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TRANSACTIONS OF THE

CONNECTICUT ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES

INCORPORATED A. D. 1799

VOLUME XIV 1908-10

Publications

of Yale University

PUBLISHED UNDER THE AUSPICES OF

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OFFICERS FOR 1908-10.

President,

Hon. SIMEON E. BALDWIN.

Vice- Presidents.

Pror. ALEXANDER W. EVANS, Pror. CLIVE DAY,
Pror. HANNS OERTEL.

Secretary.

Dr. GEORGE F. EATON.

Treasurer.

Mr. LEE McCLUNG.

Librarian.

Pror. JOHN CHRISTOPHER SCHWAB.

Committee on Publication,

Hon. 8. E. BALDWIN, Chairman, Pror. A. W. EVANS,
Pror. A. S. COOK, Pror. CLIVE DAY,
Pror. E. S. DANA, Pror. H. OERTEL,
-Pror. E. P. MORRIS, Pror. J. C. SCHWAB.

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CONTENTS:

ADDITIONS TO THE LipRARY, APRIL 1, 1908 To ApriL 30, 1910

Art. l.—On THE THEORY OF DoUBLE PRODUCTS AND STRAINS
iN Hyperspace. By Epwin BipweL_L WILSON.

Art. I].—THe MorpHoiocy or Ruppia Maritima. By ARTHUR
HarMOUNT GRAVES. : : ; : : : :

Art. III.—SuprLEMENT TO THE NEW ENGLAND SPIDERS. By
J. H. Emerton. . : . ; : : :

Art. IV.—THE Poems or THomas Turrp Lorp FairFax.
By Epwarp Btutss REED. : 2 : : : ;

Art. V.—Tue EncuisH Morar Puiays. By E pert N. S.

SEEPS ENR IA A Ni CS ST,
‘THOMPSON. ; ; : :

Art. VI.—Tue AccentuaL Cursus IN BYZANTINE GREEK
PRosE witH ESPECIAL REFERENCE TO PROCOPIUS OF C#&-

SAREA. By Henry Bronson DEwING. . , :

PAGE
VII—XXXII

1—57

59—170

171—236

237-290

291—413

415—466

ADDITIONS TO THE LIBRARY

OF THE
CONNECTICUT ACADEMY OF ARTS & SCIENCES

By Girr anp Excaance From Aprin 1, 1908, ro Apri 30, 1910.

Atx-EN-Provence.— Université.

Faculté des lettres. Annales III, 3-4. 1909.
Apapama.—Department of Archives and History.

Bulletin. I, 2. 1904.

Cireulars: 5; 6, (—8, 10—11.
ALTENBURG, S.-A. WNaturforschende Gesellschaft des Osterlandes.

Mitteilungen aus dem Osterlande. I-—XII, XIV, XVI, XVII,

Nee Pe — i, VE; XTE—XTET 1834-1908.

American Academy of Arts and Sciences.

Meigs] Se ke (lib) XE a + EE 2-3) FV, 4—b,. VE,

Oe. (LE) eh (1I—V1).

Proceedings. XLII, 15—XLV, 11. 1909-10.
American Antiquarian Society.

Proceedings. N.S., XIX—XX, 1. 1908-09.

Salisbury Memorial: a Tribute from Yucatan. 1906.
American Astronomer.

Bulletin. LH, 3. 1909.
American Geographical Society.

Bulletin. XL, 3—XLU, 2. 1908-10.
American Museum of Natural History (New York).

Bulletin. XXVI-XXVII. 1909.

Reports. XL. 1908.

American Museum Journal. VIII—X, 2. 1908-10.
American Philosophical Society.

Proceedings. XLVIII, 191—93. 1909.

Transactions. N.S. XXI (Y).
Ames Botanical Laboratory.

Contributions. 4, 6—8, 10. 1906-09.

Ames, O. Orchidaceae, Fasc. I-III, 1905-08.
AMHERST COLLEGE.

Catalogue. 1908-09.
Amiens.—Société Linnéenne du Nord de la France.

Bulletin. XVIII (1906—7), 369-80.

Mémoires. XII. 1905-08.

Académie des Sciences.
Mémoires. XXXI-XXXIV. L-LY. 1884—1908.

Vill Additions to the Library.

AmsTERDAM.— Koninkl. Akademie van Wetenschappen.
Jaarboek. 1907—08.
Proceedings. Section of sciences. X, 1—XI, 2. 1808-09.
Verhandelingen. Afd. Natuurkunde, Sectie I, Deel IX, 5—7, X,1;
Sectie II, Deel XTII, 4—6, XIV, 1-4, XV, 1.
Verslagen van de gewone vergaderingen van de wis- en natuur-
kundige afdeeling. Deel XVI, 1-XVII, 2. 1908—09.
Avessurc.—Naturwissenschaftlicher Verein fiir Schwaben und Neuburg.
Bericht. XXXVIII. 1908.
Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science.
Report of meeting. XI. 1907.
Australian Museum (Sydney).
Memoir. IV. 1909.
Records. VI, 1—VI, 3. 1908.
Report. LITI—LYV. 1907—09.
Special Catalogue. No. I. Vol. II (Nests and eggs of birds by
A. J. North.)
Bamperc.—Naturforschende Gesellschaft.
Bericht. XIX, XX. 1907.
Basei.—Naturforschende Gesellschaft.
Verhandlungen. Bd. XIX, 3—XX, 2. 1908-10.
Barayia.—Magnetical and Meteorological Observatory.
Observations. Vol. XXIX and Append. I to vol. XXX. 1909.
Regenswaarnemingen in Nederlandsch-Indié. Jaarg. XXIX
—X XX. 1907-08.
Bemmelen, W. van. Rainfall in Java. 1908.
Baylor University.
Bulletin. XI, 3; XII, 1. 1908—09.
Beterum.—Académie Royale d’Archéologie de Belgique.
Annales. LXI, 6e sér., T. I—Livr. 2-3. 1909.
Bulletin. 1908, II—V. 1909, I—IV.
Bercen.— Museum. \
Aarbog. 1907, 2-3; 1908, 1-3; 1909, 1.
Aarsberetning. 1907—08.
Sars, G. O. Account of Crustacea of Norway. XVII—XXVI.
1907—09.
Beruin.—Kénigl. Museum fiir Naturkunde.
Bericht. 1907—08.
Mitteilungen aus der zoologischen Sammlung. III, 4—IV, 2.
1908—09.
Bernice Pauahi Bishop Museum of Polynesian Ethnology and Natural History,
Honolulu, 8. I.
Occasional Papers. III, 2; IV, 3; V, 2.
Memoirs. II, 3-4. 1909-10.
Sharp, D., Fauna Hawaiiensis, IJ, part V. 1909.

Additions to the Library. IX

Boroena.—R. Accademia delle Scienze dell’ Istituto di Bologna.
Memorie. Classe di Scienze Morali. Sezione di Scienze Giuridiche
Ser. I. Tomo II, 1-2; If, 1. 1907-09. Sezione di Scienze
Storico-Filologiche. Ser. I. Tomo I], 2; III, 1. 1907—09.
Rendiconto. N. 8. Vol. XI—XII. 1906—08.
Classe di Scienze Morali. Ser.I. TomoI, 2; II,1—2. 1907-09.
Bompay anp ALiBAG.—Government Observatories.
Magnetical, meteorological and _ seismological observations.
1902-05.
Bompay.— Bombay Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society.
Journal. No. LXIII. 1908.
Bonn.—Naturhistorischer Verein der preussischen Rheinlande, Westfalens und
des Regierungs-Bezirks Osnabriick.
Sitzungsberichte der niederrheinischen Gesellschaft fiir Natur-
und Heilkunde. 1907, 2—1909, 1.
Verhandlungen. LXV, 1—LXVI,1. 1908-09.
Borpraux.—Académie Nationale des Sciences, Belles-Lettres et Arts.
Actes. 3e sér. Année 67—69. 1905-07.
Commission Météorologique de la Gironde.
Observations pluviométriques et thermométriques. Juin, 1906
te Mat.st007. 1907; Part PL.
Société des Sciences Physiques et Naturelles.
Mémoires. IV, 1-2.
Procés-verbaux. Année. 1906—08.
Boston.— Museum of Fine Arts.
Annual Report. XXXITI-XXXIV. 1908-09.
Bulletin. No. 32—43. 1908-10.
Society of Natural History.
Occasional Papers. VII, 8-11. 1908—09.
Proceedings. XXXIV, 2-8. 1908-10.
BrapDForD.—Scientific Association.
Journal. Jan., 1909 to Jan., 1910.
BremMEN.— Meteorologisches Obvervatorium.
Deutsches meteorologisches Jahrbuch. Jahrg. XVII—XIX,
1907—08.
Naturwissenschaftlicher Verein.
Abhandlungen. Bd. XIX. 2-85 und Beilage. 1908—09.
Bresiau.—Schlesische Gesellschaft fiir vaterldndische Cultur.
Jahres-Bericht. LXXXV—LXXXVI, 1907—08.
Brighton and Hove Natural History and Philosophical Society.
Annual Report and Abstract of Papers. 1899--1909.
Bristot.— Naturalists’ Society.
Proceedings, 4th Ser. I, 1-3 and index; II, 1—2. 1905-09.
Brookityn.— Museum of the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences.
Cold Spring Harbor Monographs. VII. 1909.
Museum News. IV, 5; V, 5. 1909-10.

XxX Additions to the Library.

Brookiyn. Science Bulletin. I, 10-16. 1907—09.
Year Book. 1897/8—1900/1, 1904-05, 1906—07.
Brinn.—Naturforschender Verein.
Bericht der meteorologischen Commission. XXV. 1907.
Ergebnisse der phaenologischen Beobachtungen aus Mihren
und Schlesien im Jahre 1905.
Verhandlungen. Vol. XLV—XLVI. 1906--07.
Brunswick. — Verein fiir Naturwissenschaft.
Jahresbericht. JI—XV.
BruxeE.Les.—Académie Royale des Sciences, des Lettres et des Beaux-Arts de
Belgique.
Bulletins. Classe des Sciences. 1907, 9-1909, 8.
Annuaire. LXXIV—LXXV. 1908-09.
Mémoires de la Classe des Sciences. 2e Sér. Tome I. Fasc. V;
i: Fase, 1: -1V; V, in 8vo: TT. Fase; N—lDy ine ie
Notices. 1907—09, 5e ed.
Observatoire Royale de Belgique.
Annales Astronomiques. X, XI*?, XII*. 1907-09.
Annales. Nouv. sér., Annales météorologiques. XX, Fasc. IV,
Cale 2.
Annales (Physique du globe). IV, 1-2. 1909.
Annuaire Astronomique. 1909, 1910.
Annuaire Métérologique. 1908—09.
Sociéte Entomologique de Belgique.
Annales. Tome LI—LII. 1908-09,
Mémoires. XV—XVII. 1908—09.
Société Royale de Botanique.
Bulletin. XLIV, 1-3 & annexe; XLV, 1-3. 1907-08.
Société Royale Belge de Géographie.
Bulletin. XXXII, 1-6; XXXIV. 5. 1908-09.
Société Royale Zoologique et Malacologique.
Annales. XLI—-XLIII. 1906—08.
Société Scientifique de Brucelles.
Annales. XXXII, 2, and 2 supplements ; XX XIII. 1—XXXTV. 1.

1907-10.
La Revue des Questions Scientifiques. 35erér. XIV, 3—XYVI, 1.
1908-09.

Bucarest.—Observatorul Astronomic si Meteorologic.
Bulletin lunar. Annul XVII—XVIII. 1908--09.
Société des Sciences.
Bulletin. IE, 7-12; U1, 5-65 Vi; Vil; [X; Xb So eee
ae X VIL 1. 1894-1908.
Bupaprest.—Academia Scientiarum Hungaricarum.
Mathematische und naturwissenschaftliche Berichte aus Ungarn.
XXI—XXTIT. 1903-06.
Rapport sur les travaux. 1899-1908.

Additions to the Library. XI

Boparest.—Konigl. Ungarische Reichsanstalt fiir Meteorologie und Erdmagne-
tismus.
Bericht. VIII. 1907.
Jahrbiicher. XXXVI. 1906.
Bibliothek, Verzeichnis erworbener Biicher. VII. 1908.
Officielle Publikation. VII—VIII. 1909.
Buenos Arres.—Direccion General de Estadistica.
Boletin mensual. VII, 69—X, 107. 1906—02.
Deutscher Akalemischer Verein.
Verdffentlichungen. 1899-04.
Deutscher Wissenscha/tlicher Verein.
Stépel, K. T. Reise in das Innere der Insel Formosa. 1905.
Museo Nacional.
Amales® ~Ser. 8: TX—xX. 1908-09.
Sociedad Cientifica Argentina.
Anales.. LXIII, 4—LXITI, 6. 1907—09.
Burraio.—Society of Natural Sciences.
Bulletin. IX, 1-3. 1908—09.
Report. 1887, 1895—98.
Burton-on-Trent.— Natural History and Archeological Society.
Transactions. V, 2. 1909.
CaEn.—Société Linnéenne de Normandie.
Bulletin. 5e. sér. X; 6e sér. JI. 1906—09.
Catcurta.—Asiatic Society of Bengal.
Journal and Proceedings. III,5—10; LV, 1-11 and extra number
1IO7—09:
Memoirs. II, 5-11. 1909.
Historical Society.
Annual report. 1909.
Journal V (no. 10). 1910.
California Academy of Sciences.
Proceedings. III, 41—56. 4th Ser.
CamprinGeE (England).— Philosophical Society.
Proceedings. XIV, 5-6; XV, 1-4. 1908-10.
Transactions: XX, lI=16; XX, Jie 1907%—09:
Canapa.—Geological Survey.
Preliminary Report on: Portion of main coast of British Co-
lumbia, 1908; Part of Similameen District, 1907; Cowganda
mining division, 1909.
Reports on: Portion of Conrad & Whitehorse mining districts,
Yukon, 1908; Discovery of gold at Notre-Dame de la Salette,
1908; Descriptive sketch of the geology, 1909.
Summary Report. Department of mines. 1906, 1908.
Annual Report. XVI, 1904; Index, 1885-1906.
Annual Report. Department of Mines, Mines branch. 1906.
Maps. 973, 980, 981, 1026, 1035, 1041, 1044—49, 1050, 1059, 1073.

