EST QUONIAM NON IN PANE
SOLO VI VET HOMO SED IN OMNI VERBO DeI Et DUXIT ILLUM

*• Liber Niger, fol. Ixxx. a. ^' Descriptive Remarks, etc., page 14.

Early Irish Church. 99

DTABULUS IN MONTEM EXCELSUM ET OSTENDIT ILLI OMNIA
REGNA ORBIS TERRAE IN MOMENTO TEMPORIS. Et AIT ILLI
TIBI DABO POTESTATEM HANC UNIVERSAM ET GLORIAM ILLO-
RUM QUIA MIHI TRADITA SUNT A PATRE MEO Et GUI VOLUERO
DOO ILLA. TU AUTEM SI ADORAVERIS CORAM ME ERUNT TUA
OMNIA. Et RESPONDENS JhESUS dixit ILLI ".

12. The Gospels of Lindisfarne. This noble MS., " the glory of
the Cottonian Library", as Westwood styles it, consists of 258
leaves of thick vellum in folio, and contains the Four Gospels,
according to the Vulgate, written in double columns, with an
interlineary Anglo-Saxon gloss which was added in later times.
For this text we are indebted to Eadfrid, a monk of Lin-
disfarne, to whom Ven. Bede dedicated the prose life of St.
Cuthbert, and who was raised to the see of Lindisfarne in the
year 698. The MS. is sometimes styled the Gospels of St.
Cuthbert, as a note at the end of St. Matthew's Gospel records
that it was written by Eadfrid " in honour of God and Cuth-
bert". It was encased in a rich silver-gilt cover, and was held
in the highest veneration in the monastery of Lindisfarne. The
Durham chronicler relates that when the religious of Lindis-
arne were flying from that monastery in consequence of the
depredations of the Danes, this precious volume fell from their
boat into the sea, but through the merits of St. Cuthbert the
tide ebbed so far that they found it again the next day upon the
sands about three miles from the shore, without having re-
ceived any injury from the water.

Mr. Westwood justly claims the text of these Gospels^® for
the Irish School : first, because the MS. retains all the character-
istics of the Irish text ; second, the monastery of Lindisfarne
was an Irish foundation ; third, St. Cuthbert, in whose honour
it was written, was an Irish saint ; and fourth, the ^vriter Ead-
frid had studied in the schools of Ireland, as his contemporary
and friend, Aldhelm, informs us.^^

O'Conor in Rerum Hibernicarum Scriptores^ vol. i., gives a
facsimile of a passage from these Gospels, and adds : " Habemus
Eadfridum octavum Episcopum Lindisfamensem, Hibernorum
discipulum, qui codicem dictum S. Cuthberti, Vulgatae edi-
tionis propria manu exaravit, annum circiter 688, idque tarn

^ It must be remarked that it is only the, text of this MS. that is to be attri-
buted to Eadfrid. The note at the end of St. Matthew's Gospel expressly
states that the illuminations were executed by Ethelwald, a contemporary of
Eadfrid. The Saxon glosses are now generally referred to the tenth centurj'.
Home has fallen into many errors regarding this MS. See Wright, Anglo-
Sax. Lilt., page 427.

*' See Aldhelm's letter in Usher's Sylloge, No. xiii.

7b

100 Biblical Manuscripts of the

pulchre, ut, incomparabile Calligraphiae Hibernicae specimen,
dignissimus sit qui in omne aevum servetur".^®

The following passages will give some idea of the text of this
manuscript :

" Et APERIENS OS SUU3I DOCEBAT EOS DICENS BE ATI PAU-
PERES SPTRITU QUONIAM IPSORUM EST REGNUM COELORUM".''

" FUIT IN DIEBUS HeRODIS REGIS JuDAEAE SACERDOS
QUID AM NOMINE ZaCHARIAS DE VICE AbIA ET UXOR ILLI DE
FILIABUS ArON ET NOMEN EJUS ElISABET ERANT AUTEM
JUSTI AMBO ANTE DeUM INCEDENTES IN OMNIBUS MANDATIS
ET JUSTIFICATIONIBUS DOMINI SINE QUAERELLA ET NON
ERAT ILLIS filius"

" Pater noster qui es in caelis sanctificetur nomen

TUUM ADVENIAT REGNUM TUUM FIAT VOLUNTAS TUA SICUT
IN CAELO ET IN TERRA PaNEM NOSTRUM SUPERSUBSTANTIA-
LEM DA NOBIS HODIE Et DEMITTE NOBIS DEBITA NOSTRA SI-
CUT NOS DIMITTIMUS DEBITORIBUS NOSTRIS Et NE INDUCAS
NOS IN TENTATIONEM SED LIBERA NOS A MALO"/^

The MS. is numbered in the Cotton. Biblioth, AWo D. iv. It
has the Prefatory Epist. of St. Jerome to Pope Damasus, the
Eusebian Canons, the arrangements and summaries of each
Gospel. The Anglo-Saxon entry at the end of St. Matthew's
Gospel has been thus translated: "Thou, living God, bear
in mind Eadfrith, and Ethelwald, and Billfrith, and Aldred the
sinner. These four, with God's help, were employed upon this
book". A longer entry at the end of the volume is as follows :
" Eadfrith, bishop over the church of Lindisfarne, wrote this
book in honour of God and St. Cuthbert, and all the company
of saints in this island ; and Ethelwald, bishop of LindisfarnCj
made an outer cover, and adorned it as well as he was able ;
and Billfrith, the anchorite, wrought the metal work of the
ornaments on the outside thereof, and decked it with gold
and gems, overlaid also with silver and unalloyed metal ; and
Aldred, an unworthy and most miserable priest, by the help of
God and St. Cuthbert, overglossed the same in English, etc.".

1 3. The Siowe Missal, which, in the beginning of this century,
was illustrated by Dr. O'Conor in the appendix to his Stowe
Catalogue (vol. i.) and in the second volume of Rerum Hiher-
nicarum Scriptores, and more lately gave occasion to a valuable
archaeological essay of Dr. Todd," contains the Latin Gospel of
St. John.

^^ Ep. Ded., page clxxri.

'' See facsimile of this passage in Westwood, Paleogr. Sac, pi. 45.
72 Facsimiles of these two passages in O'Conor, Rer. Hih. Scrip., ep. ded., p.
cxcii. seqq.
7' In Transactions of the Royalllrish Academy^ vol. xxiii. June 23, 185G.

Early Irish Church. 101

This Missal forms part of the famous Stowe collection, and
hence derived its present name : it is now in the library of Lord
Ashburnham, and is undoubtedly the most important MS. of his
vast collection. It is encased in an Irish cumdach of venerable
antiquity, which is plated with silver and enriched with various
ornaments. Dr. Todd proves that the Irish inscriptions on the
lower side of the case cannot be later than the middle of the
eleventh century. One inscription prays: "The blessing of
God on every soul who deserves it" ; and another asks " A
prayer for Donnchadh son of Brian, king of Ireland". It was
in the year 1023 that Donnchadh, son of Brian, laid claim to
the sovereignty of Ireland, and as he was driven from the king-
dom in 1064, we have the limits clearly defined within vhich
the above inscription was written. Some of the other inscrip-
tions are very much effaced ; sufficient however remains to show
their reference to Lower Ormond, and if Dr. Todd's conjecture
be admitted, they specially refer to the monastery of Lothra,
founded by St. Ruadhan in the sixth century. He thus writes :
" It is certain from these inscriptions that the MS. for which this
precious shrine was made belonged to some church in Munster;
for, the older inscriptions represent it as having been enshrined
by Donnchadh, son of Brian Borumha, and Mac Raith O'Donn-
chadha, the great-grandson of Callachan Caisil, both of them
kings of Cashel or of Munster ; and the later inscriptions con-
nect it with O'Kennedy's country, or Lower Ormond, and in all
probability with the Irish monastery of Lothra or Lohra. . . .
It is by no means impossible that the MS. contained in this box
may have been the original ]\Iissal of St. Ruadhan himself, the
founder of the monastery of Lothra, who died a.d. 584". Judg-
ing from the internal data, the same learned antiquarian con-
cludes that the MS. "may well be deemed older than the sixth
century" (Ibid., pag. 15). Moreover, the pecuHar form of the
prayer Hanc igitur in the Canon of the Mass proves it to have
been written whilst remnants of paganism were still to be found
in the island. It is as follows : " Haric igitur ohlationem servi-
tutis nostrae Ecclesiae sed et cunctae familiae tuae quam tihi
offerimus in honorem Domini nostri Jesu Christi, et in commemo-
rationem beatorum Martirum tuornm, in hac ecclesia quam famu-
lus tuus ad honorem nominis gloriae tuae aedificavit quaesumus
Domine ut placatus suscipias eumqite atque omnem populum ah
idulorum cultura eripias et ad te Dominum patrem omnipotentem
convertas'\

The MS. begins with the Gospel of St. John. An illuminated
drawing of the Evangelist occupies one page. He is represented
as holding the Book of the Gospel in his hand, and he is sur-

102 Biblical Manuscripts of the

mounted by the eagle. In the next page the initial In is beau-
tifully and elaborately drawn, and the ornamental border with
the usual Irish emblems runs around the whole page. The first
page of the text is as follows : —

" In principio erat verbum et verbum erat apud Deum

ET DEUS erat verbum HOC ERAT IN PRINCIPIO APUD DeUM

omnia per ipsum facta sunt et sine ipso factum est
nihil quod factum est in eo vita est et vita erat lux
hominum et lux in tenebris lucet et tenebrae eam non
comprehenderunt".

14. The volume of The Gospels of Mael Brith Mac Durnan
is one of the chief ornaments of the Manuscript Library at
Lambeth.'* It is a small vellum volume, and contains the
four Gospels in Latin, written in the minuscule Irish cha-
racter. On a vacant space after the genealogies the following
inscription is inserted in a hand of the tenth century : —

" Maeielbridus Mac Durnani istum Textum per Triquadrum
Deo digne dogmatizat. Ast Aethelstanus Anglosaexana Rex et
Rector, Doruvernensi Metropoli dat per aevum".

In the margin is added in a much later hand the year 925. This
inscription has given rise to much literary controversy, and has
been variously translated by Mr. Lewis Morris, Mr. Pegge, Dr.
Todd, and others. Westwood, in his Facsimiles, justly remarks
that at all events it does not indicate that the Archbishop Mac
Durnan was the writer of the volume. This same antiquarian adds:
" From the palaeographical peculiarities of the volume, I have
no doubt that it was written by the same hand as the Gospels in
the Book of Armagh, which is now ascertained to have been
written by a scribe named Ferdomnach in 807, which may pro-
bably be regarded as near the date of the Gospels of Maeiel Brith
Mac Durnan". Dr. Todd published a very interesting paper
descriptive of this MS. in the British Magazine fov August 1838;
he there expressly lays down that "this beautifid volume is a

MS. of the seventh century and it bears decisive

and satisfactory evidence of having been written in Ireland"
(pag. 142).

Maelbrigid Mac Dornan, also written Mac Toman, was abbot
of Derry in the ninth century, and was subsequently promoted
to the see of Armagh in the year 885. He died a.d. 927. The
Irish annalists speak in the highest terms of Maelbrigid, and
extol his piety, charity, and learning. His death is thus chro-
nicled by the Four Masters: "Maolbrighde Mac Tornan, com-

'* Westwood, in his Paleographia Sac. Picf., devotes three plates to this im-
portant MS.

Early Irish Church, 103

harb of Patrick, Columbkille, and Adamnan, head of the piety
of all Ireland, and of almost all Europe, died at an advanced and
happy old age on the 20th of February". The Amials of Ulster
thus register the same event: "Maolbrighde Mac Toman, com-
harb of Patrick and Columbkille, felice senectute quievit".

King Athelstan succeeded to the throne of the Anglo-Saxons in
the year 925 : and Dr. Todd conjectures that " the present copy
of the Gospels may have been a present sent him by Maelbrigid
on his accession : and if it was then deemed a suitable present for
a prince, it must have been even then regarded as a volume of
some antiquity and value".'^ Perhaps, then, the inscription
which has already been given may be thus interpreted : " Mael-
hride O'Dornan for three quarters of a century teaches these
Gospels, i.e., shows them forth^ in his life : but Athelstan gives
them for ever to the metropolis of Canterbury \ This inter-
pretation must have the merit, at least, of being historically
correct, whilst the various interpretations hitherto proposed
have little save their blunders to commend them.^^

An Irish gloss or note in the Irish language is written in the
margin at the passage of St. Matthew xxvii., on our Saviour's
passion : Tno|A A-p-pA-p-pA -popi coinroiA mme A^u-p cAtmAn. " Great
dishonour this upon the Incarnate God of heaven and earth".

The text of the MS. agrees in the main with the Vulgate,
but retains many of the ante-Hieronymian readings. Two spe-
cimens will suffice : —

" Pater Noster qui es m coelis sancificetur nomen
TUUM Adveniat regnum tuum Fiat voluntas tua sicut

IN COELO ET IN TERRA. PaNEM NOSTRUM COTIDIANUM DA
NOBIS HODIE Et DIMITTE NOBIS DEBITA NOSTRA SICUT ET NOS
DIMISIMUS DEBITORIBUS NOSTRIS Et NE NOS INDUCAS IN TEMP-
TATIONEM SED LIBERA NOS A MALO. AmEN. . . .

" YlDENS AUTEM JeSUS TURBAS ASCENDIT IN MONTEM ET
CUM SEDISSET ACCESSERUNT AD EUM DISCIPULI EJUS ET APE-
RIENS OS SUUM DOCEBAT EOS DICENS. BeATI PAUPERES SPI-
RITU QUONIAM IPSORUM EST REGNUM COELORUM. BeATI MITES
QUONIAM IPSI POSSIDEBUNT TERRAM. BeATI QUI LUGENT
NUNC QUONIAM IPSI CONSOLABUNTUR. BeATI QUI ESURIUNT
ET SITIUNT QUONIAM IPSI SATURABUNTUR. BeATI MISERICOR

'^ Brit. Mag., loc. cit. pag. 144.

'^ Morris, in Cambrian Register, vol. i. pag. 358, translates it " Maeielbrith,
the son of Duman, does worthily expound this text by references, but Athelstan,
etc.". Samuel Pegge, Ibid., pag. 365, conjectures that the formida should be
*' per triquadium Dominum", and translates it "by the assistance of the Trinity".
Dr. Todd does not give any opinion, but mentions that '* a learned friend had
suggested that dogmatizat may, perhaps, mean sanctions or testifies to the ac-
curacy of this copy of the Gospels".

104 Biblical Manuscripts of the

DES QUONIAM fPSI MISERICORDIAM CONSEQUENTUR. BeATI
MUNDO CORDE QUONIAM IPSI DeUM VIDEBUNT. BeATI PACI-
FICI QUONIA3I FILII DeI VOCABUNTUR. BeATI QUI PERSECU-
TIONEM PATIUNTUR PROPTER JUSTITIA3I QUONIA3I IPSORUM
EST JIEGNUM COELORUM. BeATI ESTIS CUM MAEEDIXERUNT
VOBIS HOMINES ET PERSECUTI VOS FUERUNT ET DIXERUNT
OMNE MALUM ADVERSUM VOS MENTIENTES PROPTER ME GAU-
DETE ET EXULTATE . . . ."

15. Westwood'''' has published facsimiles from another Irish
MS. of the Gospels preserved in the Capitular Library of Dur-
ham, marked A. II. 16. It is in foHo, the vellum leaves measur-
ing fourteen inches by ten ; each page has thirty lines, and is
written in double columns.

