It has been repeatedly pointed out that Shaftesbury derived many, if not the most, of his philosophical ideas from his immediate and more remote predecessors. Nevertheless, the recognition of this fact does not detract from the originality and power of Shaftesbury himself. The ideas gleaned from a wide reading and companionship passed through the medium of his keen and generous mind and emerged a new intellectual compound.

The following edition of the De Ortu Waluuanii is based on an exact transcript of the Cottonian ms. (only with resolution of the usual contractions) which was made for me by Mr. D. T. B. Wood, of the Department of Manuscripts of the British Museum, during the months of August and September, 1897. I have endeavored to print the Latin text as it appears in this transcript with as little change as possible. It has occasionally been necessary, however, to supply words omitted in the ms., yet obviously required by the sense, and wherever this has been done the inserted words will be found enclosed in brackets. In the case of corrupt or simply misspelt forms I have placed the ms. readings at the bottom of the page and incorporated the emended forms (italicized) into the text. Only in the case of the words sublimis and pugna and their derivatives I have retained the consistent spellings of the ms.— sullimis, pungna, and the like.

Ces lignes de Valéry Larbaud proposent à la critique une tâche considérable, utile assurément, mais des plus délicates. Nulle question en effet n'a soulevé plus de controverses que la notion d'influence en littérature. Or, de tous les noms que cite Larbaud, celui de Baudelaire est l'un des plus fréquemment mentionnés par Proust, qui a également consacré un article à l'auteur des Fleurs du Mal. Il est donc légitime de penser qu'une étude de cette nature pourrait jeter un jour supplémentaire, non seulement sur la personnalité et sur l'œuvre de Proust, mais encore sur celles de Baudelaire lui-même. De nombreuses questions se présentent immédiatement à l'esprit: Proust a-t-il fait à Baudelaire des emprunts directs? A-t-il trouvé chez lui des vues sur le monde et sur l'art semblables à ses propres conceptions? Baudelaire est-il à l'origine de l'esthétique proustienne? L'auteur du Temps retrouvé n'a-t-il au contraire tiré de l'œuvre de son prédécesseur qu'un encouragement à la dépasser et à affirmer son originalité propre? S'est-il borné notamment à juger que certaines audaces de Baudelaire justifiaient les siennes? Sans prétendre apporter une solution à tous ces problèmes, l'on peut examiner les analogies existant entre la vie et le caractère des deux hommes et étudier, d'après les textes, ce qui, dans l'œuvre de Baudelaire, semble avoir plus particulièrement attiré l'attention de Proust. Peut-être alors sera-t-on mieux en mesure de préciser la nature de l'influence du poète sur le romancier.

Smollett's use of life and scenes in the British navy in the early 1740's in his first novel has long been recognized as an original and important contribution to the materials of English fiction. Chapters 24–38 of Roderick Random with their abundant detail, revealing so graphically the brutalities, disease, and official incompetence involved in the conduct of naval affairs in the expedition to Carthagena 1740–41, have not only impressed Smollett's critics but have offered a firm point of departure for the conjectures of his biographers. Yet although these chapters are successful as realistic art, and suggestive in their biographical implications, there always arises the difficult question of how much of this vivid writing is historical fact and how much is fiction. This question must be the concern of critics in determining Smollett's method in the selection of his materials, and it is central to his biography.

Several recent articles have called attention once more to the problems presented by Spenser's Mutabilitie. Two of them, by Ronald B. Levinson and Evelyn May Albright, deal with certain portions of a series of three essays which I published several years ago, and concern Spenser's use of materials drawn from various sources on the general subject of what Mr. Grierson has called metaphysical poetry. Three others, by Miss Albright, H. M. Belden, and by Miss Albright in reply to Mr. Belden, raise questions concerning the dating of the poem and its relation to Harvey's criticism of the first draft of the Faerie Queene. Since with the single exception of the problem of historical allegory, no topic in Spenser criticism is of comparable interest just now, it is important to review the present state of the inquiry and to consider what remains to be done.