XI Additions to the Library.

Canapa. Plans. 622, 642—43, 645—46, 648-50, 666, 701, 709, 721, 740,
765, 768, 773, 832, 843—44, 937, 995, 1012.
Sheets. 11 (2), 39, 40-41, 49, 53—55, 66-71, 73, 100—01.
Meteorological Service, Monthly Weather Review. XXXII, 5—
XXXII, 10. 1908—09.
Six miscellaneous reports. 1906—07.
Minister of the Interior.
Canada’s fertile northland, ed. by E. J. Chambers, Ottawa. 1908.
Canadian Institute.
Transactions. VIII, 2-3.
Caradoc and Severn Valley Field Club.
List of members. 1896, 1906, 1910.
Transactions. 1,1,53, 45 14,-1-YV,,.1:
Record of bare facts. 1893-1908.
CassEL.— Verein fiir Naturkunde.
Abhandlungen. XLVIII—LIL.
Catania.—Accademia Gioenia di Scienze Naturali.
Bolletino delle Sedute. Ser. II, 1-10. 1907—09.
Societa degli Spettroscopisti Italiani.
Memorie. XXXVI-—XXXVIII. 1908-09.
Cellule (La). XXIV, 2—XXV, 2. 1907—09.
CHELTENHAM.—-Natural Science Society.
Proceedings. New Ser. I, 1-3. 1907—09.
Cuemnitz.— Naturwissenschaftliche Gesellschaft.
Bericht. IX, XI, XVI, 1884—1907.
CuERBOURG.—Societé Nationale des Sciences Naturelles.
Mémoires. XXXVI. 1909.
Cuicaco.—Academy of Sciences.
Bulletin. UL, 1-3. 1910.
Special Publications. 2. 1908.
Field Museum of Natural History.
Publications. 127—41. 1910.
CuristTIANia.— Videnskabs Selskabet.
Forhandlinger. 1907-08.
Cxuur.—Naturforschende Gesellschaft Graubiindens.
Jahresbericht. Neue Folge. LX—LXI. 1907-09.
Cincinnati.— Lloyd Mycological Museum.
Bulletin. 3, 6, 9, 11. 1907-09,
Report. Il. 1895—1906.
Museum Association.
Annual Report. XXVII, XXVIII. 1907-08.
Book List. I, 2. 1908.
Society of Natural History.
Journal. XXI, 1.
University.
Record. TI, 4—VI, 4. 1907-10.

Additions to the Library. XIII

Cincinnati. University Studies. 2d.Ser.: II, 3—4; III, 1,4; IV, 1-4; V,
I-42. 1906-09.
Observatory, Publications. 16, 1899-1906.
Colorado College.
Publications. General Series. 24, 26, 29-33, 36—37, 39, 42, 44,
45. 1907—09.
Colorado Scientific Society.
Proceedings. IX, 21-344. 1908-10.
Cotorapo.— University of.
Suudies. V, 2—VIT, 2. 1908—10.
Connecticut Historical Society.
Annual Report. 1908-09.
CopENHAGEN.—L’ Académie Royale des Sciences et des Lettres de Danemark.
Bulletin (Oversigt). 1907, 5—1909, 5.
Naturhistoriske Forening.
Videnskabelige Meddelelser. 1907—08,
Corpoya (Argentine).—Academia Nacional de Ciencias.
Boletin. XVIII, 3.
Coruna.— Real Academia Gallega.
Boletin. I—V, 34, 1906-10.
Cracow.— Akademija Umiejetnosci.
K. K. Sternwarte. Meteorologische Beobachtungen. Oct., 1906—Feb.,
1910.
Resultate der meteorologischen Beobachtungen. 1908-09.
Danzic.—Naturforschende Gesellschaft.
Schriften. Neue Folge. Bd. XII, 3. 1908.
Westpreussischer Botanisch-Zoologischer Verein.
Bericht. XXX, 1908.
Davenport, 1a.—Academy of Sciences.
Proceedings. XII, 95—222. 1909.
Denison UNIVERSITY.
Bulletin of the Scientific Laboratories. XIV, 1-XV. p. 100.
1908-10.
Derroit.— Museum of Art.
Annual Report. 1908-09.
Bulletin. HET, 1—1V, 1. 1909:
Dorpat.— Naturforscher-Gesellschaft bei der Universitat Dorpat.
Schriften. XIX. 1909.
Sitzungsberichte.. XVI, 2—XVIII, 1. 1907-09. |
Gelehrte Estnische Gesellschaft.
Sitzungsberichte. 1906—08.
DrespEn.— Naturwissenschaftliche Gesellschaft Isis.
Sitzungsberichte und Abhandlungen. Juli, 1907—Juni 1909.
Dusuin.— Royal Dublin Society.
Economic Proceedings. I, 12-16 and Index. 1908-09.

XIV Additions to the Library.

Dusurn. Scientific Proceedings. New. ser. XI, 21-32; XII, 1—23.
Scientific Transactions. Ser. II. IX. 1-9. 1909.
Royal Irish Academy.
Proceedings. XXVII, B, 1-8; C, and appendix. 1908.
Dutca East Inpies.— K. Natuurkundige Vereeniging.
Natuurkundige tijdschrift. LXVII—LXVIII. 1908-09.
Enixpurcu.—Botanical Society.
Transactions and Proceedings. XXIII, 3—XXIV, 1. 1908-10.
Geological Society.
Transactions. IX, 2—4, 1908-09.
Royal Observatory.
Annals. Vol. Il. 1906.
Royal Physical Society.
Proceedings. XVII, 4—XVIII, 1. 1907—10.
Royal Society.
Proceedings. XXVIII. 3. XXX. 4. 1908—10.
ELBERFELD.— Naturwissenschaftlicher Verein.
Jahresbericht. IV—XI und Beilage. 1863-1906.
Elisha Mitchell Scientific Society. .
Journal. XXIII, 4—XXV, 2. 1908—09.
Enpen.—Naturforschende Gesellschaft.
Jahresbericht. XCI-—XCIII. 1905-08.
Errurt.—Konigl. Akademie gemeinniitziger Wissenschaften.
Jahrbiicher. Neue Folge. Heft XXXII—XXXIV. 1908,
Essex Institute.
Annual Report. 1908—09.
Fuiorence, Iraty.—Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale.
Bolletino delle Pubblicazioni Italiane. 88-109. 1908-10.
FRANKFORD, Pa.— Historical Society.
Papers I. 1-11. 1. 1906-09.
Frankrurt a. M.— Deutsche Malakozoologische Gesellschaft.
Nachrichtsblatt. XL, 2—XLII, 1. 1908-10.
Senckenbergische Naturforschende Gesellschaft.
Abhandlungen. XXIX, 3; XXX, 4. 1908-09.
Bericht. 1908. 1909.
Festschrift zur Erinnerung an die Eréffnung des neuerbauten
Museums. 1907.
Verein fiir Geographie und Statistik.
Jahresbericht I-LX VII, LXX—LXXII. 1836-1908.
Frankrourt a. O.—Naturwissenschaftlicher Verein Helios.
Abhandlungen und Mitteilungen aus dem Gesamtgebiete der
Naturwissenschaften. XXIV, XXV. 1908.
Franklin Institute.
Journal. CLXV, 1—CLXIX, 2. 1908-10.
Frerpure i. B.—Naturforschende Gesellschaft. 7
Berichte. XVII. 1908-09:

Additions to the Library. XV

GENEVA.—IJnstitut national genevois.
Mémoires. XIX. 1901-09.
Société de Physique et d Histoire Naturelle.
Mémoires. Tome XXXV, 4-XXXVI, 1. 1908-09.
Genoa.—Museo Civico di Storia Naturale.
Annali. Ser. 3. III. 1907-08.
GeERMANY.— Kais. Leopoidinisch-Carolinische deutsche Akademie der Natur-
forscher. (Halle a. 8.)
Leopoldina. XLIII—XLIV. 1907—08.
Abhandlungen. LXXXVIII, 3—XC, 1. 1909.
GIESSEN.—Oberhessische Gesellschaft fiir Natur- und Heilkunde.
Bericht. Neue Folge. Medizinische Abteilung. JII—IV. 1908,
Naturwissenschaftliche Abteilung. Ef. 1907-08.
Guascow.—Natural History Society.
Transactions. Newser. IV, 1. VIII, 1. 1892-1904; 1905—06.
Journal, 1, .J—4. - 1908-09:
Royal Philosophical Society.
Proceedings. XXXVIII—XL. 1906—09.
GoruitTz.—Naturforschende Gesellschaft.
Abhandlungen. V, 1; VIII, XI, XXVI.
GoérrBorG.— Kon. Vetenskaps och Vitterhets Samjhiéille.
Handlingar. 4de folj. Haft. X—XI. 1901—08.
Goérrincen.— Kénigl. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften.
Nachrichten. Geschiftliche Mitteilungen. 1908, 1—1909, 2.
Philosophisch-historische Klasse. 1908, 1—1909, 2.
Graz.—Naturwissenschaftlicher Verein fiir Steiermark.
Mitteilungen. XLV, 1-2. 1908.
Haartem.—Musée Teyler.
Archives. Sér. I]. XI, 2-3. 1908-09.
Société Hollandaise des Sciences.
Archives néerlandaises. Sér. Il. XIII, 3-XV, 5. 1908-09.
Harnaut.—Société des Sciences, des Arts et de Lettres.
Mémoires. Sér. VI, VIII—X. 1906—09.
Hampure.— Deutsche Seewarte.
Aus, dem. Archiv. Jahre: X XIX, 25 XXX 35 XXXII #.
1907—09.
Deutsches meteorologisches Jahrbuch. XXIX—XXXI. 1906-08.
Katalog der Bibliothek. Nachtrag. VIII. 1907-08.
Annalen der Hydrographie und maritimen Meteorologie. XXXVI,
5—-XXXVIII, 3. 1908—10.
Jahresbericht. 1907-08.
Naturwissenschaftlicher Verein.
Verhandlungen. 3te Folge. XV—XVI. 1907-08.
Naturwissenschaftliche Gesellschaft.
Jahresbericht. LVII. 1906-07.

XVI Additions to the Library.

Harvard College.—Astronomical Observatory.
Annual Report. LXIIT. LXIV. 1909.
Annals. L; LI, 2; LV, 2; Vi, 4; GVILL 1, 4;-LE 2 Seow
LX; LX 2s REV 13 Lee ee
Circulars. No. 136—152.
Museum of Comparative Zodlogy.
Annual Report. 1908—09.
Memoirs. XXXIV, 2-3; XXXVI, 1; XXXVII, 1, 3; XXXVIII,
1; .1908=09:
Builetin. LL, .11—-12; Iu, 1-7; 10-14; ait 16 eee
1908—09.
Bulletin. Geological Series. VIII, 7, 9. 1908—09.
Havana.— Real Colegio de Belen.
Observaciones meteorolégicas y magnéticas, 1907—08.
Havre.—Société géologique de Normandie.
Bulletin. XXVI-XXVIII. 1907-08.
HELsiInGrors.—Societas Scientiarum Fennica.
Meteorologisches Jahrbuch fiir Finland. Il. 1902.
Observations publiées par l'Institut Météorologique Central.
1896-98. 1901.
Acta. XXXITI—XXXIV. 1906—08.
Bidrag till kinnedom af Finlands natur och folk. Haft 61—66.
1901-08.
Ofversigt af forhandlingar. XLVIII—L. 1905—08.
Societas pro Fauna et Flora Fennica.
Acta XXIV, XXIX—XXXITI. 1904-09.
Meddelanden. XXXITI—XXXV. 1906-09.
HeERMANNSTADT. ~ Siebenbiirgischer Verein fiir Naturwissenschaften.
Verhandlungen und Mitteilungen. LVIII. 1908.
Iuurnois.—State Laboratory of Natural Ilistory.
Bulletin. VII, 1-10. 1907-09.
Inp1a.— Imperial Department of Agriculture.
Annual Report. 1905—07.
Report on Progress of Agriculture. 1907—09.
Memoirs. ' Botanical series. TI, 3, 5-8 1908-09.
Memoirs. Chemical series. I, 6-7. 1908—09.
Memoirs. Entomological series. I, 6—I], 7. 1908.
Agricultural Research Institute (Pusa). Report. 1907—09.
Geological Survey of India.
Memoirs. XXXIV, 4; XXXVI, 2; XXXVI, 1-3. 1908-10.
Records. XXXVIII, 2-3. 1909.
Paleontologia Indica. Ser. XV, V, 1-2; N.S. H, 4-5; UI,
3, VI, 3. 1908-09:
Meteorological Department of the Government of India.
Indian meteorological memoirs, XVIII, 2, 4; XIX, 1; XX,
2=7; XXL 1. 1908— 03:

Additions to the Library. XVII

Inpia. Monthly weather review. Feb., 1907 to Nov., 1909.
India weather review. Annual summary. 1906—08.
Rainfall of India. XVI—XVIII. 1906-08.
Report on administration. 1908—09.
Board of Scientific Advice.
Annual report. 1906-09.
Indian Museum.—Records. I, 1—III. 4. 1907-09.
Memoirs. I, 4 and index; IJ. 1-3. 1909.
Annotated list of Asiatic beetles. I. 1909.
Echinodermata, V. Asteroidea. I. 1909.
Inprana.—Academy of Science.
Proceedings. 1907-08.
Constitution. 1887. 1889.
Towa.—Academy of Sciences.
Proceedings. XIV—-XV. 1907-08.
State University.
Studies in Psycholoy. Il. 1899.
TreLtanp.— Pharmaceutical Society.
Calendar. XXXIV. 1910.
Iraty.— Reale Comitato geologico d Italia.
Bolletino. 1907, 1—1910, 1.
Jenaische Zeitschrift fiir Naturwissenschaft. XXXVI, 3-XXXVIII, 2.
1908-09.
John Crerar Library.
Annual Report. XIII—XIV. 1907-08.
List of books exhibited. Dec. 30, 1907—Dec., 1909.
Johns Hopkins University.
Circular. 1908, 2—1910, 3.
Journal of Comparative Neurology and Psychology.
Mol XVilt, 1-4. 1907.
Kansas.— University of Kansas.
Bulletin. IX, 5. 1908.
Academy of Science.
Transactions. XXII. 1908.
Kasan.— Société Physico-mathématique de ? Université Impériale.
Bulletin. Sér. I. XV, 4—XVI,2. 1906-08.
Kuarkorr.—Société des Sciences Physico-Chimiques.
Travaux, XXXI—XXXV; Suppl. fase. XVII, XIX—XXI. 1903
Oe:
Kie..— Kommission zur wissenschaftlichen Untersuchung der deutschen Meere.
Wissenschaftliche Meeresuntersuchungen, Abt. Kiel. N. F.
ea i his ond. Hire-H VERE dx
Naturwissenschaftlicher Verein fiir Schleswig-Holstein.
Schriften. Bd. XIV, 1—2. 1908-10.
K6nigl. Christian-Albrechts- Universitat.
Chronik. 1906-09.

aE

XVIII Additions to the Library.

KIEL. Verzeichnis der Vorlesungen. 1906—09.
Dissertations. 1907—09.
Kigv.—Société des Naturalistes.
Mémoires. Tome XX, 3. 1908.
Kopaik4naL.— Observatory.
Bulletin. 12-18. 1908—09.
Annual Report. 1907.
Memoirs. I, 1. 1909.
KOENIGSBERG, i. Pr.— Physikalisch-Gkonomische Gesellschaft.
Schriften. XLVI. 1907.
Kyoto. —Imperial University, College of Science and Engineering.
Memoirs. I, 4. 1908.
La Puiata.—Archivios de Pedagogia y Ciencias Afines. .1V,10—16 1908-09.
Museo.
Anales. Ser. I, I. 1908.
Revista. XII, 1-2; XIV, 1: XV,-2; XVE 3) Sis
La RocHeLite.—Académie. Sections des Sciences Naturelles.
Annales. XXXV. 1906-07.
Flore de France. X—XI. 1907—08.
Lavsanne.—Société Vaudoise des Sciences Naturelles.
Bulletin. 5e sér. XII, 70, 1873; XLII, 161—XLV, 166.
1907—09.
Leipen.— Nederlandsche Dierkundige Vereeniging.
Aanwinsten der Bibliotheek. I. 1906-07.
Tijdschrift. Ser. II. Deel X, 4—XI, 2. 1908-09. Register.
1875-1908.
Lerpzic.— Kénigl. Stichsische Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften.
Berichte. Mathematisch-physische Klasse. LIX, 4; LX, 1-8;
LXT, 1-3. 1907+09.
Fiirstl. Jablonowskische Gesellschaft.
Jahresbericht. 1908.
Naturforschende Gesellschaft.
Sitzungsberichte. 1899-1906.
Verein fir Erdkunde.
Mitteilungen. 1906. 1907.
LemBereG.— Société Royale des Sciences.
Mémoires. Sér. IJ. VII-VIII. 1907. 1909.
Math.-Naturw.-Aerztl. Section. Sammelschrift. XII. 1908.
Linz. — Museum Francisco-Carolinum.
Jahresbericht. 3, 5—7, 11, 20, 21, 29, 33, 35, 37, 38, 40, 42, 43,
46-68.
Lispon.—Sociedade de Geographia.
Boletim. Serie XXVI, 1—XXVII, 2. 1908-09.
Memoftias do Ultramar. Viagens, exploragoes e conquistas dos
Portuguezes, por Luciano Cordeiro.
Leite de Vasconcellos, J., Estudos de philologica. I—II. 1901.

LisBon.

Additions to the Library. XIX

Sa, A. de. Frei Goncalo Velho. I-—II. 1900.

Esteves Pereira, F. M., Chronica de Susenyos. rei de Ethiopia.
iE, 1892.

Sessao solemne. 16 May, 1898.

Sixty one miscellaneous monographs.

Lonpon.—Geological Society.

Geological Literature added to the Library. 1908.
Quarterly Journal. LXIII, 1—LXV, 260. 1907-09.

Linnean Society.

Journal. Zodlogy. 197-200, 204-06. 1907—09.
Journal. Botany. 265-71. 1908—09.

List. 1908-10.

Proceedings. CXX—CXXI. 1908-09.

Royal Geographical Society.

Grenfell, G. Upper Congo (map). 1902.

Grundy, G. B. Battle of Platza. 1894.

Guenther, R. T. Bibliography of topographical and geological
works on the Phlegreean Fields, 1908.

McCarthy, J. Surveying and exploring in Siam. 1900.

Merzbacher, G. Central Tian-Shan Mountains. 1905.

Murray, G. & Markham, C. R. Antarctic manual for 1901.

Murray, J. & Pullar, L. Bathymetrical survey of the fresh
water lochs of Scotland. 1908.

Murray, J. & Peake, R. E. Floor of the Atlantic Ocean. 1904.

Peake, R. E. Deep-sea sounding expedition in the North At-
lantic. 1901.

Selection of papers on arctic geography and ethnology (re-
printed). 1875.

Smyth, H. W. The Upper Mekong, Siam. 1895.

Stein, M. A. Mountain panoramas from the Pamirs and Kwen
Lun. 1908.

Royal Society.

Philosophical Transactions. Series A. 128-60. 1908—09.
Series B 260-72. 1908—09.
Proceedings. Series A. 538-62. 1908—10.
Series B. 537-54. 1908-10.

Royal Microscopical Society.

Journal. 1908, 2-1909, 6.

Royal Geographical Society.

Geographical Journal. XXXI, 5-XXXYV. 2. 1908-10.
Karakorum Himalayas by W. M. Conway. I-II. 1892.

Mathematical Society.

Proceedings. VI—VIII, 2. 1908—10.
List of members. 1908.

Lovisiana.—State Board of Agriculture and Imuigration.

Gulf Biological Station.
Ii*

XX Additions to the Library.

Lovrsrana. Bulletin. 8, 13, 14.
Lucca.—R. Accademia Lucchese di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti.
Atti. XXXITI. 1907.
Lunp.— Kongl. Carolinska Universitet.
Acta IN EL al IVeds Vil? 1906—Cs:
Luxempoure.— Institut Grand-Ducal.
Archives trimestr. N.S. TI—HI. 1907-08.
Lyons.—Société d’ Agriculture, Sciences et Industrie.
Annales. 1907-08.
Université.
Annales. Science-Médecine. N.S. I, 22-24. 1908.
Société des Amis de l’Université. XX, 1-2; XXI, 1-6; XXII,
ti 907-08:
Maprip.— Observatorio Astronomico.
Anvario, 1909-10.
R. Academia de Ciencias exactas, fisicas y naturales.
Memorias. XXVI. 1908.
Revista. VII, 1—VII, 3, 6. 1908-10.
R. Academia de la Historia.
Cortes de los antiguos reinos de Aragon. XII. 1908.
Boletin. XLIV, 1; LUI, 3. 1904-08.
Memorial historico espafiol. XXXVH-—XLIII. 1898-1905.
MacpresurG.—Naturwissenschaftlicher Verein.
Jahresbericht. III, V, VII, IX, 1872-82.
Jahresbericht und Abhandlungen. 1886-1907. (14 numbers.)
Festschrift. 25. 1894.
Museum fiir Natur- und Heimatkunde
Abhandlungen und Berichte. I, 1-4. 1909.
MancHEsterR (England).—Geographical Society.
Journal. XXVI. 1909.
Literary and Philosophical Society.
Memoirs and Proceedings. LII, 2—LIV, 1. 1907—09.
University.
Publications. Anatomical series, I, 1906 ; Historical series, I-VI,
VIII, 1904—09; Medical series, I—VII, X—XII, 1904-09;
Physical series, I, 1906.
Owen’s College. Studies in Anatomy, IJ, 1900; Studies from
the Biological Laboratory, IV, 1899; Studies from the Physical
and Chemical Laboratories, I, 1893.
Mancuester, N. H.—Institute of Arts and Sciences.
Proceedings. IV, 2. 1909.
Marsurc.—Gesellschaft zur Beforderung der gesamten Naturwissenschaften.
Sitzungsberichte. 1907—08.
MerckLensure.— Verein der Freunde der Naturgeschichte in Mecklenburg.
Archiv. IX, 2—b a 1907— 08:

Additions to the Library. XXI

Metpourne.— National Museum.
Memoirs. 2. 1908.
Merz.— Académie.
Mémoires. XXXIV-XXXYV. 1904-06; Table générale. 1819—
1903.
Mexico.—Instituto Geolégico de México.
Boletin. 17, 24. 26. 1908.
Parergones. I, 1—III, 2. 1908-09.
Instituto Médico Nacional.
Anales. VIII—X. Oct., 1906—May, 1908.
Observatorio Astronémico Nacional de Chapultepec.
Anuario. Tome XXIX—XXX. 1909-10.
Observatorio Meteorolégico Central.
Boletin mensual. Nov., 1907—April, 1909.
Observatorio de Tacubaya y Guajimalpa.
Observaciones meteorolégicas. Afio de 1909.
Sociedad Cientifica “Antonio Alzate.”
Memorias y revista. XXV, 9, 12; XXVI, 1-XXVJI, 3. 1908—
09.
Micuiean, University of.
Field Studies in Botany. University Bulletin. N.S. VI, 5,
O10, 14-15:
Micuiegan.—Academy of Sciences.
Report. XI. 1909.
MippELBurG.—Zeeuwsch Genootschap der Wetenschappen.
Archief. 1908. 1909.
Mitan.— Real Istituto Lombardo di Scienze e Lettere.
Rendiconto. Serie I]. XL, 16—XLIJ, 15. 1908-09.
Reale Osservatorio di Brera.
Publicazioni. XL, 2. 1908.
Societa Italiana di Scienze Natural.
Atti.» XUV. t—XLV EL, 3. - 1908-09:
Strambio, G. Jr. La pellagra. 1890.
MitwavKkeEe.— Public Museum.
Annual Report. I, V, VII-XVI. 1883-1908.
Missourt.— Botanical Garden.
Annual Report. XIX—XX. 1908-09.
University of Missouri.
Law’s Observatory. Bulletin. 13-16. 1908.
Mopena.—R. Accademia delle Scienze, Lettere et Arti.
Memorie. Ser. II. Tome XII.
Ser. HI. Tome VII.
Societa det Naturalisti e Matematici.
Atti. Rendiconti. Ser. IV, vol. VII—X. 1905—08.
Mo.pavtein.— Export-Verein fiir Bohmen.
Jahresbericht. XV. 1906.

.

XXII Additions to the Library.

Monaco.—Institut Océanographique.
Annales. I, 1. 1910.
Montana.—College of Agriculture and Mechanical Arts.
Bulletin. V, 3. 1908.
Agricultural Experiment Station (Bozeman).
Annual report. XIV, XV. 1907-08.
Bulletin. 69, 71—74, 76. 1908-09.
University (Missoula).
Bulletin. 46, 50-51, 54,58. 1908-09; Geological ser. 8, 11-13;
Psychological ser. 1. 1908.
MonteEvipEo.—Museo Nacional.
Anales. Tome IV, 1. 1909.
Observatorio Nacional Fisico-Climatolégico.
Boletin. VI, 55—60, 62, 64, 66, 69-72. 1908—09.
MontTPELLieR.— Académie des Sciences et Lettres.
Mémoires. Section des lettres. Sér. II. V, 1. 1908.
Section des sciences. Sér. II. III, 3. 1908.
Section de médecine. Sér. I. II, 3. 1907.
Bulletin mensual. 1907, 3—7; 1910, 3.
Moscow.—Ko6nigl. Universitit, Meteorologisches Observatorium.
Beobachtungen. 1905—07.
Société Impériale des Naturalistes.
Bulletin. 1—4. 1907.
Municu.—K6nigl. Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften.
Sitzungsberichte. Mathematisch-physikalische Klasse. 1908.
13 SONS) 114,
Philosophisch-historische Klasse. 1908. 1—11.
Abhandlungen. Mathematisch-physikalische Klasse. Suppl. I. 1
—p 1; XXTET By X1V. 2. 190808:
Phil.-hist. Klasse. XXIII. 3; XXIV. 3; XXV.
iy 1909:
Konigl. Sternwarte.
Neue Annalen IV und Supplementheft. I. 1907—10.
Minster, i. W.— Westfalischer Provinzial- Verein fiir Wissenschaft und Kunst.
Jahresbericht. XXXV—XXXVII. 1906-09.
Mycological Notes.
27-28. Polyporoid issue, I. 1907—08.
Nancy.—Académie de Stanislas.
Mémoires. 6e sér. V, 1907—08.
Napies.—R. Istituto d’Incoraggiamento alle Scienze Naturali.
Atti. Ser. VI. LIX—LX. 1907-08.
R. Universita.
Annuario del Museo Zoologico. N.S. Vol. II, 17-27. 1908.
Centenario della cattedra di Zoologia. 1806—1906. 1907.
R. Accademia di Scienze Morali e Politiche.
Atti. Vol. XXXVIII. 1909.