In a MS. catalogue of the library, written in the year 1395, this
volume is described as " Quatuor Evangelia de manu Bedae".
Westwood adds : " That some portion of the volume may have
been ^vritten by Venerable Bede, may be possible, as the latter
portions of the text exhibit two, if not three, distinct hand-
writings". At all events it dates back to the age of Bede, and
is probably of an earlier date. The following is a specimen of
its text : —

"FUIT JOHANNIS IN DESERTO BARTIZANS ET PRAEDICANS
BAPTISMUM POENITENTIAE IN REMISSIONEM PECCATORUM.
" Et ERAT JoHAN^^IS VESTITUS PILIS CA3IELLI ET ZONA PEL-

licia circa lumbos ejus et lucustas et mel silvestre
aedebat".

16. The Book of Deir^ preserved in the University Library,
Cambridge (I. i. vi. 32), is of a small but rather wide octavo
form, and contains the Gospel of St. John, with portions of
the other three Gospels. This MS., which is certainly not
later than the ninth century, contains in the vacant spaces
several entries in the old Irish language referring to St. Colum-
ba's monastery of lona. At the end of St. John's Gospel the
Credo is inserted in full, and it is followed by three lines in
Irish: " Be it on the conscience of every man to whom shall be
any advantage from this book, to pray for a blessing upon the
soul of the wretch who wrote it".^^

The Gospel of St. Matthew thus begins :

" Liber generationis Jesu Xti filii David filii

7' Facsimiles, etc., pag. 9.

''* Westwood, Facsimiles, etc., p. 91. The Irish entries have been printed in
full in fac-simile by the photo-lithographic process, by Sir W. James, at the
head of the national work on the historical documents of Scotland. A trans-
lation of them was also given by Stokes in Saturday Review, 8th December,
1860.

Early Irish Church. 105

Abeacham. Abracham genuit Issac, Issac autem genuit
Jacob, Jacob autem genuit Judam, Judam et fratres
EJUS. Judas autem genuit Phares et Zaram de Tha-
MAR. Phares autem ".

At the end of the genealogy of our Saviour is the rubric :
" Finit prologus. Item incipit nunc evangelium secundum
Matheum\

Then follows, with illuminated capital and an elaborately
ornamented border :

" Xti autem generatio sic erat cum esset disponsata
mater ejus Maria Joseph antequam convenirent inven-
ta est in utero habens de spiritu sancto. Josep
autem vir ejus cum esset homo justus et nolet eam

TRADUCERE VOLUIT OCCULTE DEMITTERE EAM HAEC AUTEM
EO COGITANTE ECCE ANGELUS DOMINI IN SOMNIS APPARUIT

EI DiCENs Joseph filii David nolii timere accipere
Mariam cojujem tuam quod enim ex ea nascetur de
spiritu sancto est pariet autem filium et vocabis

NOMEN EJUS JeSUM IPSE ENIM SALVUM FACIENS. ".

The beginning of St. Luke's Gospel has some remarkable
readings :

"QUONIAM QUIDEM MULTI CONATI SUNT ORDINARE NAR-
RATIONEM QUAE IN NOBIS COMPLETAE SUNT RERUM SICUT
TRADIDERUNT NOBIS QUI AB INITIO IPSI VIDERUNT ET MI-
NISTRI FUERUNT SERMONIS VISUM EST ET MIHI ADSECUTO
PRINCIPIO OMNIBUS DILIGENTER EX ORDINE TIBI SCRIBERE
OB TIME ThEOFILE UT COGNOSCAS EORUM "

St. John's Gospel thus commences :

"In PRINCIPIO ERAT VERBUM ET VERBUM ERAT APUT
DeUM ET DeUS ERAT VERBUM HOC ERAT IN PRINCIPIO APUT

Deum omnia per ipsum facta sunt et sine ipso factum
est nihil quod factum est in ipso vita est et vita erat

LUX HOMINUM".

17. Gospels of Mac Regol. These Gospels, generally called the
" Rushworth Gospels ", having formerly belonged to a gentle-
man named Rushworth, are preserved in the Bodleian Library
(D. 24, No. 5946). The MS. at present consists of 169 leaves,
and contains the Vulgate Latin text of the Gospels. It is
highly prized for its style of writing and illuminations, and
especially for its interlinear Anglo-Saxon gloss. The usual
canons and prefaces are not added in this MS., and in the
body of the text some leaves are wanting. The Gospel of
St. Matthew extends to folio 50. verso^ and at its end is added:
''''Finit Amen Finit Amen Finit^\

The last two pages of St. John's Gospel are surrounded

106 Biblical Manuscripts of the

by a narrow ornamental border in compartments, and the last
page of the volume is also illuminated, being di\dded by orna-
mental frames into square compartments, in which the following
verses are inscribed:

"Mattheus instituit virtutum tramite mores bene vivendi
justo dedit ordine leges:

" Marcus amat terras inter caelumque volare et vehymens
aquila stricto secat omnia labsu :

" Lucas uberius descripsit proelia Christi jure sacrato vitulus
quia vatum moenia fatur :

" Johannis fremit ore leo similisque rudenti intonat intonate
teme pandens misteria vite :

" Macregol dipincxit hoc evangelium Quicumque legerit:

*' Et intellegerit istam narrationem oret pro Macreguil scrip-
tore".'^

The last verses preserve the name of the remarkable scribe
to whom we are indebted for this volume.®'* His death is re-
gistered in the Annals of the Four Masters^ in the year 820,
where he is styled " Mac Riagail Ua Maglena, scribe, bishop,
and abbot of Birr". A like entry is foimd in the Annals of
Ulster^ ad an. 821.®' Thus, the date of the MS. cannot be
later than the beginning of the ninth century. The text is the
Latin Vulgate, but with many peculiar readings Thus, in the
Gospel of St. Matthew, xix. it has :

*'Et factum est cum consummasset Jesus sekmones
istos traj^stulit se a galilea et yenit in fines judae
trans jordanem et secutae sunt eum turbae multae
ET CURAVIT EOS iBi''.^ — In ch. xxvii. V. 48, it has the passage :

CAETERI VERO DICEBANT SINE VIDEAMUS AN VENIAT HELIAS
ET LIBERAT EUM ALIUS AUTEM ACCEPTA LANCEA POPUNGIT

LATUS EJUS ET EXIIT AQUA ET SANGUIS". In the same chap-
ter, V. Qt^^ instead of " signantes lapidem cum custodibus",
it has the curious reading : " signantes lapidem et disces-
serunt".

In Mark ii. " Et EGRESSUS EST RURSUS AD MARE OIVINIS-
QUE TURBA VENIEBAT AD EUM ET DOCEBAT EOS ET CUM
PRAETERIRET VIDIT LeVIN AlPHEI SEDENTEM AD TELONUM
ET AIT ILLI SEQUERE ME ET SURGENS SECUTUS EST EUM".

In John i. " FuiT homo misus a Deo cui nomen erat
Johannis hic venit in testimonium ut testimonium per-

HIBERET DE LUMINE erat lux VERA QUAE INLUMINAT

'^ Westwood, Facsimil, pag. 55.
80 Westwood, Facsimiles, p. 35,

*' O'Donovan's Four Masters, p. 431 ; O'Conor, in Rer. Hib. Scriptt, vol. 2
p. 203.

Early Irish Church. 107

OMNEM HOMINEM VENIENTEM IN HUNC MUNDUM. In HOC

MUNDO erat", etc. And again xxi. "Petrus digit Jesu

DOMINE HIC AUTEM QUID. DiCif EI JeSUS SIC EUM VOLO

m^vnere donec veniam quid ad te tu me seque exivit
ergo sermo iste inter fratres quia discipulus ille non

MORITUR NON DIXIT JeSUS NON MORITUR SED SIC EUM VOLO
MANERE DONEC VENIO QUID AD TE".

18. The Book of Dimma. This MS. of the Four Gospels is of
small quarto size, measuring seven inches by five and a-half,
and contains 74 leaves of vellum. It is preserved in T.C.D.,
No. A. 4. 23. There are illuminated drawings of the three first
Evangelists at the beginning of their respective Gospels ; and
St. John's Gospel is preceded by the representation of an eagle
which is most elaborately adorned. On the figure of St. Luke,
in an ancient hand, is written " Reliquice Petri et PauU\ which
probably refers to the relics of these holy apostles being pre-
served in the same Cumdach with this book of the Gospels, as
often happened in our early Church.

At the end of each of the Gospels there is an Irish colophon
giving the name of the writer. Thus, at the end of St. Mat-
thew's Gospel : "A prayer for Dimma, who wrote this book for
God and for a blessing. "«' At the end of St. Mark : " Finit,
Amen, Deo gratias ago. A prayer for Dimma". After St.
Luke's Gospel : "A prayer for Dimmon of Dissidu, for whom
this book was written, and for the soul of the writer, Amen".^^
At the end of St. John's Gospel is written : " Finit, Amen.
Dimma Mac Nathi", and an Irish verse is added, " perhaps, says
Curry, the oldest piece of pure Gaelic writing in existence,"
which he thus translates :

'* I beseech for me as the price of my labour.

(In the following chapters without mistake)

That I be not venomously criticized ;

And the residence of the Heavens."^*
The name of the scribe Dimma is not unknown in Irish his-
tory. Colgan, in his Acta Sanctorum^ gives us an extract from
the life of St. Cronan, who founded the Abbey of Koscrea in
the beginning of the seventh century, in which it is said that
this holy man on a certain occasion engaged a skilful scribe
named Dimma to make a copy of the four Gospels. For forty
days and forty nights the scribe applied himself to this work •
without interruption, and such was his ardour that he felt neither

'^ Curry, Lectures, i. 652.

^^ Betham's Irish Antiquarian Researches, pag. 52.

8* Curry, he. cit. 652.

1 08 Biblical Manuscripts of the

fatigue nor the want of repose and food : he thought that the
forty days and nights were but one day, and in that period the
copy of the Gospels was not so elegantly as correctly written"
()ion tarn bona quam veraci littera scripsit).^^ This last part of
the description fully agrees with the MS. which now bears the
name of Dimma. " Dimma's book", says Sir William Betham,
" has evidently been hastily Avritten ; the first four pages are
much better and smaller written than the remainder, which bear
marks of haste, having been written without lines, a singular
circumstance in an old MS. ...It may be asserted with confidence
to be the MS. on which the legend of St. Cronan is founded".^^

All the circumstances connected with the MS. tend to confirm
this opinion. Its illuminated work as well as the writing itself
bring us back to the earliest school of Irish art, and from time
immemorial down to the dissolution of the monasteries it was
preserved in a rich shrine or Cumdach in the abbey of Eos-
crea.®^ This shrine may now be seen in T.C.D. It is a richly
ornamented case, the earlier portion of which dates back to a
very early period, whilst its more recent inscriptions record its
repairs in the twelfth and again in the thirteenth century by
the spiritual and lay heads of the district of Roscrea.^'

It is remarkable that in this ^IS., immediately after the Gospel
of St. Luke, the ritual and prayers for visiting the sick are in-
serted, occupying three pages and a-half, written in the original
hand. It mentions Extreme Unction, at which the words are to
be used : " Ungo te oleo sanctificato in nomine Trinitatis ut
salveris in saecula saeculorum, Amen". Before giving the Holy
Communion it prescribes that the kiss of peace be given to the
sick man with the words : " Pax et communicatio sanctorum
tuorum, Xte Jesu, sit semper vobiscum". And then it is added
'* Des ei Eucharistian dicens : Corpus et sanguis Domini nostri
Jesu Xti filii Dei vivi conservat animam tuam in vitam aeternam
A men\^^

The genealogy with which the Gospel of St. Matthew begins
presents an unique and very remarkable reading :

" Liber geneeationis Jesu Xti filii David filii
Abram. Abeam autem genuit Issac etc Jacob

AUTEM GENUIT JoSEPH VIB MaEIAE DE QUA NATUS EST

85 Colgan, Acta SS., pag. 16.
^^ Betham, Antiq. Res , pag. 48.

87 Ibid., 44.

88 See these inscriptions with facsimiles of the shrine in Betham's Antiq. Re-
search.

"^ See for these and other extracts the Introduction to the MitsaledeArbuth-
710 tt by the Bishop of Brechin, pag, xii.

Early Irish Church. 109

Jesus Xtus, cui disponsata virgo Maria, Maria autem

GENUIT JeSUM qui DICITUR XtUS".

Then follows in another column with illuminated capitals :
" Xti autem generatio sic erat cum esset disponsata

MATER EJUS MaRIA JoSEPH ANTEQUAM CONVENIRENT IN-
VENTA EST IN UTERO HABENS DE SPIRITU SANCTO. JoSEPH
AUTEM VIR EJUS CUM ESSET HOMO JUSTUS ET NOLET EAM
TRADUCERE VOLUIT OCULTE DIMITTERE EAM HOC VERO EO
COGITANTE ECCE ANGELUS DOMINI IN SOMNIS APARUIT EI

DiCENS, Joseph filii David noli timere accipere Mariam

CONJUGEM TUAM QUOD ENIM EX EA NASCETUR DE SPIRITU
SANCTO est".

The " Our Father", Matt., vi. 9, has some very peculiar read-
ings :

" Pater noster qui es in caelis sanctificetur nomen
tuum adveniat regnum tuum fiat voluntas tua sicut
IN caelo et in terra panem nostrum codditianum da

NOBIS HODIE ET DEMITE NOBIS DEBITA NOSTRA SICUT ET
NOS DEMISSIMUS DEBITORIBUS NOSTRIS ET NE PATIARIS NOS
INDUCI IN TEMPTATIONEM SED LIBERA NOS A MALO".

In chap, xxvii. of St. Matthew, verse 48, we meet with the
interpolated passage :

"Alius aujem accepta lancea pupungit latus ejus

ET EXIVIT AQUA ET SANGUIS. JeSUS AUTEM ITERUM CLAMANS
VOCE MAGNA EMISSIT SPIRITUM".

St. Mark's Gospel thus commences :

" Initium evangelii Jesu Xti filii Dei sicut scriptum

EST in ASSAIA PROFETA ECCE MITO ANGELUM MEUM ANTE
FACIEM TUAI^I qui PRAEPARABIT VIAM TUAM ANTE TE. VoX
CLAMANTIS IN DESERTO PARATE VIAM DOMINI RECTAS FA-
CITE SEMITAS ejus".

The Gospel of St. Luke begins .

"QUONIAM QUIDEM MULTI QUONATI SUNT ORDINARE
NARRATIONEM QUAE IN NOBIS COMPLETAE SUNT RERUM".

The beginning of St. John's Gospel is as follows :

" In principio erat verbum et verbum erat apud

DeUM et DeUS erat verbum HOC ERAT IN PRINCIPIO

APUD Deum. Omnia per ipsum facta sunt et sine ipso

FACTUM EST NIHIL QUOD FACTUM EST. In IPSO VITA EST

et vita erat lux hominum et lux in tenebris lucet

ET TENEBRAE EAM NON COMPREHENDERUNT. FuiT HOMO

MISSUS A Deo cui nomen erat Johannis hic venit...".

19. Sf. Moling' s Gospels. This volume, which has much in com-
mon with the Book of Uimma^ is also preserved in Trinity Col-
lege, Dublin. It contains a copy of the Four Gospels in Latin

1 10 Biblical Manuscripts of the

dating from the seventh century, and it still retains the Cum-
dach^ or ornamental shrine, with which it was enriched by the
piety of the faithful through reverence for the holy bishop to
whom it had belonged.

St. Moling, towards the middle of the seventh century,
founded a great monastery at Achadh-Cainidh, which subse-
quently bore his name, and was known as Teach- Moling, now
anglicized St. Mullins. He was subsequently elevated to the
episcopate in the see of Ferns, and so remarkable was his sanc-
tity, that in his honour a preeminence above all the sees of the
province of Leinster was decreed to the bishop of Ferns. Many
years before his death he resigned his see, and withdrew to his
loved monastery at Teach-Moling, and there, in his eighty-
second year, was summoned to his reward, a.d. 696.^° This
copy of the Gospels was handed down with religious veneration
for centuries in the Kavanagh family, which claimed St. Moling
as their patron, till the beginning of the present century, when
it was presented by the representative of that family, ]\Ir.
Kavanagh of B orris, to the library of Trinity College, Dublin.

