The composition of The Owl and the Nightingale is dated by all editors after the death of Henry the Second in 1189, undoubtedly because of the prayer

The French romance of Fergus and Galielle, composed in the first 'quarter of the thirteenth century, is a conventional piece of Arthurian narrative, which has received comparatively little attention from scholars. The episodes of the poem in themselves contain little indeed that is not over-familiar to readers of romances dealing with the matter of Brittany: giants, robbers, and lawless knights to be conquered; a difficult quest; outspoken maidens; a tournament for the selection of a likely husband; dwarfs and a magic spring and the inevitable mockery by Sir Kay. But what does give unusual interest to this romance is the fact, pointed out first by Martin in his edition in 1872, that the scene of the action is indubitably Scotland, described by one who must have known it at first-hand, and that among the characters who appear in this faery setting, two at least were Scottish chiefs of the twelfth century. Although the evidence already cited by Martin is sufficient to prove these general conclusions, his material was drawn entirely from secondary sources, which afford only brief, general statements about the persons involved. The possibility of augmenting this evidence by material from primary sources has hitherto been neglected.

The Middle English romance of Athelston, preserved in a unique MS of the fourteenth century, has of late received some share of the recognition which its excellence deserves. The poet's narrative and descriptive powers have struck each reader with something of the effect of a discovery. But the full realization of his constructive skill and independent creative gift has only become possible through the light thrown on his sources by the studies of Gerould, Miss Hibbard (Laura Hibbard Loomis), and Beug. Each of these renders more unnecessary Zupitza's assumption of a French original and correspondingly raises our estimate of the English author. It is the purpose of the present paper to call attention to a further source, one that reveals still more clearly the workmanship of the poem.

If the Normans were, as ten Brink has called them, the foremost representatives of chivalry, they certainly had good measure of instruction to fit them for the part. Among the flood of Anglo-Norman didactic literature which has come down to us, we find a number of treatises on manners for the benefit of budding chivalry; they differ from the many Continental Arts d'aimer in that they are mostly written for quite young boys, and the elaborate doctrines of courtly love are replaced by practical details of a page's service, mingled haphazard with moral precepts of a more general nature. Even when the pupil is considered as having emerged from pagehood and attained to the dignity of a lover, we never exchange an atmosphere of reality and common-sense for the complex artificiality of the first part of the Roman de la Rose, any more than we approach the literary grace and finish of that poem. The little Norman pages were instructed in no fantastic chivalry, such as bound the heroes of the romances, but in a doctrine calculated to assure their success in this world, without endangering their chances in the next.

In a recent article on “The Sources of the Restoration Heroic Play,” Mr. William S. Clark discusses Elizabethan and French influences on heroic drama and supports the claim made by Sir Walter Scott, a century ago, that the heroic plays must be regarded as “the legitimate offspring” of the French heroic romances. Concerning the English influence, Mr. Clark observes: “In the face of this extensive dependence upon French suggestions the resemblances between the heroic plays and the English drama of earlier periods come to have much less significance.” Indeed, he regards as erroneous the opinion of scholars who have maintained that earlier English drama influenced “to a large degree” the heroic drama of the Restoration.

On may 30, 1667, Samuel Pepys attended a meeting of the Royal Society at Arundell House where he found “much company, indeed very much company, in expectation of the Duchesse of Newcastle, who had been desired to be invited to the Society; and was, after much debate, pro and con., it seems many being against it; and we do believe,” he observes, “the town will be full of ballads of it.” Thomas Sprat, in his history of the Society published the same year, after pointing out to “Wits and Railleurs” that experimental science will afford them new material for their “wit” and fancy, declares:

I acknowledge that we ought to have a great dread of their power: I confess I believe that New Philosophy need not (as Caesar) fear the pale, or the melancholy, as much as the humorous, and the merry: For they perhaps by making it ridiculous, becaus it is new, and becaus they themselves are unwilling to take pains about it, may do it more injury than all the arguments of our severe and frowning and dogmatical Adversaries.

The poem To the Memory of Mr. Congreve, first printed in 1729, is usually attributed to James Thomson, although his authorship of it has been questioned. This poem was not reprinted until 1843, since which date some editors have included it in their collections of Thomson's works, and some have excluded it. I hope soon to present some hitherto unrecorded evidence that this poem was written by Thomson, and accordingly in the present paper I proceed on the assumption that he was its author. At the same time, as I shall try to show, the conclusion which this paper seeks to establish will itself supply important evidence in support of Thomson's authorship.

For some time the conviction has been growing that many of the current generalizations concerning eighteenth-century literature have been arrived at by the à priori, or deductive, method. A few outstanding figures that have been studied with considerable care have furnished the chief and sometimes the only basis for characterizations of the period. The age has suffered, as most ages have, from the tendency to dogmatize as to what the people of the time must have thought, and from the corresponding neglect of that humbler and more arduous task of finding out what, as a matter of fact, they said.