Additions to the Library. XXIII

Napies. Rendiconto. XLV—XLVIJ. 1906-08.
R. Accademia delle Scienze Fisiche e Matematiche.
Rendiconto. Ser. III. XIV, 1-12; XV, 1-7. 1909.
Atti. Ser. HI. XITII—XIV. 1908-09.
Natat.— Government Museum (Pietermaritzburg).
Annals: I, Index: HE, 1: 1909:
National Academy of Sciences (Washington).
Biographical Memoirs. VI. 1910.
National Physical Laboratory (Teddington).
Collected researches. II—V.
Report. 1908.
Naturae Novitates.
1908, 1-17; 1909, 1-19.
Nepraska.— Academy of Science.
Publications. VIII, 3. 1907.
NeucuaTeL.—Société Neuchateloise des Sciences Naturelles.
Bulletin. XXXII. 1904-05; XXXV. 1907-08.
Académie.— Recueil de Travaux, Faculté des lettres, 2-4. 1907-08.
New Brunswick, N. 8.—Natural History Society.
Bulletins XXVI. VI, 1—2. 1908-10:
New Sours Wates.—Linnean Society.
Proceedings. Ser. Il. XXXII, 4—XXXIV, 2. 1907—09.
Royal Society.
Journal and Proceedings. XLI. XLIIJ. 1. 1907-08.
New Yorx.—Academy of Sciences.
Annals. XVIT, 2—XTX, 1. 1908-09.
Directory. 1907-10.
Botanical Garden.
Bulletin. VI, 18, 19, 20; VII, 24. 1908—10.
Microscopical Society.
Yournal::X. FX. 1, 3—=X1Ve1, XV. 2, XVI, 1-3:
Public Library.
Bulletin. XII, 4—XVI, 3.- 1908-10.
State Museum.
Annual Report. LX, 1-5; LXI, 1—4. 1907—08.
Memoirs. 0 Vi, Vilgs2s- Villy ds? V EE 2 5 EXE Pee
New ZeaLanv.— Institute.
Transactions and proceedings. N.S. XL-XLI. 1908-09,
Newceaste-upon-Tyne.— North of En lana Institute of Mining and Mechanical
Engineers.
Transactions. LVL, 7; LVELN, 3; LEX, 3-8 1908—09:
Subject-matter index of mining, mechanical and metallurgical
literature for 1902.
Annual report of the council. 1908-09.
Norfolk and Norwich Naturalists’ Society.
Transactions. VII—VIII. 5

XXIV Additions to the Library.

Norta Daxota.—Geological Survey.
Biennial report. II—V. 1901-08.
State Historical Society.
Collections. I—II. 1906—08.
Nova Scoria.—Department of Mines.
Report. 1907—09.
NvremBerG.—Naturhistorische Gesellschaft.
Abhandlungen. XVII und Beigabe 1909.
Mitteilungen. 1907, 1-6; 1908, 1.
Oberlin College.
Laboratory Bulletin. 14-15. 1909.
Oprssa.—Société des Naturalistes de la Nowvelle- Russie.
Mémoires. XXX—XXXIII. 1907-09.
Out0.—State Academy of Science.
Proeeedings. V, 2—5. 1908-10.
Geological Survey.
Bulletin. 8-9. 1908.
OxLaHoma.—Geological Survey.
Bulletin. 1. 1908.
State University.
Bulletin. 1—2. 1910.
Research Bulletin 142.
Oxrorp.—Radcliffe Library.
Catalogue of Books added. 1908, 1909.
University Observatory.
Astrographic Catalogue. III-IV. 1900.
PaisLey.—Philosophical Institution.
Annual Report. XCI—CI. 1899—1909.

Coats Observatory. Meteorological Observations.

PaLERMO.—R. Accademia di Scienze, Lettere e Belle Arti
Bolletino. 1903-06.
Societa di Scienze Naturali ed Economiche.
Giornale di scienze naturali ed economiche.
1908—09.
Paris.—Ecole Polytechnique.
Journal. 2e sér. Cahier XI. 1907.
Musée Guimet.
Annales. Bibliotheque d’études. Tome XXIV
Musée d’ Histoire Naturelle.
Bulletin. Année 1907, 6—7; 1909, 5.
Société Zoologique de France.
Mémoires. XIX—XXI. 1906-08.
Bulletin. XXXI-XXXIII. 1908-09.
Observatoire.
Rapport annuel. 1907—08.

1898-1908.

XXVI-—XXVII.

—~KY:

1907—08.

Additions to the Library. XXV

Pasapena.—Throop Institute.
Bulletin. 40. 42. 1908—09.
Pathologica, Revista quindecinal. 1. 19-34. 1909-10.
Preru.— Ministerio de Fomento.
Cuerpo de Ingenieros de Minas.
Boletin. 41, 44—54, 56-74. 1908-09.
PuHILADELPHIA.— Academy of Natural Sciences.
Journal. 2d ser. XIII, 4—XIV, 1. 1908—09.
Geographical Society.
Bulletinge IV; 3—V-2; Vi, -2-ViLE 1.
Photographic Journal. Febr. 1910.
Pisa.—Societa Toscana di Scienze Natural.
Memorie. XXIII-XXIV. 1908-09.
Processi verbali. XVII, 3—XVIII, 6. 1910.
PirrspurGH.—Carnegie Institute.
Memorial of Celebration (Founder’s Day). XIII. 1909.
Carnegie Library.
Annual Report. X—XI. 1906—07.
Carnegie Museum.
Publications. 50-51, 52, 54, 56-59. 1908-09.
Pomona COLLEGE.
Pomona Journal of Entomology. I, 1.
Porticit.—R. Scuola Superiore di Agricoltura.
Annali. 2a Ser. VIII. 1908.
Portianp, Me.—Society of Natural History.
Proceedings. II, 8. 1909.
Porspam.—Astrophysikalisches Observatorium.
Publikationen. XV,1; XVIII, 2-3; XIX, 1-2; XX,4. 1908-09.
Praacurt.—Konigl. Bihmische Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften.
Jahresbericht. 1908.
Sitzungsberichte. Mathematisch-naturwissenschaftliche Klasse.
1908.
Generalregister der Schriften. 1884-1904.
K. K. Sternwarte.
Magnetische und meteorologische Beobachtungen. 1907—08.
Ceska Spole¢nost Entomologitka. I, 1-VI, 4. 1904-09.
Deutscher naturwissenschaftlich-medizinischer Verein ftir Bohmen
» Lotos“.
Abhandlungen. I, 2-3. IL, 1-4.
Naturwissenschaftliche Zeitschrift. XVIII—XXVI, 1898-1907.
QueEBec.— Société de Géographie.
Bulletin. Jan., July, 1908; III, 4-IV. 1. 1908-10.
Queensland Geographical Journal.
N. 8S. XXTI—XXITV. . 1907-09.
QuEENSLAND.—Museum (Brisbane).
Annual Report. 1878, 1883, 1887-89, 1891, 1893-94, 1899, 1901.

XXVI Additions to the Library.

QUEENSLAND. Annals. 3, 8—9. 1897—1909.
RecenspurG.—Historischer Verein von Oberpfalz und Regensburg.
Berichte. XI. 1905-06.
Verhandlungen. 1906—08.
Rieca.— Naturforscher- Verein.
Arbeiten. N. F. XI. 1908.
Korrespondenzblatt.. L—LII. 1907-09.
Rio pe Janetro.—Instituto Oswaldo Cruz.
Memoria. I, 1—2. °1909.
Museo Nacional.
Archivios. I-VI. 1876—85
Rockefeller Institute of Medical Research.
Studies. VI. 1909.
Roentgen-Society.
Journal. I—V, 22.
Rome.—R. Accademia dei Lincei.
Atti. Serie V. Rendiconti. Classe di scienze fisiche, mate-
matiche e naturali. XVII, 5—XIX. 5. 1908—10.
Rendiconto dell’adunanza solenne. 1908, IL; 1909, II.
Accademia Pontifica de’ Nuovi Lincei.
Atti, LXI—LXIT 1908-09.
Societa Italiana delle Scienze.
Memorie di Matematica e di Fisica. Serie II]. Tom. XY. 1908.
Sr. Lovis.—Academy of Science.
Transactions. XVII, 2—XIX, 1. 1908—09.
Sr. Pererspure.—Académie Impériale des Sciences.
Bulletin. Classe Phys.-Math. Sér. V: XXV, 3-5; :Sér. VI.
1908; 2-18; 1909, 1-15 > 1910; t1—5:
Mémoires. Classe Phys.-Math. Sér. VIII. XVII, 1-7; XVIII,
1-13; XIX, 1-11; XX, 1-11; XX2 4-3) eee
XX, 162 1905-08.
Mémoires. Classe Hist.-Philol. Sér. VIII. Tome VIII, 1—12.
IX, 1. 1906—09.
Radloff, W. Versuch eines Worterbuchs der Tiirk-Dialecte.
Lieferung 1, 2, 4—6, 12—16, 19—21.
Hortus Petropolitanus.
Acta. XXVII, 2; XXVUU, 1-2; XXX, 1-2; XX
1909.
Comité Géologique.
Bulletin. XXV, 10; XXVI, 1-10; XXVIII, 2-10. 1907—08.
Mémoires. Nouv. sér. Liv. 22, 28, 30, 32, 34, 36—38,. 41—50.
1908.
Imp. Russ. Geograf. Obshtchestvo.
Tzviestiia. XLII, 4—5; XLIV, 1-3, 5-6, 8, 10; SenVea
1906—09.
Otchet. 1908.

Additions to the Library. XXVIL

Sr. Pererspure.— Kaiserlich-Russische Mineralogische Gesellschaft.
Materialien zur Geologie RuSlands. XXIII, 2; XXIV, 1-2.
1908-09.
Verhandlungen. Ser. II. XLV—XLVI. 1907-08.
Observatoire Physique Central Nicolas.
Annales. 1905, 1—1906, 2.
Publications. Sér. Il. XVI, 1; XVI, 2, 4. 1908—10.
Société du Chemin de Fer Chinois de l'Est.
Observations météorologiques en Mandchourie. I. 1909.
SANTIAGO DE CuILE.—Sociedad Cientifica de Chile.
Metes. ONVII, I—XVUL, 5. 1907-08:
Sad Pavto.—Museu Paulista.
Notas preliminares. I, 1. 1907.
Revista do Museu. II, VII.
Sociedade Scientifica.
Revista. JI—II. 1907—08.
Schweizerische Naturforschende Geselischaft.
Verhandlungen. LXXVIII—XCI, 2. 1895—1908.
Srena.—R. Accademia dei Fistocritici.
Ahi. oer. LV. XX, 1-10. ‘Serie V.- 1, 1—10.~ 1908-10.
Smithsonian Institution.
Bureau of American Ethnology.
Annual Report. XXVI. 1904—05.
Bulletin. 35, 38, 41, 42, 48. 1908-09.
National Museum.
Bulletin. 64—66, 68, 70. 1908—09.
Proceedings. XXXIV—-XXXVI. 1908—09.
Contributions from National Herbarium. X, 7; XII, 1-10.
XIII. 2. 1908-10.
Report on Progress and Condition. 1908—09.
South Arrica.—Philosophical Society.
(ransactions. XIII, pp. 1-752; XIV, 1—X VIII, 4.
Royal Society.
itransacwons. le —2 1 909—10)
South London Entomological and Natural History Society.
Abstract of Proceedings. 1886—1909.
Staten Isnanp, N. Y.—Natural Science Association.
Proceedings. I, 1—4 and table of contents; II, 1-2; Proceed-
ings, 25th anniversary.
Museum Bulletin. 1 and Suppl. 2-20.
Srocksotm.—Kongl. Svenska Vetenskaps- Akademi.
Arkiv tor Botanik. VII, 1—4; [x21 .1908=09:
Arkiv for Kemi, Mineralogi och Geologi. III, 1-3. 1908-10.
Arkiv for Matematik, Astronomi och Fysik. IV, 1—V, 4.
1908-09.
Arkiv fér Zoologi. IV, 1-4; V, 4. 1908-10.

XXVIII Additions to the Library.