Like the Book of Dimma, St. Moling's Gospels present the
ritual to be observed when visiting the sick. It is inserted in
the original hand, immediately after the Gospel of St. Matthew.
It begins with the prayer : " Or emus fr aires c/iarissimi pro spi-
ritu chari nostri N. qui secundum carnem egritudinem patitur, ut
Dominus ei relevationem doloris praesentiet^ vitam concedat, tute-
lam salutis, remunerationem bonorum operum impertiat, per
Dominum'\ A special blessing is given for water to be sprinkled
over the sick man. Then follows the rubric : " Tunc unges
eum oleo", and the words to be used whilst administering Ex-
treme Unction are added : " Unguo te de oleo sanctifcationis in
nomine Dei Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sanctis ut salvus eris in
nomine Sanctae Trinitatis" . The rubric for communion is "Tunc
reficitur corpore et sanguine", and then follow the words with
which the holy Communion is administered : *' Corpus cum
sanguine Domini nostri Jhesu ^sti sanitas sit tibi in vitam
aeternam'\ and the sweet prayer is added, " Custodi intra nos
Domine gloriae tuae munus ut adversus omnia praesentis saeculi
mala Eucharistiae quam percipimus oir'ibus muniamur, per

Dominum Reffecti Xti corpore et anguine^ tibi semper

Domine dicamus aUeluja^\^^

" Genu IT Jacob Jacob autem genuit Joseph cui dis-

^° Annals of Ulster, and Annals of Four Masters, ad an. 696. The Annals oj
Clonmacnoise place his death in the year 692, and commemorate his " holiness
and sanctity".

*' See facsimile of this passage in Curry's Lectures, vol, i. appendix M.

Early Irish Church 111

PONSATA EST ViRGO MaRIA QUAE GENUIT IhESUM QUI DIOI-

TUR XsTus" {Matt. L).

" Xti autem generatio sic erat cum esset disponsata

MATER EJUS MaRIA JoSEPH ANTEQUAM CONVENIRENT IN-
VENTA EST IN UTERO HABENS DE SpIRITU SaNCTO JoSEPH
AUTEM VIR EJUS CUM ESSET HOMO JUSTUS ET NOLET EAM
TRADUCERE VOLUIT OCCULTE DEMITTERE EAM HAEC AUTEM
EO COGITANTE ECCE ANGELUS DOMINI IN SOMPNIS APPA-
RUIT EI DICENS JoSEPH FILI DaVID NOLI TIMERE ACCI-
PERE MaRIAM CONJUGEM TUAM QUOD ENIM IN EA NASCE-

TUR DE Spiritu Sancto est" {Matt. ii.).

In Matthew vi. the Lord's Prayer is thus given :
** Pater Noster qui es in caelis sanctificetur no-
men TUUM ADVENIAT REGNUM TUUM FIAT VOLUNTAS TUA
SICUT IN CAELO ET IN TERRA PANEM NOSTRUM SUPERSUB-
STANTIALEM DA NOBIS HODIE ET REMITTE NOBIS DEBITA
NOSTRA SICUT ET NOS REMITTEMUS DEBITORIBUS NOSTRIS ET
NE PATIARIS NOS INDUCI IN TEMPTATIONEM SED LIBERA NOS
A MALO".

In the Gospel of St. Luke we read :

"Una AUTEM S ABB ATI VALDE DELUCULO VENERUNT AD
MONUMENTUM MaRIA MaGDALENA ET ALTERA MaRIA POR-
TANTES AROMATA QUAE PARAVERANT ET INVENERUNT LAPI-
DEM REVOLUTUM A MONOMENTO ET INGRESSAE NON INVENE-
RUNT CORPUS Domini Jhesu in monomento et factum est

DUM MENTE CONSTERNATAE ESSENT DE ISTO ET ECCE DUO VIRI
STETERUNT SECUS ILLAS IN VESTE FULGENTi" {Luke, xxiv).

The " Argument" of St. Jerome is prefixed to the text of the
Gospel of St. John. It contains some interesting peculiar read-
ings :

"De Johanne. Hie est Johannes evangelista unus de xii.
discipulis Dei qui virgo electus a Deo est. Quern de nuptiis
nolentem nubere vocavit Deus. Cui virginitatis in hoc du-
plex testimonium in evangelio datur quod et praeceptis'^ delec-
tus a Deo dicitur et huic matrem suam iens ad crucem com-
mendavit Deus ut virginem virgo servaref .

At the end of the Gospel of St. John we read :

" Finit Amen Finit. Tu quicumque scripseris vel scrutatus

fueris vel etiam videris hoc volumen Deum orat Nomen

autem scriptoris Muling dicitur. Finiunt quatuor Evangelia".

20. There is another most venerable and ancient uncial MS.
copy of the Gospels in T.C.D., marked in the catalogue A.4.15,
which, in the opinion of our leading antiquarians, vies in anti-

^2 It is thus in the MS., but it is a manifest error for prae caeteris.

112 Biblical Manuscripts of the

quity even with the Gospels of the Domnach AirgidP Its his-
tory, however, is completely unknown, and a considerable por-
tion of its vellum leaves has been destroyed by exposure to
damp and by the carelessness of its possessors in past times.

Should conjecture be allowed, it would seem to me that this
is no other than the volume known as St. Martin's Gospels in
our early Church. In the old Irish life of St. Columba it is
said that, when visiting on one occasion the relics of St. Mar-
tin at Tours, he received as a gift the copy of the Gospels
that had lain on St. Martin's breast for one hundred years.®*
Our annals make mention of this treasure as preserved in the
church of Derry in the twelfth century,®^ till a great battle
which was fought in the year 1182 between the Norman in-
vaders and the Kinel-Owen, when the latter were defeated, and,
as the annals record, " on this occasion the English carried off
with them the Gospel of St. Martin".®' In other ancient records
the same volume is called "the Gospel of the Angel", audit is
said to have received this name from being shown to St. Co-
lumba in the shrine of our apostle. It is thus the account of
the discovery of this precious MS. is given in the Annals of
Ulster from the ancient chronicle of Cuana : " The relics of
Patrick were enshrined sixty years after his death by Colimi-
cille. Three precious reliquaries were foimd in the tomb, viz. :
the chalice, and the Angel's Gospel, and the bell of the will.
The angel directed Columcille to divide the three reliquaries
thus : the chalice to Down, the bell of the will to Armagh, the
Gospel of the Angel to Columcille himself: and it is called the
Gospel of the Angel because Columcille received it from the
hands of the angel".®'

The order of the gospels in this MS. is very peculiar. St.
John follows immediately after St. Matthew, then comes the
gospel of St. Luke, and St. Mark holds the last place. At the
end of St. Luke is an ornamental illuminated cross, with Alpha
and Omega at either side, and the inscription : " Explicit
secundum Lucanum. Incipit secundum Marcum!\

I copied the following passages from this venerable MS. : —

*'Et ACCIPIENS coram ILLIS MANDUCAVIT ET RELIQUA
ACCEPIT ET DEDIT ILLIS DIXIT AUTEM ILLIS HAEC SUNT
VERBA MEA QUAE LOCUTUS SUM AD VOS CUM ADHUC ESSEM

93 Haddan, Councils and Eccl. Documents relating to Great Britain and Ireland,
vol. i. (London, 1869), page 190. Reeves calls it "the oldest copy of the Gos-
pels which is known ". See his paper on The Book of Armagh, pag. 3.

3* Reeves's Adamnan, pag. 324, 325.

^^ Annals of Ulster, ad an. 1166.

^^ Ibid., ad an. 1182.

^^ Ibid., ad an. 552.

Early Irish Church. 113

VOBISCUM QUONIAM OPORTEBAT OMNIA IMPLERI QUAE
SCRIBTA SUNT IN LEGE MOYSI ET PROFETIS ET IN PSALMIS

DE ME. Tunc aperuit sensum eorum ut intellegerent

SCRIBTURAS ET DIXIT ILLIS QUONIAM SCRIBTUM EST XTUM
PATI ET RESURGERE A MORTUIS TERTIA DIE ET PRAEDICARI
IN NOMINE EJUS PENITENTIAM ET REMISSIONEM PECCATORUM
IN OMNES GENTES INCIPIENS AB HIERUSALEM. VOS AUTEM
TESTES ESTIS HORUM ET EGO..." (Luke, xxiv.).

"QuOD VIDIT ET AUDIVIT TESTATUR ET TESTIMONIUM
ILLIUS NEMO ACCIPIT QUI ACCIPIT TESTIMONIUM EJUS...
QUONIAM DeUS VERAX EST QUEM ENIM MISIT DeUS VERBA

Dei loquitur non enim ad mensuram dat Deus spiritum
QUIA Pater diligit filium et omnia dedit in manu
Ejus.^^ Qui credit in filio habet vitam aeternam qui

AUTEM NON CREDIT IN FILIO NON VIDEBIT VITAM SED IRA

Dei MANET SUPER eum" — (John, iii.).

21. The Codex Maelbrighte gave occasion to many angry con-
troversies in the last century, and is now preserved among the
Harleian MSS. in the British Museum, No. 1082. It formerly
belonged to the Bibliotheque Royale of France,^^ and was
classed there among the Anglo-Saxon MSS. John Toland,
our countryman of irreligious memory, was the first to bring it
under the notice of the British public, and soon after it was
purchased by the Earl of Oxford as a MS. of the sixth century.
It was particularly prized, however, on account of its several
glosses and other entries, which were unintelligible to its ori-
ginal owners, but from the frequent recurrence of Latin words
were supposed to be a Latino-Saxon vocabulary. With the pro-
gress of the study of the Irish language and antiquities all these
theories soon vanished. All the features of the MS. were found
to belong to the very latest period of the old Irish school, and
its colophons, being deciphered and translated, fixed the precise
date of the MS. in the year 1138. The supposed Latino-Saxon
dictionary was found to be passages from ancient Irish poems
with Latin phrases interspersed, and evidently copied from some
far earlier sources. These have been since translated by O'Curry
and other Irish scholars, and are printed by Dr. Reeves in Pro-
ceedings of R. 1. A}^^

One of the Irish verses bears the name of Fothadh na-

^'* The words underlined are cancelled in MS., but nevertheless they can be
distinctly traced.

^^ See Simon's Bihliotheque Critique, vol. i. pag. 271 ; also Gtntleman's Maga-
zine for 1832, vol. cii. pag. 30 ; and Sylvestre's Universal Palaeogr., translated
by Sir F. Madden, vol. ii. pag. 472.

'•' Proceedings, vol. v. pag. 45-67.

VOL. V. 8

1 1 4 Biblical Manuscripts of the

Canoine^ who flourished in the year 804,'*^' and is thus trans-
lated by Dr. Reeves : —

" Wisdom, understanding, counsel.
Knowledge, might, stern watchfulness,
The fear of the Lord in this passing world,
Are the seven gifts of God unto us".

The MS. at present consists of one hundred and fifty-six folios
in small quarto, and contains the Latin Vulgate text of the four
Gospels, with the usual " Arguments" of St. Jerome prefixed.
The name of the scribe was Maelhrigte G' Maelunaigli^ who, in
each of the colophons, asks the reader's prayers. The conclu-
sion of the whole volume is as follows : "A prayer for Mael-

brigid O'Maelunaigh, who wrote this book at Armagh

A blessing on every one who will pardon the faults of this book :
let him say a Pater for the soul of the scribe. It much requires
indulgence, both in the text and commentaries".

The following passages will sufiice to show that, as usual in
the Irish MSS., the Codex Maelbrigte presents some curious
readings : —

*' Et factum est cum consummasset Jhesus sermones
istos migravit a galilea et venit in fines judae trans

JoRDANEM ET SECUTAE SUNT EUM TURBAE MULTAE ET
CURAVIT EOS IBl" — {Mattli. xix.).

" Initium Evangelii Jhesu Xti filii Dei sicut scrip-
tum est in issaia propheta ecce mitto angelum meum
ante faciem tuam qui preparabit viam tuam. yox
clamantis in deserto parate viam domini rectas facite

SEMITAS EJUS. FUIT JOHANNIS IN DESERTO BAPTIZANS"—
{Marc. i.).

"In principio erat verbum et verbum erat apud

DEUM ET DeUS ERAT YERBUM, HOC ERAT IN PRINCIPIO
APUD DeUM : OMNIA PER IPSUM FACTA SUNT, ET SINE IPSO
FACTUM EST NIHIL QUOD FACTUM EST, IN EO VITA EST ET
VITA ERAT LUX HOMINUM ET LUX IN TENEBRIS LUCET ET
TENEBRAE EAM NON COMPREHENDERUNT" {Joail. i.).

22. Another Harleian MS., numbered 1023 in the catalogue of
the British Museum, is described by Westwood as "a small
quarto volume containing the Four Gospels in Latin, but writ-
ten in strong-set Irish minuscule characters, and in the Vulgate
version, with, however, various readings". ^"^ To judge from the
facsimiles given in his plates, it shoidd belong to an earlier
date than the Codex Maelbrigte. In the first of the following
passages the interpolated sentence is retained :

'"' See Annals of the Four Masters, ad an. 799.
'« Palaeography Sac. Pict., "Irish MSS.", pag 7.

Early Irish Church. 115

"Caetert vero dtcebant sine videamus an veniat

HELIAS LIBERARE EUM. AlIUS AUTEM ACCEPTA LANCEA
PUPUGIT LATUS EJUS ET EXIIT AQUA ET SANGUIS. JlIESUS
AUTEM ITERUM CLAMANS VOCE MAGNA EMISIT SPIRITUM" —

(Matth. xxvii.).

'* DOMINE HIC AUTEM QUID DiCIT EI JhESUS SIC EGO EUM
VOLO MANERE DONEC VENIAM QUID AD TE TU ME SEQUERE.
EXIVIT ERGO SERMO ISTE INTER FRATRES QUOD DISCIPULU8
ILLE NON MORITUR ET NON DIXIT EI JhESUS NON MORITUR
SED SIC EUM VOLO MANERE DONEC VENIAM. HiC EST DISCI-
PULUS, ETC." (John, xxi.).

23. I have already exceeded the limits allotted to this paper,
and yet there are many other monuments of early Irish Biblical
literature, which would merit special attention. In the libra-
ries of England we meet with a copy of the Gospels of the
tenth century at Oxford C. C. College, No. 122, with por-
tions of SS. John and Luke, at Corp. C, Cambridge, No. 197,
and fragments of Matthew and Mark, among the Cotton MSS.,
marked Otho, C.V. The beautiful prayer-book presented to
Cambridge University library by George the First (No. L. I. i,
10), and which once belonged to Bishop Ethelwold, but dates
from an earlier period, contains a portion of the Gospels, and
certainly was the work of an Irish artist. '°^ The Irish Gospels
of the seventh century, which formerly were preserved at
St. Gatien in Tours, are now supposed to form part of the
valuable collection of Lord Ashburham.^"* The Gospels of
St. Boniface, in the library of Fulda, is "in a true Irish, very
small minuscule character'V"^ and is one of the three most
ancient MSS. : " Quos in ipso martyrii campo ubi S. Bonifacius
Archiepiscopus cum sociis gloriose occubuit manus fidelium
recoUegerunt ac in sacrarium Fuldense deportarunt ", as the
old entry records. At St. Gall, in Switzerland, there are
several Biblical MSS., brought thither by its holy founder, or
by the Irish pilgrims in the eighth and ninth centuries.'"^ One of
the most important of these MSS. is a quarto volume of the

*^3 Westwood, Fac- similes, p. 61.

^^^ Ibid., 92, and Palaeogr. Sac, Irish MSS., p. 11. A fac-simile of the first
page is given by Schannat, Vindem. Liit., and is copied in Nouv. Tr. de Diplom.,
vol. iii, plate 59.