IN commenting on Chapman's tragic heroes, Robert Ornstein observes that “Dangerous as it would be to identify Chapman with his Stoic heroes, I cannot but feel that he shared their spiritual isolation and their sense of alienation from an unworthy society.”1 However dangerous (and unfashionable) it may be to look for the author himself in dramatic works, I think a case can be made that Chapman does reveal himself not only in his Stoic heroes but also in many of his poems, plays, and translations, and that he deliberately sought subject matter which best expressed his own outlook and personal feelings. Critics have had a way of not looking into Chapman's works as a whole,2 but to do so is to see a relatively constant pattern, and when the usual pattern does not occur (as sometimes it does not in his comedies and tragedies), even then we have but a variation on it. The good man's confrontation with a corrupt, harsh, hostile, and often destructive world is the image of reality Chapman favors writing about, but a quest for consolations for numerous adversities is not infrequently a concomitant part of that experience. Many characters, fictional and actual, past and present, in the essentials of their experiences, can be read as guises for Chapman's own struggles with the world.

The object of this paper is to show that Lessing's knowledge of Shakespeare and his influence in introducing and popularizing the great English poet in Germany have been generally overestimated. To forestall any preconceived opinions it may be stated that the position advocated has not been suggested by such works as Franz Mehring's Die Lessing-Legende or Paul Albrecht's Lessings Plagiate, in which the sole purpose of the authors seems to be to pluck the laurel wreath from the head of one whom Herder regarded as the greatest critic of Germany and Macaulay as the first of Europe.

Of Della Casa's life (1503-1556), little need here be said. Brought up in Florence and educated at Bologna, at first he showed, though a keen student, more interest in the amusements than in the serious things of life. In his middle twenties he went to Rome, where he continued his study of the classics and developed still further his aptitude for gaiety. A taste for high life and for classic study led inevitably to the church: at the age of thirty-one he definitely embarked on an ecclesiastical career, held various offices and commissions under different popes, and divided his time between Venice, Florence, and Rome. Towards the end of his life he became secretary of state to Paul IV, but was never made a cardinal. He was always interested in letters, was a member of various academies both gay and learned, and wrote much both in Latin and Italian, prose and verse.

L'ange du Méridien“ is the first in the group of six Chartres-poems in Rilke's Neue Gedichte. It thus occupies a place of honor among the poems which make up the Chartres-cycle. Rilke always devoted much thought and care to the technical questions of the order and arrangement of the poems within his printed works. He must have felt that ”L'Ange du Méridien“ deserved to be first for specific reasons. He must have intended to give particular emphasis to it. We may assume that he meant it to serve as a kind of musical signature or prelude for the other poems of the group, to ”set the tone“ for them. A thematic analysis of the Chartres-cycle might show that, in fact, many of the basic motifs which occur in the other poems are introduced in ”L'Ange du Méridien.“

At the heart of much Victorian fiction is a moral ideology based on the assumption that human nature is essentially flexible, always at least potentially capable of change and renewal. Anthony Trollope devotes much of his own fiction to a systematic critique of such an assumption, arguing that individual character is at bottom irrevocably fixed. Three important novels in particular are built around progressive discoveries by major characters that they are, by their natures, incapable of change: Orley Farm, He Knew He Was Right, and The Duke’s Children. In books like these we discover a skeptical and somber vein in Trollope’s imagination that critics of his work have typically failed to recognize.

In his masterly study of le Sentiment de l'Amour dans I'CEuvre de Pierre Corneille, M. Octave Nadal makes one reservation regarding Polyeucte. After rooting the spiritual adventure of the martyr in the climate of conjugal love where both blood and spirit stir, M. Nadal acknowledges nonetheless a certain ambiguity in the psychology of the hero. He goes so far as to say that in Polyeucte's speeches one could easily find “des formules” which deny the heroism and grandeur of human love at the same time that “l'action même du martyr ne tend jamais qu'à les prouver et à les consacrer.” M. R. Chauviré and M. Raymond Lebègue have made similar observations.