SrockHotm.—Arsbok. 1908—09.
Handlingar. Ny foljd. XLI,10—XLIV,5; XLV,2. 1908—10.
Lefnadsteckningar. IV, 4. 1910.
Meteorologiska Iakttagelser i Sverige. XLVIII—-L. 1906-08.
Meddelanden fran Nobelinstitut. I, 8-10, 12-13, 15. 1908—10.
Les prix Nobel en 1906.
Observations météorologiques suédoises. Vol. XLVIII. 1906.
Kongl. Bibliotek. '
Accessions-katalog. XXII. 1907.
Arsberiittelse. 1907-08.
Entomologisk Forening.
Entomologisk Tidskrift. XXIX—XXX, 4. 1908-09,
Kgl. Forstliche Versuchsanstalt.
Meddelanden. Haft 6. 1909.
Srrasspure, i. E.—K. Universitdts-Sternwarte.
Annalen. III. 1909.
Srourreart.— Verein ftir vaterldindische Naturkunde in Wiirttemberg.
Jahreshefte. LXIV—LXV, und 4 Beilagen. 1908-09.
Tasmanta.— Royal Society.
Papers and Proceedings. 1908.
Trexas.—Academy of Science.
Transactions. I, 3—4; I, 1-2; IV; VI-VUL; Xx 1896-1207
University of Texas.
Bulletin. 102—103, 106-109, 114—117, 119-120, 123, 125.
Hill, B. F. and Udder, F. A. Map of West Texas. 1904.
Bulletin. Reprint series. 2, 5, 7, 8. 1906—09.
Tiruis.— Physikalisches Observatorium.
Seismische Monatsberichte. 1906, 10-1908, 12.
Toxyo.—Deutsche Gesellschaft fiir Natur- und Vélkerkunde Ostasiens.
Mitteilungen. V. Suppl. XII. 1889, 1909.
Imperial University of Japan.
Journal of the College of Science. XXVI,2; XXVII,3—6. 1909.
Calendar. 1907—08.
Toronto.— University.
Publications. Biological series. 4—7. 1908.
Geological series. 3-5. 1908.
Physiological series. 4—7. 1908-09.
TovuLouse.—Académie des Sciences, Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres.
Mémoires. Xe sér. Tome VII—VIII. 1908-09.
Fuculté des Sciences de I Universite.
Annales. 2e sér. EX, 2=X, 2. 1907-09;
Société d@ Histoire Naturelle.
Bulletin trimestr. XL, 1—XLI, 2. 1907-09.
Université.
Annuaire. 1907 10.
Bulletin. 18-20. 1906-08.

Additions to the Library. XXIX

Tovxovse. Bulletin populaire de la pisciculture. Il. 5-8. 1909.
Observatoire. Bulletin. II, 1-2. 1907-08.
Triest.—Osservatorio Maritimo.
Rapporto annuale. 1904—05.
Tromsor.— Museum.
Aarsberetning. 1906—07.
Aarshefter. 25, 29. 1902, 1906.
TronpHEIM.—Kongl. Norske Videnskabers Selskab.
Skrifter. 1907—08.
Tufts College.
Studies. Scientific series. I, 5. 1909.
Turtn.—Musei di Zoologia ed Anatomia Comparata.
Bollettino. XXI, 541; XXII, 546-76; XXIII, 576-95; XXIV,
596-615. 1908-10.
Unitep Srates.—Depariment of Agriculture.
Crop Reporter. X, 5—XI, 3; XI, 7-XU, 4. 1908-10.
Bulletin of the Library. 66—75. 1908-09.
Monthly List of Publications. April 1908, to Jan., 1910.
Bulletin of the Mt. Weather Observatory of the Weather Bureau.
Woll 15 2—El, 3. 1908-10.
Report of the Chief of the Weather Bureau. 1906-07.
Weather Bureau. Bull. Q.
Department of the Interior.
Ethnological Bureau. Bulletin. 34. 1909.
Geological Survey. Bulletin. 309, 316, 319, 3821-22, 325-27,
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880, 883, 384, 387-93, 395—7, 399, 400, 402-05, 408—09, 410
—14, 416, 418-19, 421, 423-24.
Geologic Atlas of the United States. Fol. 151—66.
Mineral Resources of the United States. 1907—08.
Monographs. XLIX. 1908.
Professional Papers. 56, 58-67. 1908-10.
Annual Report. XXVIII-XXX. 1907—09.
Water-supply and irrigation papers. 207, 209-386, 238, 242.
Library of Congress.
Select List of Books on Sugar. 1910.
- Report of Librarian and Superintendent of Buildings and
Grounds. 1908-09.
Naval Observatory.
Synopsis of the Report of the Superintendent. 1909.
Upsata.— Regia Societas Scientiarum.
Nova Acta, Ser. IV, Vol. II, 1. 1909.
Kongl. Universitet.
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Geologiska Institution.
Bulletin. VIII, 15-16. 1906-1907.

XXX Additions to the Library.

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Urrecut.— Kon. Nederlandsch Meteorologisch Instituut.
Jaarboek. Jahrg. 1906, A—B. 1907, A—B.
Mededeelingen en Verhandlingen. CII, 1908, A—B. 6-7, 9.
1908-10.
Provinciaal Utrechtsch Genootschap van Kunsten en Wetenschappen.
Aanteekeningen van het verhandelde in de sectie-vergaderingen.
1908-09.
Observatoire.
Recherches astronomiques. III. 1908.
Venice.—R. Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere et Arti.
Atti: LXV, 1—LXVIL, 5.
Elenco dei membri e soci. 1907—08.
Osservatorio del Seminario Patriarcale. Osservazioni meteoro-
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VicenzaA.—Accademia Olimpica.
Atti: “N.‘S.; 1, 1907-0e-
Vienna.—K. K. Akademie der Wissenschaften.
Anzeiger. Math.-naturwiss. Klasse. XXV—XXXI, XXXIII—
XXXV-XXXVITI, 8, XLVI-XLVITI. 1888—1909.
Phil.-hist. Klasse. XVII-XX, XXII—XXV, XXVII—
XXIX, XXXIX—XLV. 1880-1908.
Denkschriften. Math.-naturw. Klasse. LIX—LXVI, 3; LXXI,1;
LXXITI—LXXIV; LXXVII-LXXIX, 1; De eee
Sitzungsberichte. Math.-naturwiss. Klasse. CXIV,9—CXVI, 10;
CXVI, 8-10; CXVII, 1-7. Ta05—02:
Phil.-hist. Klasse. CX VII,1—7, CKLV—CLIV.
Allgemeine Berichte. Officielle Publikation. IJI—IV. 1908-09.
Almanach. 1902—07.
Erdbeben-Commission. Mitteilungen. N.F. XXVIII, XXXIII—
XXXV. 1908-09.
K. K. Reichsanstalt.
Abhandlungen. XVI, 2; XXI, 2. 1908—09.
Jahrbuch. LVII, 4—LIX, 2. 1908—09.
Verhandlungen. 1907, 15-18; 1908, 2-18; 1909, 1-14.
K. K. naturhistorisches Hofmuseum.
Annalen. XXI, 3—XXIII, 3. 1906-09.
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Verein zur Verbreitung naturwissenschaftlicher Kenntnisse in Wien.
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———

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Verhandlungen. Bd. LVII, 1—LVIII, 10.
Warren Academy of Sciences.

Annual Report. 1907-08.

Transactions. I, 1. 1903—07.
Wasuineton.— Philosophical Society.

Bulletin. XV, 75—187.. 1908-09.
WESTERN AvstRALia.—Department of Mines.

Reports (5). 1909.

Geological Survey.

Bulletin. 27—30, 32, 35, 37.
WiesBabEN. — Nassauischer Verein fiir Naturkunde.

Jahrbiicher. LXI—LXII. 1908-09.
Wilson Ornithological Club.

Wilson Bulletin. 62-69. 1908—09.
Wisconsin.— Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters.

Transactions. XV, pt. 2—XVI, pt. 1, no. 6.

Geological and Natural History Survey.
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Natural History Society.

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Road Pamphlet. 1-4. 1908.

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1907—08.

1907—08.

XXXI

Medal commemorating the Centennial of the first use of Wyom-

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XXXII Additions to the Library.

FROM THE AUTHORS AND PUBLISHERS.

Agassiz, A. Address, opening geological section of Harvard University
Museum. 1902.
James, W. Louis Agassiz, address, reception of American society of
naturalists. Dec. 30, 1896, 1897.
Leyst, E. Hoéfe um Sonne und Mond in Rufland, Moscow, 1906.
Luftelectrische Zerstreuung und Radioactivitiit in der Hohle
Bin-Basch-Choba in der Krim. 1906.
Meteorologische Beobachtungen in Moskau. 1905, 1906.
Uber Schitzung der Bewolkungsgrade. 1906.
Das Erdbeben von San Francisco, 1906.

New York, Duchess County. Book of supervisors, 1718-22, Pough-

keepsie.
Tuomson, T. A. and Smmpsoy, T. T. Account of Alcyonarians. Indian
Marine Service Ship “ Investigation.” II, 1909.

I.—ON THE THEORY OF DOUBLE PRODUCTS AND STRAINS IN HYPERSPACE.
By Epwin BipwELt WILSON.

Part J.—OnN A MULTIPLE ALGEBRA AS SET FORTH BY GIBBS.

Introduction.

1. History and apologies.—During the academic year 1899-1900,
I followed a course of lectures on vector analysis by the late pro-
fessor J. Willard Gibbs. These lectures, with some aiterations as
to additions and retrenchments, I published with his permission in
the year 1901.1 Previously to this, during the academic year
1900-1901, I had the opportunity of following a short course of
twenty-five or thirty lectures on multiple algebra under the same
master. These lectures have never been published, and very likely
never can be. My own notes were very meager and most of them
have unfortunately been lost. There remains, however, a set of
notes taken by the late professor G. P. Starkweather of Yale Uni-
versity. These notes were of a similar course given during the
academic year 1895-1896 ; and as nearly as my memory and the
fragments of my own notes will serve me, it appears that Gibbs
had not materially changed his course during the intervening five
_ years. It is therefore from Starkweather’s notes that the follow-
ing articles on multiple algebra are drawn, with the practical cer-
tainty that the presentation is essentially that followed by Gibbs
in his later years.
Gibbs’s course on multiple algebra, following immediately upon
his lectures on vector analysis, began with a discussion of quaternions
defined as the sum of the vector product and the negative of the
scalar product of two vectors, and then turned to the geometric

1 Vector Analysis, a textbook for the use of students of mathematies
’ and physics, founded upon the lectures of J. Willard Gibbs. Yale Bicen-
= Publications, Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, and Edwin
Arnold, London. xviii + 4386 pp. A second edition, merely corrected,
é has recently appeared. References in the text to Vector Analysis are
to either edition. Gibbs’s original pamphlet on vector analysis, printed
_ privately in 1881—1884 but never published, may now be found reprinted
in the collection of The Scientific Papers of J. Willard Gibbs, volume 2,
pp. 17-90.

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 1 SEPTEMBER, 1908.

2 E. B. Wilson,

algebras, that is, the point-, line-, and plane-analyses of Grassmann.
These subjects occupied approximately half the time of the course.
During the remaining half, he took up the theory of dyadics, which
is in immediate and intimate connection with the theory of matrices,
and concluded with C. S. Peirce’s thorem that any linear associative
alsebra may be put in quadrate, that is, in matricular form. This
brief series of lectures by no means contained all of Gibbs's ideas
and developments in multiple algebra. Indeed he had published
at a much earlier date some reflections and theories on the subject?
which found no place in his course. An examination of the notes
which he left at his death shows, however, that he followed his
usual custom of not committing his results to paper except in so
far as they were immediately needed for the lectures in his course.

The reason for my being so bold at this time as to publish some
of the most essential extracts from Gibbs’s lectures on multiple
algebra is partly because they may be of interest to mathematicians
who may be concerned with the theory of matrices or with mul-
tiple algebra, and partly because I desire to make use of the ab-—
breviations which his notation and methods afford in discussing some
geometric problems in connection with the theory of strains. If at
any time in developing the multiple algebra I take the liberty of
adding to what I find in Starkweather’s notes or in my own, or
if I depart from the methods of Gibbs, I shall try to make the
fact evident—not for the purpose of claiming any originality of my
own, but that the reader may have as definite as possible an idea
of what Gibbs did in his course on multiple algebra, in so far as
I find it necessary or advisable to print it at this time.

2. Preliminary notions and notations.—Let the primary elements ©
of the algebra be denoted by Greek small letters, a, B, y,... -
If the algebra is -dimensional, any ” + 1 of the elements will be ~
connected by a linear relation,

> aa+op-+cy-+... to n-1 tense
with scalar coefficients a, 6, c,... not all of which are zero; and—
any element of the system may be expressed linearly with scalar
coefficients in terms of any given linearly independent elements, as
(1) 0= 2 aa+-bB-- cy --... > 00 2 term

1 On Multiple Algebra, an address before the section of mathematics
and physics of the American Association for the Advancement of Science,
by the Vice-President. Proceedings of the American Association for the
Advancement of Science, volume 35, pp. 37-66. This address is reprinted
in The Scientific Papers, volume 2, pp. 91—117.