■^^ At fol. 43 it contains a curious prayer, headed, hanc luricam Lading canta^
vit Ur in omni die, which begins : " Suffragare Trinitatis unitas, unitatis mise-
rere trinitas, suffragare quaesso mihi posito maris magni velut in periculo ut
non secum trahat me mortalis hujus aevi neque mundi vanitas. Et hoc idem
peto a sublimibus coelestis militiae virtutibus ", etc. A paper on this MS. will
be found in Home and Foreign Re.view, vol. ii.

'"* See Dr. Reeves's paper on Early Irish Calligraphy in Ulster Journal of
ArchaeoL, Julv, 1860.

8 n

116 Biblical Manuscripts of the

Latin Gospels (No. 51), which presents all the peculiar features
of the early Irish school. The Gospels known as the Gospels
of Willibrord are now preserved in the imperial library, Paris
{Latin Gospels^ No. 693). Dr. Waagen attests that '• it is Irish
work, and the oldest specimen of the style in existence". '°^ The
Irish Gospels, formerly preserved at St. Germain des Pres
(No. 108)^°^ have been recently met with by Westwood in the
imperial library of St. Petersburg. They date from the eighth
century, and contain the Latin Vulgate text. At Wurzburg
the Gospels of the Irish martyr St. Killian, stained with his
blood, are carefully preserved in the public library, and are
shown to the faithful as a precious relic of the saint on his
feast-day. The same library has the famous copy of the
Epistles of St. Paul, so rich in Celtic glosses, illustrated by
Zeuss.'"^ It is also enriched with the Gospels of St. Burchard,
first bishop of Wurzburg, styled Scotus, that is, an Irishman,
in all the ancient documents of the see. This last MS. is
encased in a silver cumdach, and at the end of St. Matthew's
Gospel has the following curious lines :
** Sicut navigantibus proximus est portus
Sic et scriptori novissimus versus. Tris
Digiti scribunt et totum corpus laborat
Hora pro me scriptore sic Deum habeas protectorem".
In the Ambrosian Library, Milan, the traveller towards the
sunny south will meet with a copy of the Latin Gospels in
Irish uncials, brought thither from Bobbio, dating from the
seventh century, probably written by the hand of the great
missioner St. Columbanus. The same library has also a copy of
the Epistles of St. Paul, from Bobbio, marked on the catalogue :
" Pauli Apostoli Epistolae: item Epistolae aliae septem Cano-
nicae Codex Membr. Bobbiensis saec. ix".

24. The Acts of our early missionary saints refer to other
copies of the Sacred Text, which for centuries were treasured
up in the countries hallowed by the ministry of these
holy men, and which the enquiries of some learned traveller
may, perhaps, once more bring to light ; such, for instance, are
the Gospels of St. Cathaldus at Taranto, and of St. Silas at
Lucca. Such too is the Book of St. Duach, archbishop of
Armagh, a cotemporary of St. Gildas: he resigned the see of
St. Patrick before the middle of the sixth century, and sought
a life of retirement and prayer in Cornwall. His life, pubHshed

•0^ SeeiVouy. Tr. de Dlplom., vol. ii. p. 214, and vol. iii. p. 226.

^^^ Facsimiles, p. 53.

10® Grammatica Celtica, vol. i. pref. xx.

Early Irish Church. 117

by Albert Le Grand, assures us that his relics and his book
are preserved at Penmarch, and held in veneration there.""

25. As regards the text which the Irish MSS. of the S. S. pre-
sent, it may be safely asserted that it belongs to no particular re-
cension and follows no fixed type. Scarcely two of the many
MSS. I have mentioned can be said to be derived from the
same immediate source : some of them are manifestly copied
from ante-Hieronymian versions, whilst others represent the
Vulgate, but with a great variety of different readings. *' It is
remarkable", writes Dr. Todd, "thatthe Irish Biblical manuscripts
exhibit a text which agrees exactly neither with that which is
usually regarded as characteristic of the ante-Hieronymian ver-
sions nor with the recension of St. Jerome. This observation
is true of the Psalter as well as of the Gospels. In the book of
Armagh, the only complete copy of the New Testament that we
possess, the Gospels are in the Hieronymian text, or nearly so,
the Epistles and Apocalypse in the ante-Hieronymian ; all, of
course with the usual amount of various readings"."^

Such a diversity of texts is precisely what we should be led
to expect from the lives of our early Saints. The exuberance
of the piety of our fathers led them continually away on pil-
grimage to the hallowed shrines on the continent, and above all
to the holy city of Rome, and thence they brought back with them
as precious treasures copies of the Sacred Scriptures. Thus St .
Finian of ]\Iaghbile, whose death is marked in our Annals in the
year 589, brought with him from Italy "the Gospels of pure
gold""^ which a scholiast on the Felire of Aengus has explained
to indicate that St. Finian was the first who brought to Ireland
the corrected text of St. Jerome's version. And so it was with
most of the other great saints of our island, of whom it is re-
corded that they went abroad either as pilgrims in search of
piety and learning, or as missionaries to bear to distant lands
the light of the Gospel.

For several centuries after St. Jerome's time, his recension,
now known as the Latin Vulgate, was not of general use '^
throughout the continent. For instance, St. Leo in the middle
of the fifth century uses in his writings an ante-Hieronymian
version. St. Gregory the Great, at the close of the sixth cen-
tury, was the first pontifi" to show a decided preference to St.

110 The Bollandists publish extracts from this life in vol. iii. for June, p. 537.
Le Grand gave him the name of Vouga, and the Bollandists, finding no such
name among the archbishops of Armagh, concluded that his connection with
the see of Armagh was a fabulous addition of later times. That name, how-
ever, is a mere corruption of the Irish name Duach.

"1 Vetera Mon., vol. vi. Descriptive Particulars, etc., pag. 1.

^^^ Felire of Aengus at 12th September. See also Colgan Acta SS. pag. 638.

1 1 8 Biblical Manuscripts of the

Jerome's translation ; but even then this great pontiff was so
far from deeming it a matter of necessity to follow that version,
that he excuses himself for using the more recent text, and
when consulted by St. Leander of Seville, he wi'ote to him that
the old and new Latin versions had been received alike by his
predecessors in the see of Rome, and that Leander was at liberty
to make use of either.*'^ Thus, for centuries after St. Jerome's
time, there was no common Latin text which copyists deemed
it necessary to follow. Hence they chose whatever seemed
best in the texts that were accessible to them : they sometimes
went farther, and substituted provincial phrases and forms of
expression for the pui-er Latinity, which seemed to them obscure ;
sometimes, too, they introduced into their text, from diiferent
versions, two distinct translations of the same word or sentence,
and occasionally the marginal glosses were adopted into the
text, when they appeared to the scribe to render the meaning
more intelligible. It should be a matter of surprise, indeed, if
the Irish Biblical MSS. did not show the same variety which
was found in the continental texts ; and hence we may under-
stand how weak was the cause of the polemical assailants of
the Catholic faith in Ireland, when they appealed to the diffe-
rence which existed between the various readings of these an-
cient MSS. and the modern Vulgate, as proof of the Protestant-
ism of our fathers."* They should rather have pondered on the
Catholic teaching and Catholic practices which these venerable
monuments of our early Church show forth at every page, and
they should not have forgotten the remarkable fact which
stands forth so prominently in the early ages of our faith, that
although so many texts of the Sacred Scripture have come
down to us in the language of the Church, no traces can be'
found to justify the teaching that the Bible should, of necessity,
be offered to the people in the vulgar tongue. Mr. Mason,
indeed, when writing some fifty years ago on "the Irish ver-
sions of the Bible", felt the force of this reflection, but thought

"3 Epp. S. Gregorii, "Epist ad Leand.", cap. 5.

11* Lynch, in his MS. Historij of the Bishops of Ireland, speaking of Dr. Ed-
mund O'Dempsey, bishop of Leighlin in the seventeenth centnrj^ says that this
distinguished man before his elevation to the episcopate composed a work
entitled " Feed your Flock", in which he exposed the statement of a certain
Protestant bishop, probably the bishop of Mcath : '* qui asserere non verebatur
Evangelium Sancti Columbae manibus exscriptum et ejusdem S. Columbae
religionem Bibliis et Keligioni protestantium per omnia consonare". He adds
that Eoch Mac Geoghegan, bishop of Kildare, refuted this theory of the Pro-
testant bishop by illustrating the copy of the Four Gospels : " quae a S.
Columba exarata esse creduntur et apud Durrow in Comitatu Eegis turn
servata in maxima veneratione habebautur ; ita ut liber ille pro religiosissimo
juramento adhiberetur" ( fol 362).

Early Irish Church. 119

to set it aside by stating that the Latin language was, in fact,
the common language of all in those early times. I will not
enquire how fully this remark of the learned writer may prove
true in those countries where the standard of Eome's imperial
conquest had been unfurled ; but, as regards Ireland, its accuracy
cannot be sustained, and, as we learn from Ven. Bede, it was not
because the Latin was the common language of Ireland that
the S. S. was used in that tongue, but it was because the early
saints of our island, as well as those of England and Scotland,
used the Bible in the Latin version, that that language became
in a manner common to them all. Yet, even so, the Latin was
not the language most familiar to them. One example will
suffice to prove this. When the famous conference was held
at Streanshall between the Irish and Saxon monks, under their
respective leaders, St. Colman and St. Wilfrid, it was not the
Latin language that was used by the disputants, but the Celtic
and Saxon tongues,''^ whilst the holy Ceddi, brother of St.
Ceadda, who had studied for many years under the Irish
monks, acted as interpreter between the contending parties.

26. I will conclude this dis'cursive paper by pointing out a few
of the missing Biblical MSS. of our early Church, which at one
time were religiously preserved by our fathers, but of which
no fragments can now be found. In this city two cumdachs
may be visited by the antiquarian, but the Gospels which they
once contained, have long since disappeared. One of these
shrines, known as the Miosach, is preserved in the Columba
College ; the other adorns the museum of our National Academy.
This latter cumdach traditionally bears the name of " the Gos-
pel of St. Molaisse", the great saint who founded the monas-
tery of Devenish in the sixth century, and to judge from the
rich ornaments and the inscriptions which still remain on this
beautiful shrine, it must have been held in high esteem indeed
in our early Church. It is thus described from Petrie's papers
by Dr. Stokes :'''

" The next shrine (cumdach) of which Petrie gives a detailed
account, is that of the Soiscel Molaise, or Gospel of St. Molaise.
It is a metal box about five inches long and three broad ; the
frame is formed of brass plates overlaid with silver layers, pre-
senting on each side varieties of intricate and beautiful ornamen-
tal designs. On the front are four compartments containing
the four evangelical symbols, accompanied with the figurative
and real names of the evangelists engraved in the early Irish
characters ; and on the back is a plate of silver. The ends are

"s Bede, Hist. Eccl, lib. 3, cap. 25. "« Xt/e of Petrie, page 274.

120 Biblical Manuscripts of the Early Irish Church.

ornamented with interlaced work gilt, and one contains a figure
of an ancient ecclesiastic, habited, and holding a book to his
breast, probably St. Molaise bearing his Gospels. All the
angels are bound together and rounded with a tubular fastening
of silver. The bottom has a silver plate cut into three large open
compartments, in which panels of ornamental work were pro-
bably inserted ; and besides there are ten smaller divisions
filled with designs formed of serpents interlaced. The inscrip-
tion occupies three sides of the margin, which, taken in conjunc-
tion with local tradition, confers upon the reliquary an amount
of historical precision, and puts its origin and date (from the
eleventh century) beyond question".

In the Irish life of St. Senanus it is said that he " went to
Rome to venerate the relics of the holy apostles Peter and
Paul and the other holy martyrs, and thence he went to Tours
to visit St. Martin". As a pledge of friendship and communion
he bore away with him " the New Testament, i.e. the holy Gos-
pel of Jesus Christ and of the apostles" ; and the life adds " that
is the Gospel which St. Senan always kept at Inis-Cattery, and
it was preserved there after him".'^^ Again in the Life of St.
Ailbhe, the patron of Emly, we are told that " a holy virgin,
the daughter of Mac lair^ sent to St. Ailbhe for a scribe who
would write the Four Books of the Gospel for her. The saint
sent him to her, but when he had written two of the Gospels he
died ; then St. Ailbhe prayed that the scribe might be restored to
life, and God heard his prayer"."^ Thus was the scribe enabled to
complete his task, and we may easily imagine with what vene-
ration these miraculous Gospels were preserved at Emly at the
time that this life was penned. It is to be regretted that no
trace now remains of these Gospels; but above all we must
lament the loss of the rich treasure of Kildare, which is minutely
described by Giraldus Cambrensis, and, to judge from his words,
must have rivalled, for it could not excel, the Book of Kells, of
which Ireland is still so justly proud. How joyous it would be
to every student of Irish art if the discovery of this noble monu-
ment of our early Church should repay the researches of our
antiquarians. It is thus that Giraldus writes : —

" Among all the marvels of Kildare, to my mind, none is
more marvellous than the wondrous book written (at the angels'
bidding, it is said) during the lifetime of the virgin herself This
book contains a concordance of the four Evangelists, according

11' I am indebted to Mr. O'Looney for these extracts from the O'Curry MSS.
ill the Catholic Uniyersity, Vita Senani, pag. 211.
"« O'Curry MSS. "Life of St. Ailbhe", pag. 32.

i

On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus. 121

to Jerome, and almost every page is em-iched, witli figures of
divers forms, and variously brilliant with brightest colours.
Here you may behold the Divine Countenance itself, imaged in
awful majesty ; there the Evangelists' mystic shapes, now with
six wings, now with four, now with two ; in one place the eagle,
in another the ox ; here the man's face, there the lion's, and
other figures almost infinite in their variety. If you glance at
them but lightly, they appear rather an unseemly blot than an
elaborate tracing. But if you bend your gaze more fixedly
upon them, and pierce the secrets so skilfully veiled by the
artist's craft, you will discover interlacings so delicate and subtile,
so finished and slender, wound together, and tied in a maze of
knots so intricate, and withal so clearly traced in colours still
fresh, that you are moved to attribute the entire work to the in-
dustry of angels, rather than to that of men".

Art. ly. — On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus.
By James Stewart, M.A.

ATHENAEUS and Plautus form between them an impor-
tant link in the chain of European literature. They serve
to connect the middle comedy of the Greeks with the comedy of
modern times. They represent to us the Greek new comedy, which
without them and the six dramas of Terence would be to us nearly
a blank. For of this new comedy we have only fragments re-
maining, some of which, indeed, are found in the Onomasticon of
Pollux, in the Bihliotheca of Photius, in the works of Stobaeus,
a Greek writer of the fifth century, and in those of some other
scholars and grammarians, but above all in the DeipnosopMsts
of Athenaeus. Of this last work we shall give a brief account.
Athenaeus was a contemporary of Pollux: at least we know
that Pollux lived in the time of Commodus, for he dedicated his
book to him; and that Athenaeus saw Commodus riding in a
chariot in the dress of Hercules, with a lion's skin at his feet,
and the club of the hero in his hand. He was born at
Naucratis, a Greek city, in Egypt, where Pollux also was
born, and removed from Egypt to Rome ; and this is nearly
all we know of his life. The DeipnosopMsts ^ which, though
not the only work he wrote, is the only work of his we have

122 On some passages m Athenaeus and Plautus.

remaining, shows abundantly how deeply versed he was in
Greek literature of all kinds. The name, variously translated
into English, probably means " The Learned in Cookery". It
is divided into fifteen books, of which the first two and part
of the third exist only in epitome. While it would be a curious
book under all circumstances, its immense value to us arises
from the fact that time has bereft us of so many precious pro-
ductions of Attic genius. Had these existed still, Athenaeus
would have held a place in Literature about equal to that of
Burton, the learned author of the Anatomy of Melancholy, or of
his contemporary Rous, the author of the Arcliaeologia Attica.
As it is, there is hardly any work of antiquity more instructive
than this. It is in the form of a dialogue, fashioned, as we are
expressly told, after the model of Plato ; and indeed it is not
difficult to see that it is the Phaedo of Plato that has been
imitated.

