The Circe belongs to that class of plays which is described, rather vaguely, as Satyric Drama. Though not a Tragedy, it is of the Tragic rather than of the Comic type, and contains many of the elements without which no good play is complete. Thus there are two περιπέτειαι and one deus ex machina, and though άναγνώρισις is unfortunately absent (a fault noticeable also in many of the plays of Euripides) it contains some examples of Irony; the Unities of Time and Place are strictly observed, and the Hero is neither better nor worse than he should be.

The present paper is an attempt to show the far-reaching effect on history of a single economic factor, namely, the gold supply.

MR. W. F. Witton's reconsiderations of grammatical rules, ‘invented’, as he suggests, ‘by some unimaginative medieval scholar’, must be welcome to all teachers and students of the classics. Modern readers, both in schoolroom and in lecture-hall, are less ready to exploit the ambiguities of ‘the exception proves the rule’ than were the medieval Schoolmen, and a reluctance to accept arbitrary laws without examining the credentials of the legislator is one of the more healthy symptoms of this hypercritical and sometimes anarchical age.

Time is a pattern of passing days. There are bright days and dark, and days that have the unobtrusive colour of a background; but each day must begin, and sequences of days, such as the week, have fresh beginnings. This web of repetition, inwoven with the various colours of the days, makes the pattern of time by which we think and plan; for without beginnings there would be no time, and without repetition there can be no pattern. It is a fascinating occupation to try to call up from the past the pattern by which the ancient Romans thought, a pattern agreeably varied, with monthly festivals recurring at fixed but irregular intervals, and market-day every eight days irrespective of the months. The heavens themselves provide a pattern for mankind with day and night, stars and the seasons, and the revolutions of the moon and sun; and man makes markets to be held at stated intervals, and markets make a week. There is refreshment in irregular interruptions, but in the prospect of a regular break there is repose of spirit; and it is pleasant to know that from very early times the Romans profited by both. It is impossible to say how early. The origin of such institutions was already lost by the first century b.c., and our earliest information comes from the researches of Varro, the antiquary of that epoch. The fullest comes from five centuries later, when Macrobius, for his delight and ours, assembled from the works of earlier writers a choice medley of uncertain lore. It seems probable, however, that both markets and monthly dates were in existence by the beginning of the Republic. To this point we may look then for the main lines of the pattern, sparse here, and simple; at later times it is found filled in and shaded, with added detail; and under the Empire another pattern is to be seen coming through alongside of and unrelated to the first, and in the end predominating: the pattern of the modern week.

Does any one ever read Henty nowadays? It is a pity if they do not, for in his unpretentious way he serves as a very good model for one type of historical fiction, and it may upon reflection appear that his is not the worst type to follow. It was his practice to take some historical period of general interest, and into the framework of fact to work the adventures of a fictitious hero; the real historical heroes paced at intervals across the background, the facts of history were generally accurately enough presented, and the dialogue was couched in the ordinary speech of all ages: the more educated spoke the standard English of Henty's own day, the uneducated a sort of conventional Loamshire, which had the advantage of being equally suitable for Kingswear, Kenmare, or Kircudbright. He never attempted to give his books an air of antiquity by plastering them with what passed for the vocabulary of the period.

I was glad to hear from Horace Q. Flack that he had arrived in England. He is something of a curiosity: American-born, he claims descent from the Roman poet Horace, whose words he is incessantly quoting.