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 3

Moreover, the system will be supposed, as usual, to contain all the
elements which may be linearly derived from any given elements;
and it may be assumed that the coefficients in this derivation
are any real or complex scalars. It will not be necessary to go
into further details as regards these matters which are the same in
all linear associative or Grassmannian algebras. So much in regard
to addition, subtraction, and linear dependence or independence.
The primary elements «, 8, y, ... may be interpreted either as
vectors issuing from a fixed point in Euclidean space of m dimensions
or as points lying in a Euclidean space (supposed flat, of course)
of n—1 dimensions. It is the former interpretation which will be
most used in what follows. It should be noted however, that the
algebraic system is independent of any geometric interpretation.
If proofs are given by means of either of the said interpretations,
it is merely because the geometric language facilitates expression.
As a matter of fact in a Grassmannian algebra where the com-
binatory products lead to elements of different types from the ele-
ments which constitute the factors, the geometric language and
conception are far more fruitful and convenient than in those
algebras in which the product is always of the same type as the
factors; and hence it will be used constantly in what follows.
Two-primary elements may be multiplied according to the com-
binatory law
(2) ax p=—Px<a
to form a product which is an element of another type and may
be called a secondary element or element of the second class: The
use of the cross < for combinatory multiplication it in accord with
Gibbs’s usage in his address on multiple algebra. In like manner
Rk elements, <n, may be combined to form an element of the
kth class. Such multiplication is called progressive ; it is associative
and it is distributive relative to expressions such as (1). If an ele-
ment of class £ be multiplied into an element of class 4 k+/=n,
the multiplication remains progressive; if e+ / m, the product is
ofclasszand is ascalar. The properties of progressive multiplication
as contained in (2) and in the associative and distributive laws are
simple and are treated in a variety of places.’ If the sum of the
classes, # + /, of two elements is greater than m, the rules of pro-
gressive multiplication give a zero value for the product and it

1 For instance, in either of Grassmann’s Ausdehnungslehren, 1844 and
1862, or in Whitehead’s Universal Algebra, volume 1, Cambridge Uni-
versity Press.

4 E. B. Wilson,

becomes necessary to redefine the method of evaluating the product.
Thus arises the theory of regressive multiplication in which the
class of the product is k-+/—uz instead of k+/. This product
is also treated in detail in the references just cited.

It should be noted, however, that the theory of regressive multiplica-
tion, which is usually based upon the theory of supplements in the
Grassmannian sense, was treated in an entirely different manner by
Gibbs. His point of view and method of procedure were outlined in his
address on multiple algebra already cited: but as that presentation is
extremely brief, it may be well to recapitulate his method in some
detail. Let «, 8, y, ... be any number of elements of the first class.
Consider the product of two factors (the cross introduced in (2) may be
omitted for brevity in writing)

(eo py.) (Ce eke 7)
each of which contains not more than xz elements, say & and / respect-
ively, but which together contain more than 7 elements. The product
of two such factors is called regressive when computed by either of the
following rules:

1°. From the second factor (...4uva) take enough, that is, 2 — ,
of the remoter (last) elements to form a total of 2 with all the elements
of the first factor (« Byd...), thus obtaining a scalar (a product of the

nth class) to serve as coefficient to the remaining elements of the second
factor. Do this for every permutation of the Z elements in the second
factor (...4uv7) which may be necessary to bring every combination
(not permutation) of 7 — # of them once and only once to the end of the
factor, and add the results thus obtained with the positive or negative
sign according as the number of simple transpositions of the 7 elements
in any permutation is even or odd.

90. From the first factor take enough, that is, x — 7, of the remoter
(first) elements to form a total of with all the elements of the second
factor, thus obtaining a scalar to serve as coefficient to the remaining
elements of the first factor. Do this ... and so on, as before.

Thus if x = 4, the following expansions of regressive products are in
accordance with the rules just stated.

“(py dé) =(eyde)p—(edeps)y+t(acepy)d—(apyd)e,
(apy) (Oe) =(«Bye)d—(epyd)e=(apde)y+ (By de) a+ (yade) BZ,
(@By) (Gel) =(epyl)de+ («py e)Cd+ (apyd)el— (adel) py
+ (Bdelhyat (ydeleBp.
It may be remarked that in the first line, the product on the left of the —
sign of equality is already expanded as far as possible by the second
of the rules. Furthermore, if z had been 5, the last product would
have been
(«@B7) (Gel) =(@Byeld+(a@pyde)l+(apyldje—(apdedy
+ (By delha+ (yadet)p.
It is hardly necessary to note that the signs in the expansions may all
be taken positive by properly arranging the permutations on the letters.

a ts me i ct ee ie ee

Pd al

¢

Ou

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace.

Obviously, if the numbers of the elements in the factors are # and /, the
product belongs to class + /—n. It is of fundamental importance to
observe that the way in which the regressive product is defined by
reference to the progressive product of 7 elements, is sufficient to insure
the distributivity of the regressive product relative to sums.

To justify the double definition, it is necessary to show that the two
rules lead to the same result. For this, it is convenient to consider all
the primary elements as expressed linearly in terms of independent
primary unit elements, all elements of higher classes as expressed in terms
of the unit elements of those classes. Then, inasmuch as the distributive
law applies to the regressive product and the product of two sums of
terms may be resolved into the sum of the products of each pair of
terms, of which one is selected from the first factor and one from the
second, it is sufficent to prove the equivalence of the two rules for factors
made up of certain of the units. As the factors contain respectively 4
and / units, and as there are only ~ units in all, there must be 4 + /— 2x
units common to the two factors; it being understood that if any unit
is repeated in both factors, it may be repeated in the list of common
units as many times as it occurs in the factor in which it occurs least
frequently, unless so great a repetition is not required to make up a total
of £+7—~n common units, after all those which are common to both
factors, but are not repeated in more than one of the factors have been
counted. Let the product of the 4+ 7—~zx units common to the two
factors be J, and let the two factors be written as AW and JZ2.
Consider the product 41/ >< IB, where it is clear that 4 contains » — /
and & contains x — 2 units. According to the first rule it is necessary
to select 7 — & elements from J/ to form with the 4 elements in 41/
a Scalar coefficient for the remaining elements of 172. If any of these
n —k are taken from JZ, the resulting scalar will surely have a repeated
unit and will vanish. Hence all 2 —é% should be taken from 4, and
according to the first rule the product is
(3) AM >< MB —=(AMB) M
The same result is obtained by a similar application of the second rule.

A further word on the geometrical interpretation will considerably
facilitate the expression of some of the following remarks. If the primary
elements be interpreted as vectors issuing from a fixed point in Euclidean
space of z dimensions, the elements of the second class will be conceived
as plane areas and in particular the product of two vectors will be the
parallelogram included by them, the elements of the third class will be
three-dimensional volumes, and so on until the scalars which are elements
of the zth class will be z-dimensional volumes, and in particular the
product of x vectors will be the 7-dimensional parallelepiped constructed
upon them. It appears therefore that the necessary and sufficient con-
dition that & vectors 4 =< x, be linearly dependent is that their (progres-
sive) product be zero. The regressive product is the product of two
factors, which, regarded as spaces, have a total dimensionality greater

6 E. B. Wilson,

than 7. Formula (8) shows that in case the factors are made up of
units, the regressive product is the space common to the two spaces of
the factors, that is, it is the intersection of the factors, taken, of course,
with a certain magnitude. An examination of the rules for expanding
the regressive product, especially as illustrated by the examples there
given, shows at once that the result is true in general, and that the
regressive product of two spaces is always the intersection of the spaces,
taken with a proper numerical value. It should be noted that if the
spaces of two factors in a regressive product do not exhaust the dimen-
sionality of all space, that is, if the spaces of both factors lie in a sub-
space of the 2-dimensional space, then the scalar coefficients which occur
in the expansion of the product will be products of x vectors lying in
that subspace and will therefore all vanish. That is to say, if the factors
lie in a subspace, the regressive product must be zero.

This fact may serve as foundation for the proof of the associative law
for the multiplication of three factors, which may be denoted by X, Y,
Z. If X and Y lie in a subspace of the 2-dimensional space, the regres-
sive product XY is zero and hence XY times Z is necessarily zero. But
if X and Y lie in a subspace, so must X and the product YZ, which is
the space common to VY and Z Hence X times YZ is also zero; and
the associative law holds in this case. To prove the law in general it
is sufficient, owing to the applicability of the distributive law, to prove
it for the case that X, Y, Z are products of the units. Furthermore, it may
be assumed that X and Y, and also Y and Z, exhaust the » dimensions
of space. Let J/ represent the product of the units common to X, Y, Z;
and let 4 be the product of the units other than those in 17 which are
common to VY and Z; and similarly & and C for the pairs Z, X and
X, Y. Then as X¥ and VY and also Y and Z must exhaust all -dimen-
sions of space, it is obvious that every unit wlich occurs in X must
occur in Y or Z, and similarly for Y and Z. Hence the factors may
be written as

AN SB LG Va ei ie, Z=AMB
and the two groupings of the factors give
[X ¥] Z = [(BMC)(C MA) (AMB) = [((BMCA CM] (AMB)
= (BMCA)(CAMB) M,
X[¥Z] = (BMC) [(CMA)(A MB) = (BMC) (CAMB) MUA|
= (BMC A)(CAMB)M,
which are equal; and the associative law is proved. Care should, how-
ever, be exercised against applying the law to cases to which it cannot
apply, such as
n=5, [(aBy)de](dea)=1 (ea), (aePy)[Ce)Ge)] =O.
Here the products are not regressive, but progressive.

In addition to the combinatorial product «@ >< 8 of two elements
there is the dyadic product «f. This corresponds to the simplest
type of Grassmann’s Ltickenausdriicke. It is, according” to Gibbs's

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. f

definition, a mere formal juxtaposition of two letters subject to the
distributive law; that is,
ee+-y)=casB--ay and (¢+-8)y=—ay+By.
Hence if « and # are each expressed in terms of z given independent
elements (which need not be the same set of ” for both vectors),
the product «8 may be expanded into a block of 7? terms or dyads.
It is through this fact that connection is made with the theory of
matrices. There is no necessity that the two elements in a dyadic
product should belong to the same class, whether primary or other-
wise. If / and 4 belong respectively to the #th and /th classes,
the dyad IA may be defined in a manner similar to « @ as a formal
juxtaposition of two elements subject to the distributive law. As
the &th and /th classes contain respectively
n(n—1)...(n—k-+1) oe n(n—1)...(m—/-+1)
k! I!

linearly independent elements, the dyad [4 may be expanded into
a block of ”...(m—k-+1).u...(n—1)/A!/! terms. These
terms will not form a square matrix unless k=/ or k+/=n; in
other cases the matrix will be rectangular.

Gibbs applied also the name indeterminate product to the com-
bination «8 or I'd, and he was very particular to state that he
considered it the most general and most essential product with
which multiple algebra has to deal.! Other products may be re-
garded as functions of the dyadic product. This product determines
its constituent elements « and ~, or I’ and 4, except that a scalar
factor may be transferred from one to the other. The proof of this
is not essentially different from that given for the simple case of
vectors in the Vector Analysis, page 272. In what follows, the only
dyadic products which will be considered are those in which the
sum of the class-numbers # and / is equal to z. In this case the
combinatorial product of two like dyads [4 and J” 4’ is detined by
the simple equation
(4) PA) <M A\= LAKE) AS (AKIN TL
_ where 4 =< I” is necessarily a scalar. The product therefore reduces
to a similar dyad I’ 4’ modified by a scalar factor. In lke manner
the product of a dyad into an element of the same class as the
first member of the dyad is defined by the equation

1 See his address On Multiple Algebra, pp. 23—25; The Scientific Papers,
“volume 2, pp. 109—111: also Vector Analysis, article 102, pp. 271—2%75.
The question is also treated in my communication On Products in Ad-
ditive Fields: Verhandlungen des dritten internationalen Mathematiker-
Kongresses. Teubner, 1905, pp. 202—215.

8 E. B. Wilson,

(4’) (PA)<M=P(AXM=(A<XI)T
where 4 >< J” is a scalar, and the result is therefore an element of
the same class as that which was multiplied by the dyad.

3. Reciprocal sets of elements.—The theory of reciprocal sets is
fundamental to the entire treatment of multiple algebra as here
given. To a large extent it obviates the necessity of discussing the
theory of supplements in the Grassmannian sense. In fact, by his
definition and treatment of regressive multiplication and by his theory
of reciprocal sets, Gibbs entirely avoided the supplements in -his
course. Before proceeding, however, to the reciprocal sets, it will
be well to introduce once for all the change of notation already
adopted in the discussion of regressive multiplication. The sign of
the combinatorial product, the cross ><, occurs so frequently as to
render the formulas too bulky. I shall therefore write

I'A instead of ' =< A
for the combinatorial product. This necessitates a different notation
for the dyadic product, and I shall write for this product

I'| A instead of r' 4,
where it should be noted that the vertical bar has no relation to
the Erganzung of Grassmann. This is in entire accord with Gibbs’s
procedure in his lectures ; the change is made purely for convenience.
The reason that this notation was not adopted from the start was to
emphasize the fact that the dyadic product. was fundamental and
the combinatory product merely a function of it.

Let there be given » independent primary vectors or elements

Wa es oats GO te tt Qo.non pS
Form the 7 expressions

CGN (Geko ve. Oey ae Opn f
(5) es City a on 2 leg Op. lee gta eee te
The wz quantities @';, @o,... @’n thus obtained are elements of the
(n—1)st class. Taken as a set, they are called the reciprocal set
to the 2 elements «, @,..., @n. For brevity a‘; is sometimes called

the reciprocal of @, From the definition (5) of the reciprocal set
it appears that the elements and their reciprocals satisfy the equations
(6) a; ty = 4; a a; = 0, 2 =F 7.

By the laws of regressive multiplication it follows that the
n(n—1)/2 elements a; a; of the (z—2)nd class and the equal number
of elements «; a of the second class satisfy the equations
(6') ease g=i1, aeaya,ai=O0, & and / not both
| equal to 7 and 7.