" Were you yourself present", says Echecrates to Phaedo,
" on that day in which Socrates drank the poison in the prison,
or did you hear an account of what passed from another?' " I
was present myself", answers Phaedo.

" Were you yourself present", says Timocrates to Athenaeus,
" at that charming party of men whom people call Deipnoso-
phists, with which all the city rings, or did you hear an account
from another?" " I was present myself", answers Athenaeus.

And so Phaedo proceeds to tell Echecrates all that passed at
the death of Socrates ; and Athenaeus to tell Timocrates all that
passed at that famous party.

The host was Larensius, a rich and hospitable Roman, who
made every body feel at his house, that, wherever he was born,
Rome, for the time being, was his country, and wherever he
lived in general, that then and there his host's house was his
home.

Lawyers were present, orators, musicians, philosophers, poets,
grammarians, and indeed the list was so long, that we are told
it looked more like the roll call of an army, than a list of guests
at dinner.

Each guest brought a contribution to the banquet ; but it was
an intellectual contribution. It was a bag full of quotations.
One or two of the guests will not ask even for a piece of bread,
except in verse of some kind.

" Give me a glass of wine, and please, too, the leg of a partridge",

says Pamphilus of Sicily.

The feast begins, and we have quotations mostly from lost
writers, and among them chiefly from the lost Greek comic

On some passages in Atlienaeus and Plautus. 123

poets, connected with every dish on the table, and every thing
that could any how be decently dragged in.

We are told that the number of works which Athenaeus
quotes is about fifteen hundred, and the number of writers whom
he cites is said to be about seven hundred, many of whom
would otherwise be unknown even by name. He says himself
in his eighth book,' that he had read and extracted from eight
hundred plays of the middle comedy alone. His quotations
from the new comedy are nearly as numerous.

Here is a rich mine of gold; extremely valuable certainly,
but by no means enough to console us for our losses. These
extracts give us no idea of any one play as a whole : we depend
on the Latin imitations of Plautus and Terence for that.

The banqueters begin with a praise of hospitality, as the only
true use of riches, and extol their host Larensius for his hospi-
table welcome; and immediately somebody quotes some lines
from ApoUodorus of Carystus, a lost poet of the new comedy,
to whom Terence is indebted for the materials of two out of
his six extant dramas.

1.

^' Soon as you cross the threshold, you see at the door what a ■wel-
come
Waits you within from the bountiful host, when you enter his pre-
sence;
First the hall porter is cheery ; the dog comes whining with pleasure,
And while he licks your hand, a footman, without any order,
Runs to bring you a chair ; for all catch the tone of their master".

A few lines after we have on the same subject of hospitality,
a quotation from Antiphanes, a poet of the middle comedy, who
is said to have been the author of three hundred and sixty-five
plays.

2.

" Why, by the gods, should we wish to have riches and noble pos-
sessions ?
Only for this, to be able to aid our friends in their troubles,
Sowing the seed to produce for ourselves the sweetest of harvests.
For as to eating and drinking, all men have an equal enjoyment,
Hunger and thirst being abated by poor fare as well as rich ban-
quets".

Then they pass to a praise of cooks and cookery ; and we
have immediately a quotation from Euphron, a poet of the new
comedy. It is a cook speaking of a cook :

' Ath., Deipn., viii. 3.

124 On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus.

3.

" Great was my master Soterides ; once long ago on a journey

He and his prince were away many hnndreds of miles from the

ocean.
'T was in the depth of winter ; yet he to his master desiring
Served up a dish of anchovies, which made all the courtiers to won-
der.
'T was done by taking a turnip, and cutting it out like an artist,
Into the shape of the fish; then he boiled it and seasoned it deftly,
Pouring in oil and savoury salt in careful proportion.
On that he strewed twelve grains of poppy seed, and thus he served

it.
Welcome was this to the king, who smiling addressed the specta-
tors:
* Good is a cook as a poet, you '11 say, when you taste the anchovies' ".

From Menander, the greatest poet of the new comedy, we
find the following extract. It is from his play called " The Nau-
clerus, or Ship Captain":

♦' Thee I invoke, great earth, the mother of all living mortals,
Kind in thy gifts to thy children all, who know how to use them.
But when a man who receiveth thy gifts, like a spendthrift con-
sumes them.
Wasting in riot debasing the land he received from his fathers.
Then ought he, driven from earth, to wander about on the ocean.
Never to reach the shore till the madman comes to his senses".

Again Alexis, the comic poet, who was the instructor of
Menander, and whose plays were a sort of transition from the
middle to the new comedy, furnishes us with the following :

5.

" If a rude surgeon, who dwells in a country town, says to a
patient,

'Take the first thing in the morning a plateful of broth made from
barley'.

Straightway we turn up our noses, and laugh at his coarse country-
accent.

But if the same thing he says, only calling the broth by a fine name.

Then we admire him, and wonder where all this learning was picked
up".

Soon follows a ridiculous quotation from Crates, a poet of the
old comedy, in a play called " The Beasts", where he describes,
a kind of tltopia, a country of comic perfection ;

On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus. 1 25

6.
" No slave of either sex shall any man have in the country.

* But shall he then have to wait on himself when worn down by old

age?'
Not so ; for I shall quickly arrange that all shall go smoothly.
This shall be done this way : whatever you call for shall quickly
Dart from its place, and approach at your bidding, although it be

lifeless.
Say for example: * table, come forth, and prepare for my dinner;
Pour forth the wine, O Goblet'. ' But where is the cup to receive it?'
' Cup, come forth and rinse yourself. Fish, come here and be

eaten'.

* Can't'y says the fish, ' for as yet I am only roasted on one side'.

' Turn yourself then forthwith, and with melted butter be basted' ".

Timocles, a poet of the middle comedy, but at a time when
the middle comedy discussed public men and measures nearly
as freely as the old, thus speaks of parasites :

" Never speak ill of a parasite ; none to the state is more useful.
Who is more ready than he to help a kind patron in trouble ?
If you 're in straits, it is he who will strain every nerve to assist you.
Nor will he grudge to do aught for you, who feed and support

him.
Never behind your back does he rail at you. No! he defends you,
Just as he would himself. He 's heartily true to his patron.
Say that for this he eats and drinks and pays not a farthing.
Yes, and why not ? Such a friend is surely well worth what he

costs you.
But why waste time to prove what all join with me in believing ?
Honoured and loved are parasites ; even Olympian victors
Gain for themselves no higher reward than a dinner for nothing.
At your cost is your parasite fed ; at the state's are the victors ;
What does it matter? Your table and wine are his Prytaneum".

If these be fair specimens of the fragments contained in
Athenaeus, we cannot be far wrong in saying, that as a whole
they contain a great deal of quaint epigrammatic humour, but
no outline of a plot.

Here, then, we feel the compensation that the twenty-six
comedies of Plautus and Terence give us. They present to us,
as in a mirror, the new comedy of the Greeks. Of the middle
comedy we have still remaining originals in the Ecclesiasusae
and the Plutus of Aristophanes. Plautus, the elder by many
years, for it was not till some years after his death that Terence
rose to distinction, is by no means a mere copyist, but a poet
of real original genius. This we know both from the testimony

126 On some passages in A thenaeus and Plautus.

of antiquity and from internal evidence. Some of his plays
are said to be made up from two plays of his Greek model.
We may be sure that he was as original in his Menaechmi as
Shakespere was in his Comedy of Errors. Adapting the plays
of a^ writer in another language by no means implies a want of
original ability in the adapter"

Here we may say a word, as to why, if Plautus was a writer
of such original ability as we maintain he was, he copied from
the Greeks at all.

It requires a poet of the calibre of Aeschylus to found an
art and to bring it to perfection in his own person. This Aes-
chylus did in the case of Greek tragedy. What had been done
before him by Thespis and others, was little more than what
Plautus found done to his hand in the homely farces of the
Osci in Campania. An Aeschylus or an Aristophanes might
have fastened on these humble representations, and raised an
original Latin comedy upon this poor ground- work; but Plau-
tus, though a very great genius, was not an Aeschylus nor an
Aristophanes.

And now, perhaps, it would be considered hardly a digression
from our main subject, if we were to state briefly the position in
which the Romans found themselves when Plautus began to
exhibit. The third century before Christ had a gloomy com-
mencement to this people. There had been a coalition formed
between three powerful nations of Italy to overwhelm them in
the third Samnite war, and this coalition was joined by a horde
of Gauls from the north. An engagement took place at Senti-
num. The victory at first seemed doubtful, but it declared itself
in favour of the Romans, through the self-devotion of the
Consul Decius, who fell, as a sacrifice for the nation, covered
with wounds. This was a kind of Roman Marathon. Then
comes their struggle with Tarentum and Pyrrhus, when they
were very near being ruined for ever, but which, terminating
in their favour, opened up all the Greek literature, and exposed
all the Greek profligacy of that luxurious city. Next come
the Punic wars, and with the second, the occupation by Han-
nibal of Italy during sixteen years. The century ended with
the victory at Zama and the ultimate triumph of the Romans.
So dark was the whole of this century, and indeed the whole
period from the expulsion of the Tarquins, that it may be said they
were fighting for their existence, and had not time to think of
literatuie at all. This indeed has been assigned as a sufficient
reason for their want of it. But after all, had not the Athenians
been doing the same thmg during the whole of their most illustri-
ous century too ; for their century began with the destruction ol'

On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus. 127

Miletus, and advanced through Marathon and Salamis, and
Plataea and the Peloponnesian War, till it ended in 404 in
their overthrow and the pulling down of their walls? That
the one century ended in disaster to the Athenians, and the
other in victory to the Romans, does not affect the argument
much. But the truth is, the Romans had not the genius
of the Greeks. They seized upon the Greek literature when
they found it, but if they had not found it they would pro-
bably have put little else in its place.

Plautus was born at a small villasfe in Umbria, about the
year 254, during the first Punic War, and probably began
writing comedies thirty years later, or somewhere before the
breaking out of the second. He continued writing for about
forty years, and died at the age of seventy. He wrote probably
about seventy or eighty comedies, all, as far as is known,
taken from the Greek, of which the twenty best remain. At
least the ancients thought them the best.

Plautus represents Greek vices in odious enough colours, and
is not a flatterer of the Greeks. To call a wild young man
a thorough Greek, is to bestow the hardest epithet on him in
Plautus's vocabulary, and his was by no means deficient in not
very flattering expletives. The Greek morality, as represented
in Magna Graecia and Sicily, was very low, and no doubt
Plautus did not misrepresent it. It may not be amiss to give
a brief outline of the plot of one or more of his plays ; and we
for this purpose in the first instance, select the Mostellaria, or
The Haunted House.

The scene is laid as usual at Athens. An old gentleman,
called Theuropides, who is a rich merchant there, leaves home
on business for Egypt, and there remains in charge of his
house his son Philolaches, who has a slave of the name of
Tranio to attend upon him, and another slave, Grumio, who
acts as bailifl" of the old gentleman's farm in the country.
Tranio's influence over his young master is very bad, and the
play opens with a scene between the two slaves, Grumio and
Tranio, in which the former severely rebukes the latter for the
part he has played in corrupting his master's son, and en-
couraging him to waste his master's property. " While you
please, and may, drink on, dissipate my master's property,
corrupt'his son, who till you misled him was a most excellent
young man, drink day and night, play the thorough Greek,
feed parasites, make your market sumptuously, pamper yourself,
your young master, and his companions, as if you were so many
gods. Were these the instructions the old gentleman gave you
when he went abroad? Is this the way in which he will find

128 Oa some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus.

his property cared for on his return ? Do you think this is the
part of a good servant, to ruin both the estate and the son of
his master? For I cannot but think him ruined who devotes
himself to such pursuits as yours. There used to be nobody in
the whole of Attica more virtuous or steady than he : now he
carries off the palm in quite another line. This is owing to
you and your tutoring".

All this has no effect on Tranio, and they separate, Grumio
going off to his farm in the country, and Tranio going to
the Piraeus to buy fish and other delicacies for a grand enter-
tainment the young gentleman is going to give to his dissolute
companions this very afternoon. Now comes in the poor youth,
Philolaches himself, who soliloquises thus :

8.

** Deeply and long I 've reflected what man at his birth most re-
sembles.

Now I 've discovered the likeness. A new-built house is his image ;

Soon as a house is built and finished in all things exactly,

Men praise the house and the builder, and take it themselves as a
model.

But when an indolent tenant betakes himself there with his off-
spring,

Soon the house tumbles to ruin, and men blame the house and the
builder.

Yet the truth was, that the wind blew strong and broke all the
gutters,

Down came the tiles from the roof, while the owner was careless to
mend them.

Next comes a tempest of rain, which pours down the walls in a
torrent.

All this time the indolent tenant will not spend a farthing.

But he delays and delays till the house can no longer be mended.

Just so are parents the builders of children, and rear them to man-
hood.

Neither pains nor cost do they spare : they grudge nothing to help
them :

Long they struggle and toil to teach them the arts and refine them.

Then the children go forth, and leave the hands of the builder.

Now they will soon give a token how this fair building will turn
out,

For as their parents were builders, so they of the house are the
tenants-'.

Then he goes on to say that he was always virtuous and
good so long as he was in the builders', i.e. his parents' liands.
But then came on idleness; that was his storm of wind; this

0)i some passages in Athenaens and Plautus. 129

carried away liis principles of virtue : that means the tiles ; the
rain came in, i.e. evil principles, and sapped and corrupted his
heart. He is fully conscious of his miserable condition, but
feels himself powerless to resist temptation. There is much of
high principle and morality in these two scenes. We suspect
these come from Plautus himself, for they have more a sturdy
Roman air about them than most of the rest of the play.

Now comes, after a few other scenes, not necessary for ex-
plaining the plot, Tranio, who soliloquises in a different strain.
He has been to the Piraeus to buy fish, and there to his
horror he sees his master, the old gentleman, just landed,
who they hoped was as good as dead. He sees him with terror,
for he has good reason to expect the worst punishment that
could be inflicted on a slave (i.e. crucifixion). He would give
anybody any thing who would only take his place for a mo-
ment.

Philolaches, his young master, sees him come up, and cries
out: " Here comes the dinner; here comes Tranio; he has been
at the market". Up comes Tranio out of breath and disordered.
*' Philolaches", he says. " What 's the matter?" says Philolaches.
" 1 have seen your father, he 's arrived", says Tranio. What is
to be done? His father can't come here to see the dissolute
company he is entertaining. He is bad enough certainly, but
any thing rather than expose his dissipation to his father. Tra-
nio recommends them at once to remove all the sicjns of a dinner
from the verandah in front of the house, where they then were
preparing to feast, and to carry indoors their company to the
back part, where no one could see them from the front, and
there to carry on their festivities in quiet. All being removed,
he requests that the door key, called the Lacedaemonian key,
should be sent out to him. When they are all within, he says
he will lock the door on the outside, and undertake to keep the
old gentleman from coming in to discover his son's dissipation.

The son, who seems really sorry, goes in ; but after the doors
are locked inside, he sends out a young slave, to the discompo-
sure of Tranio, to beg him at all risks to keep his father from
coming into the house and discovering the real state of the case.
There is something touching about the young man here. He
feels his degradation. He is not wholly bad.

Tranio impatiently bids the slave go in again, and locks the
door on the outside ; the windows on this side the house being
all very high, and all barred. He then retires into a corner to
watch the arrival of Theuropides, who comes in with a soliloquy
as usual. He has been nearly shipwrecked. He says:
vol. v. 9

130 On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus

9.