The appearance in 1889 of a drama like Vor Sonnenaufgang as the work of a young genius, practically unknown, was startling. Though it would not be quite accurate to speak of it as the first drama written by Hauptmann, nothing was known of his earlier dramatic efforts. His lyrical works fared better. Both Promethidenloos and Das Bunte Buch had actually reached the public and are still treasured by their fortunate owners. Fasching and Bahnwärter Thiel had also appeared before 1889, as well as two short articles, almost unknown to-day—a review of Hermann Conradi's Lieder eines Sünders and an essay Gedanken über das Bemalen der Statuen.

One of the chapters of M. Maurice Souriau's Histoire du Parnasse is entitled “la Question Déroulède.” In this chapter, M. Souriau describes the popularity of Paul Déroulède's Chants du soldat (1872) and of its sequels, such as Nouveaux chants du soldat (1875), as well as the hostility of Flaubert, Leconte de Lisle, and most of the Parnassians to this type of poetry. Insinuating that this hostility was due, in part at least, to the huge sales of Déroulède's volumes, Souriau attacks this attitude bitterly, praises Déroulède's modesty, and allows his critical judgment to be so completely warped by his own chauvinism as to find in Déroulède both an important writer and a great thinker, even greater, perhaps, than Leconte de Lisle because his work “a communiqué à ses' auditeurs le plus vivifiant patriotisme” while that of Leconte de Lisle “a développé trop souvent, trop longtemps, devant ses lecteurs, le plus noir pessimisme.” He calls attention to Calmettes' criticism of Leconte de Lisle as “un adversaire déclaré des Muses patriotiques” and adds: “Il l'était pendant le siège.” He concludes his chapter with the words: “Il [Déroulède] a comblé la lacune du Parnasse.”

It is so unusual a circumstance at this late day for an entirely new English ballad to come to light that we are justified in hailing its appearance as an event of general interest to the world of English scholarship. From the completion of Professor Child's magnificent work up to the present no ballad has been discovered, which would merit insertion under a new title in that corpus. Variants of ballads already known continue to be unearthed with gratifying frequency, but so well did the great collector glean the field that it can seldom fall to the lot of any follower to bring to light a new specimen. The honor due for such a discovery belongs, however, to Mr. Frank Sidgwick, who printed in 1905 a ballad called The Withies, or The Bitter Withy in Notes and Queries.

Not too many years ago if I had been told that I would be addressing this scholarly assembly on the subject of proficiency testing, I would have denied the thought as being synonymous with impeachment proceedings. I would have asserted with calculated dignity that such a subject was too pedestrian for my interests, I would have stated with just the right touch of scorn that such work was the business of social scientists, psychologists, or educationists, in short, to steal a leaf from Bill Parker's book, I would have been willing to “let George do it” or indeed would likely not have cared if it were not done at all. On the offchance that there are some among you who may still feel that same way, I ask you to let me state the case for a project which I have come to regard not only as having a claim to academic status, but one which I believe is worthy of the interest of all who would hold that testing is a proper function of teaching, and that determination of standards of performance within a subject matter field is a primary business of those who have the skills and teach the subjects which are to be evaluated.

Erich Schmidt's brilliant essay, Fatisi und das sechzehnte Jahrhundert, gave the final sanction to the thesis, voiced by Goethe himself, that the Faust legend is in all its attributes a product of the Reformation. Despite recurrent protests, raised before and after the publication of Schmidt's essay, the Lutheran character of the legend has come to be regarded by literary historians as a dogma. To be sure, the universally Christian ancestry of Faust, Simon Magus, Theophilus, and other Manichæan and mediæval forerunners of the sixteenth-century Devil's Disciple, was unearthed by a host of parallel hunters; still, the Lutheranism of the legend has been upheld until today. Eugen Wolff's attempt to prove that the Volksbuch was a Catholic pamphlet met with little success. Although Adolf Hauffen conceded that there must have been a Catholic Faustbook also, the “genuine Lutheran tendency” of the legend, the triumph of faith over learning, was emphatically pointed out by Wolfgang Stammler in 1927; its Humanist and Lutheran tendencies were stressed by A. Bernt in 1930; and the familiar argument was reiterated by the recent work of G. Bianquis, who declared that in its form of 1587, and in all its subsequent versions, Faust's life is a Lutheran treatise.