Similar equations are satisfied by the elements a‘; aj a‘, of the

an SE et it elt _ - .
ve Bi entut> _ att ie a - _ ——— ee

=

i CR Sq. at

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 9

(n—3)rd class and the elements «@; ej cx of the third class. And
so on, until finally
(6”) . (a Tiegh Gon P(e Og ce eee
These equations are entirely analogous to those obtained in (6) for
the reciprocals themselves. The extension of the idea of reciprocal
sets to other than the primary elements is therefore suggested; and
if equations analogous to (5) be formed for such elements, the theorem
may be stated that: The reciprocals of the combinatory products
of the set of z primary elements are the products of the reciprocals
of those elements. Or it may be preferable to regard this state-
ment taken with the equations (6) and analogous equations as the
definition of the reciprocals without appealing to equations analogous
to (5). The sum of the class-number of any one of a set of ele-
ments and of the class-number of any one of the reciprocal set is n.
Equation (6”) shows that (a; a’... @’n) == 0, and hence the reci-
procals a’;, @s,..., @'n are themselves independent. From this

1 The proofs are very simple. For instance to show that
(a’ p y‘) (« By) = 1, it is merely necessary to analyze as follows.
(@ By’) (@By) = BLY (eBy)] = BUY) (a) + OGY)
+ (y‘ 8) (y «)| = (e@! 8) (@ 8);
for y‘y is 1 and y‘« and »7‘8 are both 0. A repetition of the process
shows the desired relation. In a similar manner the other relations may
be proved. All the relations are, however, but special cases of an im-

portant formula. Let «, 8, y, ... be elements of class ~—1, in number
less than or equal to 7, and let «, 8, y, ... be an equal number of ele-
ments of the first class. The product (e«fy...) («8 y...) is evidently a

scalar and is given by the formula
(BE) (apy... =| pe 8B Ee

Consider (« fy...) as a single element and apply the associative law and
the rule for expanding:
@py...) (py...) = (epy...«) 6y-.-) = [(ee) (Sy...) —(Pe)(ay-..)
+ (ya) (ap...)—...] By.---)

By a repetition of this process on each of the terms of the form

Uy WB. ies Joo (eyhe< (8 ¥ «25 (GRE =) (Be te2):
a further reduction is accomplished, and so on. The final result will
clearly be equal to the determinant—in fact the step already taken
appears as the expansion of the determinant according to elements of
the first column. If this formula be used, the relations between .the
reciprocals are immediate.

10 E. B. Wilson,

follows the theorem: If any set of 2 quantities of the (7#—1)st class,
Bi, Bo, +--+; Bn, satisfy the equations (6), the elements @; and @';
are identical. For the ~’s may be expressed linearly in terms of
the a’s as

Bi = Gy oy + ays cg +... + ani On
and then equations (6) give the equations aj; = 1, aj =0. Thus
the uniqueness of the reciprocal set is established. Furthermore

equations (6), (6’), ... may be written in the form
a a; = 1 aj a's =0
(6) aa aya; =+1 a, a ay a; = 0,

where the negative signs hold when and only when 7 is even, and
then only in every alternate equation. From the uniqueness of sets
of reciprocals the theorem may therefore be stated that: The reci-
procals of a given set of elements are equal to the given set except
when their class-number is odd and w is even, in which case they
are the negative of the given set.

One of the prime uses of the reciprocals is to express the idem-
factors. To avoid the introduction of subscripts, let @ 8, y,...be

a set of m independent primary elements and a’, #’, 7’, ... their
reciprocals. The dyadic expression
(7) See BE Py es n terms,

is called an idemfactor for primary elements. It has the property
that when multiplied combinatorially, see (4’), into a primary ele-
ment, it reproduces that element: that is,

Lo = (a| e+ |B +y|y7+---) o—acl@ 6) + BE ea 7a)

alee OE

This may be seen by considering g as expressed in terms of «, ~.
Wes In like manner the dyadic expression
(75) h=aBl\a' Bp, n(n—1)/2 terms,
is an idemfactor for elements of the second class, that is, he g=@ 6.
And
(4) k= Sap yar y n(n—1) (n—2)/6 terms,
is an idemfactor for elements of the third class. And so on.

Elementary Properties of Dyadics.

4. Various representations of dyadics.—For the present purposes,
the primary dyad will be defined as one whose first factor is a
primary element and whose second factor is an element of the
(n—1)st class. For brevity, these factors will be designated re-
spectively as the antecendent and the consequent. To bring out

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 11

more clearly the different classes of the antecedent and the con-
sequent, the former will be denoted by a Greek small letter and
the latter by a Greek small letter carrying a dash—thus «|i.
Dyads of the form «|i may be called secondary, and so on.
The notation of the reciprocal set to 2 elements a, ~, y, ... has
been a’, 8’, 7’, ...; and this will be adhered to. The dashes will
not be introduced to call additional attention to the class of the
reciprocals. The set of reciprocals of 2 independent elements of the
(n—-1)st class a, B, y, ... will be represented by a’, p’, 7’, ... and
will be of the first class.
The sum of any number of primary dyads

(8) P = | + Bo|Bo+7ol7o+---

is called a dyadic polynomial or simply a dyadic. As was stated
in article 2, each of the dyads may be expanded as a block of n?
terms by expressing the antecedents and the consequents in terms

of a set of independent elements @, 8, y,;..., vy and a, B, y,...,?.
If this be done the dyadic # takes the form
(9) P = Ca e|e+ ca al|B+...+Can el”

+ Cra Bla. GN es SoG (20

GD i FO ea D |e

If these terms be added according to rows or according to columns,

® reduces to a sum of w terms:

(9) P=alat+@l\At...+r|r,
@=al|a+6,|B+...+7|r.

In this reduction to a sum of w terms, either the antecedents or

the consequents may be chosen arbitrarily, but not both. The most

useful reduction to the form (9) is when the antecedents and con-

sequents are reciprocal sets.

Two dyadics @ and ¥ may be said to be equal if the m? coef-
ficients cj are equal when the dyadics are both reduced to the
form (9) in terms of the same antecedents and the same conse-
quents. Another definition, which is preferable and obviously re-
ducible to this, is contained in any one of the three statements:
Two dyadics @ and ¥ are equal when and only when

bho=—fo for all values of 0
i. 6 —6P for all values of 6
or oPo=o¥o for all values of @ and o.

To insure the equality, it is not necessary to verify these equations
for all values of 9 or of 6 or of g and o. If the equations hold
respectively for # independent values of the elements in question,
they will hold for all values. In fact, by the aid of reciprocals the

42 E. B. Wilson,

dyadic which converts ” given independent elements a, 8, ..., v
into m elements a, $1, ..., 21, not necessarily independent, may
be written down as

(10) @—a,|\a'+fi|—..-+%|2, ®a= aq, ete.

If the antecedents of this dyadic are not linearly independent,
the expression may be reduced to a sum of / dyads where /<z.
In general if the antecedents or consequents or both, which occur
in the reduction of a dyadic to a sum of # terms, be not independent,
the dyadic may be reduced to a sum of dyads less than # in number.
If / be the least number of dyads which may be obtained in the
reduction
(11) @—alatplA@+...+4|2 (/ terms),
where the antecendents and consequents are now linearly independent,
the dyadic is said to have nullity of degree m—/. If the elements
be interpreted as vectors issuing from an assumed origin in space
of z dimensions, the nullity may be stated geometrically by saying
that by the operation of the dyadic the #-dimensional space has
been converted into a flat subspace of / dimensions passing through
the assumed origin.

In like manner the dyadic which, used as a postfactor, converts
the ” independent elements @, 2, ..., v into a, ~y, .--, Y iS
(10) (-A-1=—a|q+ 8 la +...+7\n, «=u, etc,
where the consequents need not be independent. If the dyadic
reduces to a sum of / terms, of which the antecedents and con-
sequents are then linearly independent, the degree of nullity is
again m—/. The application of the dyadic has converted space
into a subspace of dimensions /in hyperplanes. This subspace may
or may not be identical with that previously obtained by using the
dyadic as a prefactor to elements of the first class. In general the
two subspaces will not be identical.

5. Combinatory products of dyadics.—As the individual dyads
satisfy the distributive law, the definition of the product of two
dyadics follows immediately from the definition of the product of
the dyads as given in article 2. It also follows that the product
of dyadics is itself a distributive operation. An examination of the
definition shows, however, that the product is not in general com-
mutative but that it is associative, that is,

(12) P(PQ) = ($B) Q=— FQ.

The associative property is not lost if elements of the proper class
are multiplied into the products at either end or at both ends, that is,
(12') (6 ®) (Fo) = 6(@F 0) = (6D Po = 68 Fo.

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 13

If, however, elements were inserted between the dyadics in the
product, the associative property would be lost.?

If # and ¥ are two dyadics which have respectively the nullities
n—k and n—-/, so that

@=y/qyt+Blat...tualu (k terms)
and P = ay|d + BolBo tt... + AlAs (/ terms),
the product #¥ or the product #@ cannot have a nullity less than
the greater of the two nullities »—k and uw—/, nor a nullity greater
than the sum, 2 ”--f—/, of the nullities. To show that the nullity
of ¥ is at least m—/, it is merely necessary to inspect the product
PP = (P ay) | ca + (P Bo)|B2 +... + (dg) | do.
To show that the nullity is at least as great as m—f, consider
P= a|\(4 P+ Ale +..-+ual@ P.
To see that the nullity of @ ¥ is not greater than 2”7——/, con-
sider the antecedents %«,, @,, ..., #4, in the first expression of
the product. As the nullity of @ is only x—A, not more than ~—k
dimensions of space are annihilated and hence in the most un-
favorable case at least /-n + of these antecedents must be line-
arly independent. Hence the nullity of @W is not greater than
n—lt-n—k, and the proposition is proved. It is, of course, obvious
that the nullity of the product could not be greater than z. With
this understanding the generalisation to a product of any number
of factors is immediate. The theorem is due to Sylvester.

If either @ or # has any degree of nullity, the product cannot
equal the idemfactor /, which has no degree of nullity. Dyadics
which have no degree of nullity will be called complete. If # and
are two complete dyadics which satisfy the relation Y= J,
they will be called reciprocal dyadics—

(13) $f —I= Pb, P=, $= F-|,

It may be shown that in this case the product of # and Wis com-
mutative as indicated and that the reciprocal of either is uniquely
determined.

The reciprocal of a product may be shown to be the product of
the reciprocals taken in inverse order, that is,

(14) (@V2Q)4— 24 Fe,
The reciprocal may be written down immediately. For if

(45) P=ala+Blat+...+r|p, (—1)"-16-1=e' le + BA +... 4+7/lo.

1 The proofs of these statements are so simple and so like those given
for the simpler case in the Vector Analysis, chapter 5, that there is no
need of giving them here. The same is true of a large number of pro-

positions which follow. See also Whitehead’s Universal Algebra.

14 E. B. Wilson,

The existence of a reciprocal for any complete dyadic establishes
the principle of cancelation for such dyadics. Thus
if PP = 6Q then @' $= G1GQ and F=2L
or if do = @o then -!' ho — G6 and o=— 6.
In the first of these equations the second dyadic # or 2 need not
be complete. Although a complete dyadic may be canceled from
an equation, an incomplete generally cannot be canceled.

A dyadic may be multiplied into itself; the product @ will be
denoted by #. In like manner all the successive powers may be
formed. From the theorem on nullity, it follows that if a dyadic
is complete, all its powers will be complete. As the reciprocal of
any power of a dyadic is the same as that power of the reciprocal,
it is seen that negative as well as positive integral exponents are
applicable to complete dyadics. Incomplete dyadics will be con-
sidered to have only positive powers. It may happen that the
successive powers have an increasing degree of nullity, so that there
is a certain least power fp such that 7? = 0. In this case @ is said
to be a nilpotent dyadic. It is not necessary, however, that the
nullity of the successive powers should increase to the value z.
This may be seen by a simple example. Consider the dyadic

.— @|¢ + B)p -- 2.2. + Ala, (Ee ters
This has nullity of degree n—/, and as all its powers are identical
with it, they also have nullity of degree n—/ In general, however,
the powers of an incomplete dyadic have increasing nullities up to
a certain power, from which on they all have the same nullity.
And by reasoning like that employed in proving Sylvester’s theorem
on nullities, it is seen at once that if n—4, m—/+ 4, n—/+4+4,...
are the respective nullities of &, #?, #, ..., then n/J=2>LZ=4h
=... . Gibbs apparently did not state this last fact in his lectures.

6. Homologous dyadics.—It has been stated that in general, dyadics
are not commutative in their multiplication. If two dyadics # and
‘P are such that 6 Y= WP, they will be said to be homologous.
Any dyadic is homologous with the idemfactor /, and all powers
of a dyadic are homologous with one another. Moreover, if two
or more dyadics are homologous, any dyadics which may be ob-
tained from them by the algebraic processes of addition, multipli-
cation, and so forth, are also homologous with the original dyadics
and with each other. Thus the algebra of homologous dyadics
does not differ essentially from the algebra of ordinary real and
complex numbers except as regards the extraction of roots. It will
be seen later, in article 14, that even in such simple cases as the

ad

~

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 15

square roots of the idemfactor, two square roots are not generally
homologous. It is possible to detine logarithms and exponentials
of dyadics, and to show that these are homologous with the original
dyadic; but this does not appear to be very useful.