" Neptune, to thee I return my thanks for having preserved me.

True, I have only escaped with my life, but I 'm not the less thank-
ful;

Still, if from this time forward on thy realm I plant but a footstep,

Then you can do with me what you please, but I trust you no
longer.

All that I mean to trust you with has been entrusted already".

"Upon my word", says Tranio to himself, "some people
would have been glad if Neptune had not been so kind to
you".

Theuropides goes on :

10.

" After three painful years, at length I return to my country.
Joy once more to see my son and all my relations ;
Joy for them to see me, and to welcome me back to my home-
stead !"

Says Tranio to himself: " Somebody would have been more
welcome — the man who came to say that you were drowned".

" How is it", says Theuropides, " that my house is barred up
in the day time as if it were midnight? Let me knock at the
door". So he knocks, and as nobody answers, he kicks, and
this brings Tranio from his hiding place.

"Did any one touch this door?" says he. "To be sure",
says Theuropides. " Why, Tranio, don't you know your old
master ?" " Ah ! Master, is it you ? Surely you did not touch this
accursed door?" " Touch it ! nay, I kicked at it, and have all but
beaten in the panels, and why on earth is the house shut up at
this hour of the day?" " Don't you know", says Tranio. " No-
body has come near this house for the last seven months since
we left it. I '11 tell you all the story. Just seven months ago
your son had been out to a great dinner party in the city, and
I had been attending him there. We came home as usual early,
and had fallen asleep, when all of a sudden we were aroused
with a scream". "Who screamed?" said the father. "Your
son", said Tranio, "who declared that a dead man had appeared
to him, and said that he was the inhabitant of that house, that
your son must go somewhere else to dwell. He said he had
been the guest of Diapontius, from whom you purchased the
mansion; that by Diapontius he had been robbed and murdered,
and, therefore, not having been duly buried, but only hid in a
hole, he was refused admission into the region below, and ir
that house must he dwell".

On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus. 131

11.

" Of Diapontius I was the guest ; and here is my dwelling,
Orcus would not receive me because I was killed prematurely.
Trusting too much to my host, for the sake of gold was I murdered.
Hence depart, I tell you, for all in this house is accursed".

" The horrors that occurred after this", says Tranio were such
as it is impossible to conceive. Night after night there were
hideous noises, clanking of chains, and rattling of doors. Hu-
man nature could not stand this long ; so seven months ago my
young master moved the few absolute necessaries that he had
here, and went to another place. He has left me here, as a slave
in whom he knew you trusted, to watch the house. Here have
I been for seven long months looking after your property.
But I wish you had not beaten at the door".

" Why at the door?" says the old man.

" Because the ghost considers the house as his own, and any
mortal who knocks at the door, he considers as his enemy".

*' Hah ! what was that?" said Tranio. "Oh! I see! It is
nothing. I thought the ghost was coming out to punish you for
your intrusion. But he will come soon".

The old gentleman becomes quite overpowered with fear, and
eventually runs away, with his head covered, resolved not to
come near that house for some time at all events.

Off he goes, but soon, to the consternation of Tranio, he is
seen returning, and on the other side a money lender who has
advanced the young Philolaches money, the interest of which
he has not duly paid.

Between the two, Tranio does not know what to do. He
resolves to speak to the old gentleman first. " Why have you
come back so soon?" says he " Why", says the old man, "I
have seen the man from whom I bought this house". " Did
you tell him", says Tranio, " what I said?" " Yes", says Theu-
ropides. " And, of course, he confessed ?" " No ; he said it was
all a lie". " Oh, the iniquity", says Tranio, *' he murdered his
guest and then denied it, adding perjury to homicide".

Then the money lender, seen as yet by Tranio alone, seems
inclined to bawl out; for it was the usage then for a creditor to
call out the name of his debtor before his house, as a pre-
lude to his bringing him into court in the morning. Tranio
knows hardly what to do between the two, but he gets the
money lender away, by inducing the father to believe that his
son has borrowed the money to purchase a house, an excellent
bargain, and the father becomes responsible for the debt. But
now tlie old gentleman wants to know where the house is, and

y B

132 On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus.

Tranio, at liap-liazard, fixes on the house next door, where the
aged Simo lived. It is a great house, and the father is charmed
with the purchase. He must go immediately and look over it.

This throws Tranio into contusion again, and he begs to be
allowed just to call on the present inhabitant, Simo, to get his
permission. The permission is reluctantly obtained, on Tranio's
representing to Simo that his master's son is going to be mar-
ried, and that the father wishes to build an addition to his own
house, in consequence, of ladies' apartments, and that he wishes
to take for his model the similar apartments in Simo's house,
the exterior of which he admires so much. Then come the
pair to visit the house; Simo welcoming Theuropides at the
door, and begging him to go through the house as if it were
Jiis own, an expression which very nearly causes a discovery of
all. Theuropides, as he goes through the house, is more and
more delighted with his supposed bargain. The denouement is
not yet come. But it approaches. Tranio is sent for Philola-
ches The father returns alone towards the haunted house.
At the door he sees two slaves knocking. Then asks Theuro-
pides why they knock ? Because their young master is now at
a party there with the young Philolaches. And so the whole
story of the young man's riotous living comes out. Next he
meets Simo, and, his suspicions now being roused, he questions
him as to the purchase of the house, and he finds it a deception
from beginning to end. Tranio, meanwhile, has been getting
his master's convivial companions away by a back door, and
then he returns to Theuropides. On finding all discovered he
takes refuge at an altar. A young friend of Philolaches comes
to intercede with his father for him.

" You know'', he says, " that I am your son's companion ; he has
gone into my house, for he is ashamed to come into your pre-
sence, because he is aware that you know what he has done.
Now I beseech you pardon his simplicity and youth. Whatever
he has done, he has done in company with me. I am rich, and
will repay you all the money he cost you".

*' If he 's ashamed that he has been so extravagant", says the
father, " that is enough". "I am ashamed myself", answered
the mediator. After this, of course, Tranio is forgiven too, and
the play ends.

It is an ingenious and amusing piece of writing, and not
without a good moral too. It wants unity in a certain degree.
The lies are so flimsy and hang together so loosely, that we
hardly see why the denouement should come at this rather than
at another part in the story. Had the discovery been made in
Simo's house, and the forgiveness followed there, the play

On some passages in Athenaeus and Flautus. 133

would have been as complete, though not as long, as it is now
It is very ingenious, however, and the different characters are
very well contrasted and help to mark each other. We see
Grumio the faithful, and Tranio the rascally slave. We see
Philolaches and Tranio both engaged in riotous courses; the
one without a misgiving, the other with secret gnawings of
conscience and remains of a better nature. The stern Simo,
and the garrulous, superstitious, and easily gulled Theuropides
are in their way contrasts too. These characters repeat them-
selves many times in the plays of Plautus. In spite of different
names and different scopes, there is a monotony about his plays
that should be accounted for. This monotony is not found in
the modern stage, or at least in the better parts of it. In
Shakespere's comedy it is not found. In the early Greek
comedy it was not found. Why here?

The reason is, that this comedy, being a representation of
common life, was monotonous, because the common or social
life of the Greeks at this period was monotonous. The refined
and virtuous ladies of Greece were at this time secluded pretty
much as the Turkish ladies are now. That is enough to account
for the low state of morals among the men, and for the consequent
monotony of existence; for monotony does follow low prin-
ciples of action. As to the early Greek comedy, its aim was
chiefly political and satirical, and was not intended to represent
ordinary life ; while, in the case of tragedy, the subjects were
taken from primitive times, when the condition of the female
sex was something quite different, and higher than it had now
become.

We should not expect in comedy to find the noble character
of Antigone, who shows almost the dignity of a Christian mar-
tyr in resisting to death the unjust decree of Creon, which
consigned her brother to lie unburied, to dogs and birds a prey.

12.

Creon. " Didst thou then dare to break the law thy Idng had en-
acted?"

Antigone. " Yes, for it came not from Zeus, who rules the gods on
Olympus,

Nor yet from those who below are the upright judges of mortals.

Nor did I think that your decrees had such jurisdiction

As to annul by a mortal's command the laws of the Eternal.

These are not laws which are heard of to-day, and to-morrow
forgotten ;

No ! they have ever existed, and none knows their end or beginning.

Surely, I was not then likely, through fear of the frown of a mortal,

Basely the risk to incur of offending a power everlasting.

134 On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus.

That I should die, I knew ; and that without your appointment.

If I die sooner, I count it a gain, for those who in evils

Live all their lives, think little of death, which ends their afflictions.

So without any regret I embrace the fate that awaits me.

But had I suffered the body of him who, with me, of one father

And of one mother was born, to lie on the highway unburied,

Then, indeed, I 'd have grieved ; but now I die full of contentment".

Had Greek society been different, we might have found in
the representation of it, not indeed an Antigone, who is essen-
tially tragic, but characters like the affectionate and irresolute
Ismene, the sister of Antigone; like Shakespere's Portia, so
dignified, sweet, and tender ; like the noble and heroic Isabella,
whose beautiful sayings have many of them become proverbial ;
like the witty, gay, and intellectual Beatrice ; like the sprightly,
soft, and genial Rosalind; or even like Juliet, perhaps the most
finished of Shakespere's portraits, the heroine indeed of a
tragedy, but one who under happier circumstances might have
graced a comedy as well; or like the exquisite Helena, who
redeems a situation otherwise low and debasing, by her own
innate nobility of soul.

We have a very worthless imitation of the Mostellaria by
Addison, who calls his play The Drummer^ or the Haunted
House. There is a man hidden behind the panels in the dress of
a drummer, who is thought to be the ghost of the former owner
of the mansion, but who is really an aspirant to the hand of the
widow, and wishes, by unexpected apparitions and muffled per-
formances on his drum, to frighten a rival out of the house.

The Menaechmi is the original of Shakespere's Comedy of
Errors. Two twin brothers are so like that their own mother
cannot tell the one from the other. They are born at Syracuse.
Their father goes to Tarentum on business as a merchant. He
takes one of them with him and loses him in a crowd. The
father dies of grief A rich man finds the crying child, and
takes him home with him to Epidamnus in Illyria, where he
eventually succeeds to his adoptive father's property, and be
comes rich in his turn. The other twin, when both are grown
up, sets out on his travels to find his brother, and at last arrives
at Epidamnus. Their amazing likeness still remains. The wife
even of the Epidamnian does not know her husband from his
brother, and an amusing succession of laughable incidents
occurs.

A very marked character here is the parasite, who tells he is
nick-named Peniculus, or sponge, because he leaves his dish
behind him at dinner as clean as a sponge could have washed
it. He begins the play.

On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus. 135

13.

" All tlie young men call me sponge, because whenever I dine out,
Clean is my dish always left, no cleaner a sponge could have made

it.
Foolish are they who bind captives with chains and put fetters on

prisoners,
For when a man is unhappy, bad treatment only increases.
Till he cannot resist, his ardent desire of escaping.
But if you really wish to keep a man safe and securely,
Then not with fetters and chains, but with meat and drink you

must bind him.
If to a plentiful table you fasten him, guard him you need not,
For he won't fly, even though his conscience with crimes should up-
braid him.
Supple, indeed, are the chains of good dinners given without

stinting.
For, let me tell you, the tighter they bind, the more loosely you tie

them.
Now I am going to Menaechmus, that he may bind me in this way.
He is of hosts the most hearty; his dinners are frequent and

sumptuous.
Piled on the table the dishes are, one just over the other.
And you must stand on the sofa to see what the topmost has in it".

At that moment comes out Menaechmus, scolding his wife,
and telling her he won't have her always prying about his pro-
ceedings out of doors, nor will he inform her whether he is
going to return to dinner or not.

The parasite is shocked, not at the matrimonial quarrel, but be-
cause he is looking out for a dinner, and if Menaechmus goes out
to dine, his hopes in that quarter seem likely to come to nothing.
Menaechmus goes out, with a cloak of his wife's under his own,
and oflp he walks at a smart pace. Now or never more, that
day at any rate, must the parasite procure his dinner. He
throws himself in his patron's way, and persuades him to ask
him to dine in the open air in a public garden, sending a slave
called Cylindrus for the materials. The patron and parasite go
off to the law courts till dinner time, and the coast is clear.
Enter now the other Menaechmus, the Syracusan, with his
slave, Messenio. Messenio, in a long conversation, warns his
master of the temptations in Epidamnus, and offers to take care
of his purse for him, which is given him. He then departs,
and leaves the Syracusan alone. At this moment up comes
Cylindrus, who has been despatched for provisions. He, of
course, mistakes the stranger for his master, and a scene of con-
fusion follows. At length the Syracusan allows himself to be

136 On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus,

persuaded, and he sits down to the dinner and drinks the wine
provided for the other, and then departs with a chaplet of
flowers round his head. I'he real Menaechmus has been de-
tained all this time at the courts of law. He returns and asks
for his dinner, which he is told he has already eaten. The con-
fusion thickens. The wife meets the Syracusan, and, thinking
him her husband, charges him with stealing her cloak. He
denies all knowledge of her. Her old father is summoned, who
recommends her to submit to her supposed husband, lo get
away, the Syracusan pretends to be mad. The old man goes
for a physician, and in the temporary absence of both, the
Syracusan takes to flight. His brother of Epidamnus comes up
to the house, which is his owm. He is accused of being mad
by his wife and father-in-law, now returned, and he is told of
and reproached with all the mad actions his twin brother has
been guilty of. This puts him really frantic with rage. Four
keepers are brought to carry him off to an asylum. He calls on
the citizens of Epidamnus to aid him. At this moment Messe-
nio, his brother's slave, comes up, and mistakes him for his
master. " Whoever you are, help me", was the exclamation of
Menaechmus. And he does so effectually, for the men's eyes
are nearly gouged out, and they all take to flight. ** What
can I do for you?" says the Syracusan. *' Set me free from my
slavery". "I cannot do that, because I am not your master;
however, as free as I can make you, you are". This satisfies
Messenio, who departs, saying he would bring him back his
purse safe and sound, and Menaechmus, the Epidamnian, soli-
loquises :

14

^* Wonderful things this day have I seen, past my understanding.

Some say I am not myself, and from my own house they exclude me,

While this slave, not a moment ago, owned me for his master,

Promising also to bring me my purse, which I ne'er to him trusted;

But if he bring me that safe, he shall go from me free on the instant ;

Lest when he comes to his senses, he force me the purse to restore
him.

Next my wife's father, and doctor, declare me a stark raving mad-
man.

These things must all be dreams, and I am walking in dreamland.

Next the two brothers meet together, and the dinouement
takes place.

Now Shakespere's play of the Comedy of Errors is certainly no
more his own than the Menaechmi belongs to Plautus. He made
it his own, and it was his own to a certain extent, though he

On some passages in Athenaeus and Plautus. 137

owed to Plautus nearly all the plot The chief difference be-
tween his play and that of Plautus is, that there are not only
in Shakespere two Monaechmi, but there are two slaves, one
belonging to each master, and as like to each other as their
masters are. The two Menaechmi are, in Shakespere, the two
Antipholuses ; the slaves are the two Dromios. It, of course,
complicates the plot more to have two slaves exactly alike.
But it does not require much of a master's hand to bring this
secondary plot into action; and yet Shakespere's Comedy of
Errors, though founded on this play of Plautus, is not a servile
imitation of it, just as we believe the plays of Plautus, though
taken in the same way from the Greek, are not servile imita-
tions of these comedies.

We shall quote some lines of Shakespere here, which, we
think, bear some resemblance, at least, to those we last trans-
lated from Plautus. Antipholus is Menaechmus.