Parmi les romans philosophiques de Voltaire, l'Ingénu est intéressant à plus d'un titre. Il exprime les idées de l'auteur, mais, et sauf erreur de notre part, il éclaire aussi d'une vive lueur l'état d'esprit de l'écrivain. Puisqu'il est admis de nos jours que le succès de la Profession de foi du vicaire savoyard inspira le Sermon des Cinquante, pourquoi l'Ingénu ne serait-il pas une conséquence nécessaire du triomphe de la doctrine naturiste de J. J. Rousseau? La renommée grandissante de ce dernier ne blessait-elle pas l'ombrageux patriarche qui voyait, avec douleur, l'influence de son rival contrebalancer fortement la sienne? En effet, d'une discussion plutôt académique et littéraire sur la nature du sauvage et du civilisé, Rousseau sut tirer des conclusions aussi pratiques qu'angoissantes pour l'humanité. Entraîné par l'éloquence enflammée du philosophe, le public s'enthousiasma et discuta cette question avec passion. Voltaire, dont le génie a surtout été d'expliquer et de suivre son siècle alors même qu'il paraissait le précéder, se rendit compte de ce nouveau désir créé par l'intérêt général. La mode en étant à l'homme de la nature, il écrivit l'Ingénu, livre d'actualité s'il en fût. Le civilisé qu'était Voltaire ne pouvait guère prendre ce sujet bien au sérieux, mais enfin, et c'est ce qui lui importait, il restait dans le goût du jour.

Ever since the Chevalier de Rohan met Voltaire at the Comédie Française and asked: “M. de Voltaire, M. Arouet, comment vous appelez-vous?” his name has been the subject of much dispute. Lately, the discussion was reopened when a certain M. P., having read in Excelsior that Voltaire was the name of a house in Saint-Loup, addressed a query to the Intermédiaire des chercheurs et des curieux in an effort to verify the statement. Students, admirers, or compatriots of Voltaire immediately gave their views, but other than a restatement of several of the old theories no positive result was gained. Somewhat previously Mr. G. B. Watts published a short article upon “Voltaire's Change of Name,” but this article did not aim to throw light upon the general problem. At the present writing, Desnoiresterres' treatment of the subject and that of Maynard remain the most satisfactory. Nevertheless, neither critic pretended to have solved the question. They merely endeavored to collect in compact form the various theories previously proposed. Even in this modest endeavor, their presentations are defective, for, although they were prevented by circumstances from uniting all the theories, they have not always been careful to weigh their testimony. Moreover, the origin of the name is only one of three questions confronting the investigator. We are not only interested in how Voltaire chose his name, we are further curious to know why and when he did so. In the discussion which follows I do not claim to have solved these three questions; I shall be satisfied if I succeed in offering suggestions which may contribute to their solution.

Among nineteenth century critics it was the fashion to consider Oliver Goldsmith one of the most original of writers; and The Vicar and She Stoops to Conquer were always cited as examples of that originality. Modern scholarship, which has destroyed so many of the traditions concerning Goldsmith, has thus far left these two works intact.

Mari Magno, by Arthur Hugh Clough, is a series of six narratives in verse related by voyagers across the Atlantic. Clough wrote these tales during his travels for health through southern Europe in the final year of his life—the last tale, indeed, on his very deathbed—and he left them unrevised at the end. Though in themselves deficient in narrative power, these tales present to the literary investigator two distinct problems, neither of which has as yet been satisfactorily solved. The first of these relates to the extent to which Clough in his narrative drew upon the events of his own life; the second is the question of the nature and the importance of the influence exerted upon him by the works of other authors, particularly Chaucer and Crabbe.

Amid the shifting cross currents of religious controversy in England during the middle years of the nineteenth century, there are few points of view equal in freshness and interest to that of Browning. Nor among his brother poets of the Victorian age is there one whose work throws more light on the typical attitude of the English mind in relation to philosophy and religion. Individualism, subjectivity, lack of systematic development, absence of radicalism,—attributes which have been singled out as eminently characteristic of English speculative thought in the nineteenth century—are strikingly illustrated in Browning's representation of the religious problems of the mid-Victorian era.

Professor Gordon Hall Gerould's article entitled “The Making of Ballads” is an attractive essay, written in the fluent and polished manner that we are accustomed to expect from this scholar. It has charm of style, and its positions, taken as a whole, may be termed accepted positions. Because of its literary quality, because it brings together in one paper what has hitherto been stressed in scattered places, and because of its appreciation of the poetical quality of those English and Scottish ballads sought out by the notable collectors of the earlier nineteenth century and made available in the volumes of Professor Child, the paper has real value for the student. That “The Making of Ballads” is a research article, the product of painstaking investigation, Professor Gerould would not, I think, himself maintain. He is a literary theorist in the realm of traditional song, rather than an experienced field worker or a practical folk-lorist. He brings forward little that has novelty for the special scholar. This circumstance would call for no particular comment except for the fact that the paper has been announced as new and subversive—as something independent of old theories. It has been referred to by several scholars as “The Gerould Theory of Ballad Origins.” The author himself leads us to expect something revolutionary when he asks us to—