** Now out of doubt Antipholus is mad,
Else would he never so demean himself.
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,
And for the same he promised me a chain.
Both one and the other he denies me now.
The reason is, I gather he is mad.
Besides this present instance of his rage,
Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner
Of his own doors being shut against his entrance.
Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits.
On purpose shut the doors against his way.
My way is now to hie home to his house,
And tell his wife that, being a lunatic,
He rushed into my house and took perforce
My ring away. This course I fittest choose.
For forty ducats are too much to lose".

If we had room we might speak of the Aulularia, from
which Moliere draws his play of VAvare. He also, with a
master hand, makes his own, ideas which he in the first instance
borrowed from another.

We next come to a play called The Poor Carthaginian,
which is remarkable for containing the only remains of the
Carthaginian language we have existing.

Hanno makes a short speech in this his native tongue, which is
followed by ten Latin lines, supposed to be a translation by
Plautus of a portion of the speech at all events Hanno is a
Carthaginian, who has had two daughters stolen from him in
their infancy and made slaves of, and he has come in search of
them to Calydon, a city in Aetolia, where the scene of the play

138 On some passages in Atlienaeus and Plautus.

is laid. He says in Punic, if the Latin lines of Plautus be
really a translation : —

15.

" Ye gods and goddesses all, who protect this Aetolian city,
Send me your aid my daughters to find, long lost and lamented,
Who from their father were stolen, just as his son from my

cousin.
Here in former times an old friend of mine had his dwelling ;
But he has paid that debt which all pay sooner or later.
I to his son Agorastocles bear this token of friendship,
Who I believe lives here, where lived his father before him ;
But, to make sure, I '11 inquire of those I see coming to meet me".

Perhaps some day or other some great philologist may arise
to reconstruct this Punic language, or at least to discover its
grammatical principles from these scanty materials. This would,
however, be more difficult than deciphering hieroglyphics from
the information given us by the Rosetta stone, because, here
there is abundance of hieroglyphics to test our theory, but of
the Punic language we have no remains, except these lines and
a few fragmentary expressions in this play. It is, of course,
possible that some others may turn up hereafter.

The Miles Gloriosus, or Braggadocio Captain^ is the original
Bombastes Furioso. His name is Pyrgopolinices, the conqueror
of towers and of cities. He comes on the stage, followed by a
guard of soldiers, whom he addresses :

16.

*' Mind that my shield must be brighter than ever the rays of the
sun were,

That in the battle-field it may dazzle the eyes of beholders.

Oh, my good sword ! don't lament or be desponding in spirit,

For that against your will some days you have slept in your scab-
bard,

You who I know are impatient to draw the hearts' blood of the
foemen.

The Latin, then, is a picture of the middle and new comedy
of the Greeks, which arose partly by the natural course of
events from the earlier comedy, and partly from the tragedies
of Euripides, which for the first time attempted to represent
on the stage the life of ordinary men, as distinguished from
that of the heroic ages. It is witty, lively, sparkling, but
deficient in softness from the absence of refined female cha-
racters, and, for the same reason, the tone of morality is gene-
rally, though by no means always low. In this respect, indeed,

The Writings of Seneca. 139

the stage is not a whit purer now than in those ancient times.
Christians, while condemning the pagan writers of antiquity,
often imitate their vices. But while such plays as now disfigure
the stage are forgotten when they have served their temporary
purpose, we have in our glorious Shakespere, one writer who
will last as long as the English language lasts ; one whose very
name is a bond of sympathy which ought to unite all who
speak the tongue in which he wrote, and in whose glorious
crown there is no brighter jewel than his exquisite pictures
of female purity and female refinement.

Art. V. — The Writings of Seneca considered with reference
to Literature. By Robert Ornsby, M.A.

IN contrasting classical with modern or romantic literature, it
is a familiar criticism, that the modern taste is chiefly exhi-
bited in the matter, ancient taste in the form; that the one ex-
hibits nature in her variety, the other in her unity ; the one is like
a forest in all its wild original luxuriance, with interlacing foliage,
brushwood, and brake ; the other like the same forest, as it presents
itself to the eye of science, with its manifold products reduced to
order, and distributed according to their exact genera and species.
Hence the ancients would please us by their symmetry, the
moderns by their rich abundance. From a play of Sophocles
you gain a single idea, clear, brilliant, and cold as a statue of
Phidias or Polycletus. From a play of Shakespere's, you
gain an oiit-pouring of ideas, metaphors, and similes, as various,
asl)eautiful7and as grotesque as the stained glass or the fretted
mouldings of a Gothic cathedral.

This comparison may serve to illustrate the difference between
the style of Seneca the philosopher, and that of most of the other
classical writers among whom he is incongruously placed, for to
no author could the theory of the classical type, which has been
stated above, be less correctly applied. In his works, form has
been sacrificed to matter, and the proportions of the whole have
been regarded as of no account compared with the depth and
copiousness of the thoughts, and the richness of the ornaments
with which they are illustrated, and often over-loaded. In a
literary point of view, he may be called the transition from
Cicero to Tertullian or St. Augustine; one might imagine him,

140 The Writings cf Seneca

had he been a Christian, becoming a Father of the Church.
There is a kindred flow of ideas, an accumulation of striking con-
ceptions, setoff, not by an orderly style and arrangement, but by
an inexhaustible profusion of antithesis and amplification.

Seneca is, in fact, much more a modern than an ancient
writer, and has the faults as well as the merits which belong to
highly civilized times and complicated states of society. It is
true that civilization, in some respects, tends to simplicity, and
that barbarism delights in display and intricacy. This rule, how-
ever, does not hold in all stages of progress. The English were
more civilized in the times of the Stuarts than they were in
those of Elizabeth,, and yet the most admired poet of the Stuart
times, at least of the Stuart party, was Cowley, whose extravagant
taste in poetry contrasts very unfavourably with Spenser and
the great dramatists of the Elizabethan era. So, some critics
of the Flavian period regarded even Cicero as meagre and dry ;
whilst Seneca himself was exceeded by a set of imitators who
followed his manner even in the very points where they ought
to have avoided it. I proceed to examine, in detail, these cha-
racteristics of Seneca, and then to consider the material excel-
lence with which his writings repay the reader, notwithstanding
the literary objections to which they are so obviously open.

In the first place, Seneca, as compared with the authors of the
golden period, so-called, of Latinity, writes in almost a new dia-
lect. Not merely had the requirements of philosophy or luxury
introduced either verbal loans from the Greek, or modifications
of the Latin, but the provinces had largely contributed their
quota of change to the rapidly altering language. It had become
more flexible, more colloquial, and admits more readily of trans-
lation into modern idioms. We are reminded of a similar altera-
tion in the French literature of the present day, compared with
that of the epoch of Louis the Fourteenth. The slang of a revo-
lutionary period, the influx of the lower classes into the higher,
increased intercourse with England, has brought in new words;
but the whole construction of the language has also been sensibly
changed. What Lacordaire is to Bossuet, what a modern French
novel is to the romances of Scuderi, Seneca is to Cicero, or Ju-
venal and Petronius to Plautus and Terence. The books De Bello
Hispaniensi^ forming part of the collection which goes under the
name of Caesar, are an early instance of this process, evidently
written, as Niebuhr has observed, by some person not belonging
to good society, in the language of the camp.' The harmonious

» Niebuhr's Lectures on Roman History^ vol. iii., p. 41 (Chepmell and
Demmler's translation).

considered iciiJi reference to Literature. 141

period, which diffuses such indescribable grace and symmetry
over Cicero's works, and which, as has been truly said, is so
simply a creation of art, that even were it wholly abstracted from
the matter, it might still be heard with pleasure, like a musical
composition of the noblest kind,^ has in Seneca wholly disap-
peared, and given place to an accumulation of short, unconnected
sentences, written apparently on the principle that every one of
them must strike the reader as a new thought, or at least as
placing some well-known maxim in a new aspect. Such a writer
naturally seems greater in detached passages than he does upon
a view of any of his compositions as a whole. Cicero, on the
contrary, was an artist great enough to know that, whilst no part
of a work must be negligently executed, all parts ought not to
be equally brilliant. The eye should not be fatigued by too
much glitter in the details, but relieved by large spaces of
matter, which, considered by themselves, may perhaps be tame,
but which are necessary to give to the more shining parts their
proper effect.

The separate sentences in Seneca, moreover, are not so much
parts of a connected chain of reasoning, as the forcible expres-
sion of the practical ideas of a man of the world upon human
affairs. They are rather maxims placed before one individual
mind for its guidance, than truths resulting from scientific in-
vestigation. It may be interesting to illustrate this by a com-
parison of sentences taken almost at random out of Aristotle's
Ethics^ with common-places derived from the writings of Seneca.
As examples of the former, take the following : —

(1 .) It must not be supposed that because things are pleasurable
to persons badly disposed, they are pleasurable in themselves ;
any more than things which seem bitter or sweet to the dis-
eased palate, or things which seem white to the eye afflicted
with ophthalmia, are so in reality.

(2.) It is impossible to feel the pleasure of the just man, with-
out being just, or the pleasure of the accomplished musician,
without being one.

(3.) No one would choose to live, retaining the intellectual
conditions of a child throughout his life, and taking as much
pleasure as possible in the things which delight children, or to
delight in doing anything that is most disgraceful, even though
he were never to suffer pain ; and there are many things we
would take an earnest interest about, even though they pro-
duced no pleasure ; for instance, seeing, remembering, knowing,
having virtuous habits.

* The thought, I believe, is Dr. Newman's.

142 The Writings of Seneca

(4.) That which all people think, we generally say, is true ; and
he who does away with this argument, is not likely himself to
state anything more convincing.

(5.) It is the part of an educated man to look for exactness in
each particular subject, just so far as, and no further than, the
nature of the subject admits of.

(6. ) The young man is not a fit auditor of moral philosophy,
for he is inexperienced in the affairs of life, and the reasonings
of the science are derived from them, and engaged about them.

(7.) Punishments are correctives, and correctives go by con-
traries.

(8.) Virtue is more exact than any art.

(9.) We deliberate, not about ends, but about means to ends.

(10.) Pleasure, in the actions of the virtuous, is not always
felt, except as one approximates to the end.^

Passages like these are obviously either the first principles, or
the accurate conclusions of a close thinker, as completely parts of
a whole as the inscription Phidias is said to have fastened in-
dissolubly on his statue of Minerva. We may indeed detach
them for our own purposes, but they belong essentially to the
system of argument out of which they have been evolved, and
cannot, properly speaking, be comprehended by those who have
not gone through it. To make a selection of " thoughts" out of
Aristotle, would be like making a selection of thoughts out of
Euclid. But Seneca, more than any other writer, would pro-
vide the fit materials for such a compilation. This will be
perceived on glancing at the following collection of sentences
from him, contrasted with what I have already given from the
Ethics.

(1.) To be always fortunate, and to pass through life with-
out sustaining any bitings of the mind, is to be ignorant of one
side of the nature of things.

(2.) You are much mistaken if you think any one excepted
from the law of change. To that person, so long prosperous,
his turn will arrive. Whoever seems to be pardoned, is only
reprieved.

(3.) If you think any one your friend, whom you do not
trust as much as you do yourself, you are very much mistaken.

(4.) Whatever raises the mind does good to the body also.

(5) Is it likely that some evil will befalyou? It is certain
that it has not befallen you yet. How many things have come
which were not expected! How many things which were
expected have never appeared ! Even if it is to come, where

* Eth. Nicom., x. 2, i. 1. ii. 2, 5, iii. 5, 12.

considered with reference to Literature 143

is the good of going out to meet your sorrow? It will suffice
to lament it when it has actually arrived, and meanwhile pro-
mise yourself some better fate. What do you gain by this ?
You gain so much time. Many things will intervene, by
which the approaching danger may either stop short, or cease,
or pass over upon another head.

(6.) In the midst of prosperity, occasionally adopt, for a few
days, coarse clothing, cheap food, and little of it, and say:
** This is what I was afraid of".

(7.) There are very few who govern themselves and their
affairs by any fixed purpose. The rest proceed just like
objects floating on a stream, they are borne along, they do not
go. Of these, some are detained, or lightly carried by a small
undulation; others are hurried on by a more violent wave;
others are lodged on the banks by the languid rippling of the
waves ; and others are borne onward to the sea by the rushing
eddies. We ought therefore to avoid such examples, and make
up our minds as to what we really intend, and persevere
in it.

(8.) What may happen any day, may happen to-day.

(9.) No one [who improved a little, and then stopped short]
ever found his improvement where he left it.

(10.) To fools and those who rely upon fortune, everything
is new and unexpected.

(11.) Nothing is done well, unless the whole mind has been
applied to it, and has gone along with it throughout, without
any resistance in any pare of the soul.

(12.) The first and greatest punishment of sinners is that
they have sinned. Nor does any crime, however fortune may
adorn it with her gifts, however she may defend or maintain it,
go unpunished, because in crime itself consists the punishment
of crime.

(13.) Ingratitude enters into almost every great crime.

(14.) Call not our discoveries our own. The seeds of all
arts have been sown in our minds, and God, our great Master,
brings forth talents from hidden recesses.*

Now, of almost all these sentences I think it is equally clear,
that they do not form parts of a whole. They are the shrewd
remarks of an able man, who saw more at a first glance than
most can, but who had not the time or inclination to build his
ideas into a great intellectual structure. It is the same with

*Dial. i. 4. Ep. i. 3 ; x. 2 ; ii. 1, 18 ; iii. 2, ; vii. 2 ; viii. 2 ; ix. 5 ; xi. 3 ;
xvi. 2. De Ben. i. 10 ; iv. 6 (Ed. Teubner). The last quotation was happily
chosen for the title-page of the catalogue of the Great London Exhibition of
1851.

144 The Writings of Seneca

his metaphors and illustrations. In reasoning upon moral phi-
losophy, these are not only an ornament to a difficult subject,
but greatly assist the comprehension of the argument. They
ought in fact, in an ethical treatise, to be themselves arguments,
that is to say, reasonings in the form of example or analogy.
Thus Aristotle, in developing his doctrine of the middle
point between excess and defect in morals, not so much with
reference to the matter of the action itself, as with reference to
ourselves, illustrates his principles by the examples of diet
in the case of training. It does not follow, he says, that if ten
pounds are too much, and two pounds too little, the numerical
mean between, viz., six pounds, will be prescribed by the trainer.
It would vary with the constitution, for six pounds may be too
little for one man and too much for another. The real mean is
that which is properly apportioned to the system at the time. Now
this illustration is at once an argument and an ornament. It is an
ornament, because it relieves the tedium of a dry disquisition,
and it is an argument, because, as every one knows, there is a
real analogy between the laws of the mind and those of the
body. Seneca's illustrations are frequently of a very different
kind from this, and do not so much grow out of the subject as
are laid upon it — admirable indeed for their ingenuity and abun-
dance — impressive, as setting forth solemn lessons in a manner
that arrests the imagination or fancy, but still, after all, rheto-
rical rather than philosophical. This will be evident on looking
over a few specimens. He compares pleasures to a class of
Egyptian banditti, who seem to have murdered their victims
pretty much in the style of our garrotte-robbers, or of the
Thugs in India. "Above all things", he says, " clear away
pleasures from your soul, and regard them with as much detes-
tation as you would the robbers whom the Egyptians call
Philetae. They embrace us, but it is to strangle us ".^

In another place, where he recapitulates the minute, hair-
splitting syllogisms by which the Stoics attempted to prove that
death was no evil, for instance — "Nothing glorious is evil;
death may be glorious ; death is no evil " ; although of the
same sect, he lavighs at the notion that the fear of death could
be subdued by such sharp and slender weapons as these, how-
ever unanswerable they might be ; and compares it to the huge
serpent which was met by the army of Regulus in Africa, and
which, after in vain trying to kill with their arrows and slings,
they at last had to crush by means of the engines they would
have used to knock down a tower.^ Frequently he crowds

^Ep. V. 11. ^ Ep. xi. 3.

considered with reference io Literature 145

similes together, hammering them in one after another, caring
little how they will match, provided only that separately they
are shining. I will quote, for instance, the following passage
from one of his letters, in reply, apparently, to complaints his
correspondent had made about some calamities that had befallen
him: — '*None of all these things", replies Seneca, "is unusual; •
none of them is what you might not have expected. To be
annoyed by these things is as absurd as to complain of getting
splashed in the streets. The condition in which we live is pre-
cisely that of going to the public baths (which, in Rome, seem to
have been often very badly managed), of mingling in a crowd, of
going on a journey. Sometimes one's vexations will abate for
a while ; they will come on again". A moral philosopher has
certainly a perfect right to use this illustration, because man
and man's life are all of a piece, and the general character of
the whole may well be explained by reference to any parti-
cular transaction. But Seneca cannot refrain, as he proceeds,
from magnifying it into the following declamation: —

" It is no delicate affair, to be alive. You have entered on
a long road, and you must needs slip, and run against stones,
and get wearied, and say, ' O death, you are always deceiving
my hope !' In one place you will have to leave a companion
behind you ; in another you will have to bury him ; in another
you will have to be afraid of him. Through difficulties like
these you will have to measure out this rugged journey. The
soul desires death; but let it be prepared against all things.
Let it know that it has come where the thunders roll and the
lightnings flash. Let it know that it has come where
Luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia curae,
Pallentesque habitant morbi, tristisque senectus.'

With comrades like these life must be spent. You cannot
escape these thmgs ; you may despise them".®

After ajjain describing, with much energy, the endless vari-
ations, the ups and downs of life, he draws another topic of
Stoic consolation from the general law of mutability which all
nature exhibits: —

'* The winter brings its cold ; we must be chill. The summer-
brings back its heats; we must be hot. The atmosphere is
insalubrious; we must be eick. A wild beast will meet us
here ; there, a man more dangerous than any wild beast. One
life will be lost by water, another by fire We cannot change
this condition of things. But we can assume a great soul, and
one worthy of a good man, by which we bravely suffer the
accidents of fortune, and act in harmony with nature".^

' Virg. ^En. VI. 274. « Ep. xviii, 4. » Ibid,

VOL. V. 10

146 Tlie Writings of Seneca

So far, he has stated principles of Stoic morality (for a criti-
cism on which I may refer to a former article), in a style that is
Seneca, I had almost said Carlyle, all over. But observe once
more how he attempts to make his rhetorical rocket throw off a
fresh shower. The reader has already more than sufficiently
caught his idea, but he must put it, not into new shapes, but into
new words:

"Nature governs this realm of hers, which you behold, by
changes. Mild weather succeeds to cloudy. Ihe seas are
agitated after they have been in repose. The winds blow from
alternate quarters. Day follows night. A part of the heavens
rises, another is submerged. Eternity is made up of the con-
trarieties of things. To this law must our mind be adapted ; this
it must follow, this it must obey : and whatever things take place,
it must believe ought to take place, and not quarrel with nature.
It is best to bear what you cannot amend, and without a mur-
mur to follow God, from whom all things originate. He is a
bad soldier who follows his captain with groans. Let us then
receive our orders with spirit and alacrity, and not quit the
course of this most beautiful work, in which is interwoven all we
have to suffer ; and let us address Jupiter, by whose pilotage this
whole mass is directed, in the manner in which Cleanthes ad-
dresses him in those eloquent lines", etc.'°

Lord Byron has said: " I will show more imagery in twenty
lines of Pope than in any equal length of quotation in English
poetry, and that in places where they least expect it"." He
verifies this criticism by an analysis of each line in a well known
passage. If we subject Seneca to a similar process, we find him
here, in one short letter, introducing the seasons, the wild beasts
of the desert, the robbers, the sea, the sky, the air, and, descend-
ing again to the surface, the commander of an army, and the
captain of a ship If we cannot always praise him for the art
with which he combines his colours, we must at least admit that
they are brilliant and varied. Even where his argument really
demands illustrations, he cannot resist decorating them as much
as possible. Thus, in one of his letters, where he endeavours to
prove that man's real good consists in the perfection of his Tea-
son, and not in any external advantages, he says :

" A ship is called good, not for being expensively painted, or for
having its prow adorned with gold and silver, oi its figure-head
carved in ivory, or for being laden with royal treasures ; but for
being strong and firm, without any leaks, able to resist the dash-
ing of the waves, obedient to the helm, swift, and not feeling the

10 Ibid. 11 Moore's Life and Letters of Byron, ch. xliii.

considered with reference to Literature. 147

wind. You call a sword good, not for having a gilded hib or a
jewelled scabbard, but for having a keen edge and a sharp point.
You do not ask how handsome a ruler is, but how straight. A
thing is praised for what is peculiarly its own. It is therefore
nothing to the purpose to say of a man how much land he is
possessed of, how much money he has out at interest, by how
many he is saluted, on how precious a couch he reclines, or
out of how transparent a crystal he drinks ; but how good he is.
And he is good, if his reason is explicit, and right, and adapted
to the will of his nature. This is virtue. This, the honestum^
and man's only good.'^

This extravagant adornment of a single idea continually re-
minds us of the ambitious poet in Horace.^'

Qui variare cupit rem prodigialiter unam.

Occasionally, in his eagerness to say something original,
Seneca descends into frigid absurdity, as for example in one
passage, which Laharpe has not failed to lay hold of, where he
is speaking of the advantage of old age as the crowning point of
the human career, as an experience to which we ought to attain,
in order to complete our idea of human life ; he compares it to
the final draught which finishes the process of intoxication, and
which he pronounces to be more charming than all which pre-
ceded it !^*

Viewing Seneca as a reasoner, if one takes any treatise of his
as a whole, and reads it through, one will perceive that sense of
indistinctness which belongs to woiks deficient in logical order
and method. You want to study, to find as it were some hard
file at which the intellect can bite, but you lay aside the book
without having been led to conclusions by a careful process of
argumentation, though you have been struck by particular
passages, and have gained many masterly hints and weighty
sayings. The merit and the defect arise alike from two causes,
one depending on the style of the age in which Seneca's mind
had been framed, the other on the special object he had in view
and the character which led him to fix on that object. The age
was essentially rhetorical, or rather it had a violent tendency to
that branch of rhetoric which belongs to display. In delibera-
tive oratory tliere is the less need for splendour of diction, as the
matters discussed are of themselves of such importance that they
command attention without any adventitious attractions. A

" Ep. Lx. 5.
»3 Ep. ad Pis. 29.

1* Ep, i. 12. Laharpe, Cows de LiU€rature, t. iii. 2e partio, p. 234 (Paria,
an. vii).

10 b

148 The Writings of Seneca

speech in the Athenian ecclesia or Roman senate, like a speech
in the British parliament, was a matter of business, and the audi-
ence could not have their time wasted by any efforts on the part
of the speakers to aim at grand eloquence. There are, indeed,
speakers who are listened to for their brilliance, but they are
insignificant, compared with the practical public men, whose
words are actions. When, however, the supreme power is
transferred from public assemblies to the hands of an individual,
deliberative oratory vanishes, and with it, the rhetoric which
consists in powerful reasoning, rather than in gaudy display.

It might be expected that the courts of justice would have
still furnished a field for true eloquence, but at Rome the loss of
freedom seems to have caused an equal, though a different
kind of degeneracy even in that department. There, it became
cramped and enfeebled. In education, it assumed a diseased
luxuriance, partly caused by the immense influx of immigrants
from Greece and x\sia at that epoch, and the consequent de
terioration of Roman education, which was chiefly in the hands
of slaves from those countries. The taste which they encou-
raged in the schools fell in with, and increased the tendencies
of society to ingenious rather than profound reasoning, to an
aflTected originality rather than to purity of style. Literature of
every kind suffered in this way.

Seneca was eminently the creature of his age. To the pro-
fession of rhetoric his family were originally indebted for their
extraordinary career; and amidst all the splendour of his rauk,
as prffitor, or consul, or prime minister, he retained the intellec-
tual character with which he had commenced. Being rheto-
rical in temperament, he delighted in treating subjects in the
method best adapted to his special talents. He found the
Stoical philosophy divided into two departments — the dogmatic
and the parsenetic, the former of which treated of the defini-
tions and principles of the sect, and of the conclusions they
drew from them ; the latter, which we may call in English the
hortatory department, was of a popular kind, setting forth their
views in a manner likely to strike people in general, attacking
wealth and luxury, representing in magnificent terms the
beauty of virtue, and the freedom and greatness of the ideal
sage. Seneca almost entirely devoted himself to this latter
province. With a view to sacred eloquence, his writings would
indeed repay study, in some respects more than those master-
pieces of Roman and Attic eloquence, which, as works of art,
are so far above him ; because, with all his exaggeration and
redundancy, the purpose oF Seneca bears a great analogy to
that of the pulpit orator. He is engaged in exhorting people,

I

considered with reference to Literature. 14'J

in urging them to attempt a higher life than their present one,
in shaming them for their vices and feebleness, and reminding
them of the shortness of time, and the magnitude of the work
before them.

So completely does this idea of exhortation pervade the
writings of Seneca, that one hardly knows how to select speci-
mens of it. Perhaps the valuable treatise on Benefits might
afford examples most in point, because it is one of those which
approach most nearly to the dogmatic form, and in which
Seneca notwithstanding constantly adopts the style so cha-
racteristic of himself. This work is a regular discussion of the
subject of liberality, divided into seven books, the first four
treating of the two general heads — how to give and how to
receive a benefit. He defines a benefit to be, " a benevolent
action, which imparts joy, and by imparting receives it, readily
inclined, and of its own free will prepared, to do what it
does". He calls in the principles of the Stoic philosophy to
elucidate this definition. The Stoics made a distinction of
things into good and bad, which they regarded as co-extensive
and identical with virtuous and vicious, and things neither
good nor bad, in which they included all things external, like
riches and their opposite. Now the matter of a benefit consists
in these external things, and is therefore, on the Stoical theory,
neither good nor bad ; one thousand pounds and a farthing being
alike worthless, if compared with that which is alone really good,
viz., virtue and virtuous actions. But the benefit itself, as
distinguished from its matter, is a virtuous action, and really
good, A gift, Seneca would say, " is doing a good, but the
thing given is neither good nor evil. It is the soul which
exalts little things, casts a ray of glory over things paltry, and
degrades what the world reckons of high account".^^

He goes on to consider what benefits we are to give, and to
whom. He classes them into things necessary, useful, and
agreeable. Things necessary are of three kinds — those without
which we cannot live, those without which we ought not to
live, and those without which we do not wish to five. Gifts
of the agreeable kind must be opportune, or uncommon, or
what few have, or few at the present time, or which are pre-
cious at this particular moment; they should be such as will
often meet the eye of the receiver, and be adapted to his posi-
tion and pursuits; they should be lasting, and the more so
because it is not permitted to the giver to remind the receiver
of his gift ; they must be what you have not given to any one

» Z>e Ben. i. 6.

150 The Wjntivgs of Seneca

else, or at least each person whom you benefit must have some-
thing to make the kindness peculiarly his own; finally, they
must be regulated by prudence, and not given with that reck-
less profusion which neither earns nor can claim the gratitude
of the recipient.

He inquires at large into the causes why people meet with
ingratitude when they have only themselves to blame for it.
These causes are five: careless choice of the objects of kind-
ness ; the claiming a return, which ought always to be volun-
tary; hesitation, delay, and ill-grace in granting the benefit;
mistake as to the principle of doing a kindness, which should
never be done with the notion of receiving a return, or for
any purpose beyond the kindness itself. If you gave for the
sake of giving, the object of your gift was secured at the mo-
ment of giving, and therefore cannot be lost. Lastly, despair-
ing too soon of gratitude, which often appears after a long
time, and when you least expect it.

The later books are devoted to a great variety of questions,
difficulties, and objections, connected with the theory and prac-
tice of liberality, many of them of a subtle and scholastic
description : for instance — can a man confer a benefit upon him-
self? Is it true to say that no men are ungrateful? In what
cases is a benefit conferred on one individual to be considered
as given to several? Do we owe any gratitude for a benefit
given unwillingly or ignorantly ? Of course, the relations of
the Stoical sage with ordinary mortals furnish a host of knotty
points, and which will at least supply a great deal of amusement
to any one who has the leisure to study them. This treatise,
as I have already said, is by far the most regular and syste-
matic of all the works of Seneca ; and yet even this is horta-
tory throughout. I will give one example, which is not only
a good specimen of Seneca's style, but places his character in a
pleasing light. This view makes the gift to consist in the
intention: "As far as the giver is concerned, it is complete
when given; one must, therefore, never be deterred from
giving by meeting with ingratitude". Let us now see how
he throws his philosophical principle into the form of exhorta-
tion:

** The reckoning of benefits is very simple : Bestow so much —
if the other party makes any return, it is a gain ; if not, it is no
loss. I gave in order to give. Nobody writes down in his
pocket-book the kindnesses he has conferred, or, like an avari-
cious dun, summons his creditors to the day and the hour. A
good man never thinks of these, unless reminded by a requital.
Whatever the result of former benefits, persevere in conferring

considered with reference to Literature. 151

them. Some time or other the ungrateful will learn gratitude,
whether from a sense of shame, or by a good opportunity,
or the natural principle of imitation. Do not cease to give;
fulfil your work, and follow out the character of a good
man. Help this man with your substance, that with your
credit, a third with your interest, a fourth with your ad-
vice. Even wild beasts feel kindnesses; and no animal is
so savage but attention will soften it and make it love you.
The keeper handles the lion's mouth and is unhurt. Fierce
elephants may be tamed down by nurture to render even
slavish obedience. Thus, even creatures which are placed too
low to understand or value a benefit, are still conquered by the
assiduity of persevering good deeds. A person is ungrateful
for one benefit ; he will not be so for another ; he has forgotten
two, but a third, added to those which have failed, will bring
back his memory. A man loses, who is too ready to think he
has lost; but he who presses on, and heaps fresh benefits on the
former, at last strikes the spark of gratitude out of the hard
and unmindful heart. The receiver Avill not dare to lift up his
eyes to those many kindnesses; wherever he turns himself,
flying from his own memory, there he will see you. Girdle
him round with your good deeds".'®

Almost all Seneca's works are addressed to individuals, and
not merely dedicated to them, but intended for their practical
advantage. This is the case with the treatise I have just been
reviewing, addressed to ^butius Liberalis. So, too, his letter
on Consolation, to his mother Helvia, and another, on the same
subject, to Polybius, the freedman of Claudius. In the same
way, his admirable treatise on Clemency was intended, however
great a failure the result might be, for the instruction of Nero.
That on Anger was written at the request of Seneca's brother
Novatus, afterwards the celebrated Gallio, to whom also the
treatise on a Happy Life is addressed. The two essays on Tran-
quillity, and on the impossibility of any injury being sustained by a
wise man, are addressed to his nephew, Serenus, who held the
office of captain of the guard in the imperial palace ; and that on
the Shortness of Life, to Paulinus, probably some relative of his
second wife, LoUia Paulina. All these papers abound in prac-
tical precepts, such as a writer would use who was addressing
an individual to whose mind he wished to give an impulse, and
have, therefore, a reality about them not often found in works
of so highly rhetorical a style.

Seneca's Letters, addressed to his friend Lucilius Junior, at that

'^De Ben.i. 2, 3.

152 The Writing'^ of Seneca

time praetor of Sicily, constitute the lar<rest and most valuable,
as well as the latest, portion of his works. He wrote them in
his old age, chiefly when residing in Campania, whither he
retired from public affairs, in consequence of the envy caused
by his great wealth, the enmity of Nero, and the odium
arising from the grave inconsistency which marked the closing
years of his administration.

It is pleasing to turn from that painful picture to contem-
plate, in his own works, what were at least Seneca's sincere
aspirations, and the results of his vast experience of life. We
can pass a milder judgment on him than his contemporaries di