The system of homologous dyadics which is most useful is that
which consists of a given dyadic, the idemfactor, and the dyadics
derivable by means of rational operations on these two. For in-
stance, let a dyadic # satisfy an equation, with scalar coefficients,
of the type
(16) GP + a, PP-1 +... + a1 8 + a I=0,
and consider the scalar equation

ae 25 Op: 1-2 Gp 0:
The roots of this equation may be found and the equation factored
into

(x---7,) (x—1re) . . . (x—rp) = 0.
So likewise the equation involving # may be factored into
(16’) (b —r, 1) (P—7ry 1)... (f—rp [) = 0.

Again, two polynomials in @:

P'(d) = OP + a, BP-1 +... + Gp P+ ayl
and A(®) = ™ + a, "714+... Db am-1 B+ aml
may be divided according to the usual algorithm. If 4 is of lower
degree than I, the result of the division may be written
(417) l()= B(@) A(#)+ PH)
where the remainder P(#) is a polynomial of degree less than m.
Thus the Euclidean algorithm for the highest common factor may
be applied to two such polynomials.

Any dyadic # may be shown to satisfy a polynomial of degree
not greater than 7?. To see this, let ® be expressed as a block
of m? terms in the form (9), where the antecedents and conse-
quents are chosen as reciprocal sets. The higher powers of # are
likewise expressible in terms of the same m? dyads and certain
combinations of the coefficients cj; Consider the system of equa-
tions, m?+ 14 in number, formed by the first 2? powers of ® and
the idemfactor. From these equations the ? dyads may be elimi-
nated as if they where ordinary variables in 2? + 1 linear equations
in #2 unknowns. The result is obviously an equation of the form
(18) ¢, OY + ¢,OV-1+4,.. +67 .,.8+erl=0.

As a matter of fact, it will be shown in article 14 that any dyadic &
satisfies an equation of degree »—the Hamilton-Cayley equation—

1 See, for instance, The Scientific Papers, volume 2, pp. 78—84. Some
simple differential equations are also solved in these pages.

16 - &. B. Watson,

but the existence of this equation is not necessary for many of the
theorems concerning polynomials.

As @ satisfies an equation of degree *, it may be inferred that
# must satisfy an equation of least degree. Let this equation be
of degree fp, so that
(16) A(d) = BP +a, PP1+...4+ 416+ a,I—0.

The equation of least degree is unique. For if there were two
different equations of least degree, their difference would be an
equation of less degree—which is absurd. It follows that any
equation E(®)—0 in # must be the product of the equation of
least degree and a polynomial in #. For it is possible to write,
in accordance with (17),

(17') 0= E(¢) = B(&) A(P) + P(®).

Hence P(#) vanishes and the statement is proved. The equation
of least degree is therefore a necessary factor of any equation in %.

Double Multipheation.

7. Introduction to double products.—The developments of the two
preceding sections do not differ materially from the ordinary
treatments of the generalized linear vector function (Hamilton) or
the simplest type of Liickenausdriicke and quotients (Grassmann)
or the theory of matrices (Cayley, Sylvester, Frobenius, and others).
They have been passed hastily in review, partly for the purpose of
outlinmg Gibbs’s course on multiple algebra, partly for the purpose
of establishing the notations, methods, and fundamental theorems
which will be useful in the future. With his usual reticence, Gibbs
apparently did not think that this part of his work on multiple al-
gebra was of sufficient importance and originality to warrant his
printing it. With regard to double multiplication it was different.
He seemed to feel that here he had introduced a new idea and
a new set of methods, which might be of considerable importance
in a complete treatment of multiple algebra. In fact I remember
that he once told me that he had in mind several points in mul-
tiple algebra which he hoped to find time to publish after he had
completed the revision of his published papers on thermodynamics.
Very likely he was thinking of his theory of double multiplication.
Unfortunately, however, the revision of his thermodynamic papers
was cut short, almost before it had begun, by his sudden death ;
and the only portions of his work on double multiplication which
were published during his life consist of the few words on the
subject in his address On Multiple Algebra and of the» discussion

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 17

given for the simple case of vectors in the fifth and sixth chapters
of the Vector Analysis.
Given two dyadics

@=alat+Bl|Bt+tylyt...,

P=alatAalBtylyit... ,
the combination

pr P=anlamtaflepitean|ant...

+B al\8 amt Ail a+ 818 y+...

Fy aly atyhlyhatyniymat. os
is called the double (combinatory) product of # into ¥% This pro-
duct will be denoted, as indicated, by inserting a double cross bet-
ween the dyadics. The value of using a definitive symbol for the
combinatory product is thus brought clearly into the foreground
as soon as the question of these double products is taken up.
Turning the fact that the progressive and regressive products obey
the distributive law, it is clear that the value of Pp ® ¥P does not
depend on the particular representation of and ¥ which may be
adopted.

From the definition, the double product is obviously distributive.
Moreover it is commutative. For the combinatory product of the
elements is commutative exeept for a change of sign, and in the
double product there are two changes of sign. Furthermore, the
double product of several dyadics is associative, that is,

(20) Gp) ob. (i 2) i

This follows from the associative property of the combinatory pro-
duct of the elements. If a double product of more than 7 dyadics
were formed, the laws of regressive multiplication would have to
be brought in to determine the meaning of the product. The work
that follows will, therefore, be restricted to the consideration of
double products of 7 or fewer dyadics. In accordance with the
definitions given in article 4. the double product of two (primary)
dyadics is a secondary dyadic; the double product of three dyadics
is a dyadic of the third class; and so on. The double product of 7
dyadics is a scalar. The definition of double products may clearly
be extended to the product of dyadics other than primary, provided
that the class of the product does not exceed 7.*)

1 Jt may be noted that in the Vector Analysis, p. 308, the double
product (with a cross) of two dyadics is stated to be non-associative.
This is because, from the point of view of the Vector Analysis, the com-
binatory product of two vectors is not regarded as a quantity of the

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 2 SEPTEMBER, 1908.

18 EE. B. Wilson,

8. Double powers.—A dyadic may be multiplied doubly into it-
self. Thus if
@=ala+plet+yly+...
then
(21) PXb=apiab+aylay+...
Pale Ope y aoe
tyelyetyBlyat+...
It will be noticed that the terms in PEP occur in pairs. The ex-
pression
(22) D2 SPE d= x,
which is one-half of ®x, will be denoted, as indicated, by #». It

x
may be called the double square of # or, more briefly and properly,
the second of # In like manner the expressions

) Ns eo Bs Bae Dit. a ae
Oe PEP YX P— 5, PX, G44 OX, - +1 Pn age
may be formed and will be called the third of #, the fourth of @,

., the mth of ®. Collectively the set #,, S;, ..., ®, may be
called the double powers of #, although it should be remembered

; 1 :
that in &® the factor a has been inserted.

The double powers afford a ready means of formulating the con-
ditions that a dyadic # possess a certain degree of nullity without
the necessity of reducing #® to the sum of the fewest possible
dyads—a reduction which is by no means easily carried out on any
assigned dyadic. If the dyadic has n—/ degrees of nullity, it may
be written as

d=alat+peBt+yiy+..-+4la (/ terms),
where the antecedents and consequents are independent. In this
case @, takes the form
(23) h=(aby...ay(aBp... 2)
and does not vanish. All the higher double powers will vanish be-—
cause one element will have to be repeated in each antecedent and
consequent. The lower powers cannot vanish; for the double pro-

second class, but as a vector, and vector multiplication is not associa-
tive. Moreover, in the Vector Analysis, the scalar product of two vec-
tors occurs, and hence there is the double scalar product of two dyadics.
If Grassmann’s inner product were introduced into the system in addition
to his outer product (the combinatorial product), theré would be double
inner products of dyadics. These were not taken up in “Gibbs’s course,
and they will be omitted at this point.

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 19

duct of a zero dyadic into any dyadic is zero, and 9% is not zero.
Hence the necessary and sufficient condition that @ have n—/ de-
grees of nullity is that
(23') ?, == 0, Pi4.1=0.
This condition may be applied directly to ® without any previous
reduction.

The geometric interpretation of the successive double powers is
important. Suppose the dyadic is written as a sum of »# terms
with independent consequents, so that

P=—ala+plBt+ylyt+....

This dyadic converts the vectors «’, #’, y’, ... into the vectors a,
8, y, ..- (or their negatives)... The second of @ has the form
(21’) P=aBlaBtaylayt+...
+BrylBy t+...
ale ee
This (secondary) dyadic converts the elements «’ ’’, a’ y‘, B’y’,...
of the second class into the elements «f, ay, By, .... Elements

of the second class are the geometric counterpart of plane areas,
namely the area of the parallelograms of which the vectors which
correspond to the primary elements are the sides. Hence, if @ re-
presents the transformation of vectors in space of z dimensions,
#2 represents the transformation of two dimensional plane areas in
that space. In like manner #3 represents the transformation of
three-dimensional volumes in the space, and so on until #, which
gives the ratio in which z-dimensional volumes are changed.

A considerable number of formulas for operation with double
powers may be readily deduced. To show that

(24) (bP), = bz #,
let @ be expressed as a sum of # dyads with independent conse-
quents a, 8, vy, ... and let # be expressed as a sum of m dyads

with the reciprocals of these consequents as antecedents.
@=ala+Bsl@+tyliyt...,

; SN be CAT, rey aes ae
Then (—1)"-1 6 =a A+ Blutyilot....
It is merely necessary to form the expression for 2, ¥, and (##),
to see that they are immediately identical. The same method may
be used to show that (@#); = % #; By an obvious generalisation
it follows that the &th of a product of any number of factors is the
product of the ths of those factors, that is,

17Tt is scarcely necessary to mention that, geometrically speaking,
the dyadic represents a homogeneous strain about fixed origin.

20 E. B. Wilson,

(24°) (PPQ...),= By YF, Qe.
Asa corollary it is seen that (@”), = (@;)" = @f. The formula given
in article 5 for the reciprocal of a dyadic may be used to extend
this result to negative exponents in case ® is complete.

If @ and ¥ are homologous dyadics, the developments of article 6
show that the expansion of

(P+ Pr = grt yn gr pee SES

-1) gpr—2 DP +. + gn
may be carried on by the ordinary pindaciah theorem. It the dyadics
are not homologous, this will no longer be true: the second term,
for instance will consist of » terms in which @ occurs ~—1 times
and ¥ once, but the rearrangement which permits of writing
n @"—1 P will be impossible. There is, however, a binomial theorem
for the Ath of a sum, namely,

(25) (+P, =O + iS P+ eX H+... +H
k
The proof consists in considering the expansion of (@ + ®) x. As

the commutative and associative laws hold for double products, it
is possible to eee

k(h— =) gk? 2

(+ Dx = DE +h OR cw
=k! od +k.(k-— i a 1). (k—2)!Gpo% H+....
On dividing through by = the theorem is proved. It will be

noticed that the usual binomial coefficients are lacking in the bi-
nomial theorem for double products.

9. Conjugate dyadics.—The conjugate ofa given primary dyadic
is a dyadic which satisfies the condition
(26) 0. = Go, GH =(—1)"" (ala + Bi@+...) fS=alat+Ble+...
for all values of the quantity g. It is denoted by a subscript c.
The dyadic % is not primary, but of the class m—1. The neces-
sity for the negative sign arises when z is even, because then
ao —=—oda. Inthe definition of conjugates for dyadics of the second
and higher classes, the factor (—1)"~! is applied only in the case
of dyadics of odd class; for it is only in such cases that the re-
versed of the order of the factors changes the sign. The idem-
factors J, L, J;, ... , In—1, Zn =1, which are mentioned in article 8,
and which are the appropriate idemfactors respectively for elements
of the first, second, third, ... (#—1)st, and mth classes, as may be

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 24

seen from the work on double multiplication, satisfy the obvious
equations
(27) [= In—-1, ¢; L, = In-2,¢, sifeyelens (9 In—2 = thre; Ly-1 = I,
The conjugate of the conjugate of any dyadic is the given dyadic,
that is (%, )e=%. The process of taking the conjugate is involutory.

As to the rules of operation with conjugates, a number of theorems
may be stated. The conjugate of the sum of any dyadics is the
sum of the conjugates. The conjugate of the product of two
dyadics is the product of the conjugates taken in inverse order.
For let ;

@=aat+BslBtylyt+...,
P= A+R uty |yt+. ave

By merely forming the expression for (@ ¥), and ¥ #, the truth of
the theorem is evident in this case. The proof for dyadics other
than primary would be similar, and the theorem may evidently be
extended to any number of factors by induction. Hence the con-
jugate of any power of a dyadic is that same power of the con-
jugate of the dyadic, and the result may be extended to negative
powers if a reciprocal exists. It may also be seen that the double
product of the conjugates of two or more dyadics is the conjugate
of the double product of the dyadics. Here the order of the factors
is immaterial. As a special case, the conjugate of a double power
is that double power of the conjugate.

As & and @,_; are both of the (w—1)st class, it is natural to
seek a relation between them. Let

b=alat+B@\Bt+yly+...+»|v, (# terms)

Now #,_; is the sum of all combinations (not permutations, for the

factor has been thrown out) of z—1 antecedents and their

1
(n—1)!
corresponding consequents. These combinations may be represented
in terms of the reciprocal sets provided that the dyadic # is com-
plete so that the antecedents and consequents are linearly inde-
pendent. Thus in this case

G,1=(aBy...v)(aBy...v)(aele+ BP +y'|y t+...

+ v'|v’)

and $,.=(—1)"—"1 (aja+ B\G+yly+..-+»r|r)
The negative sign occurs in precisely those cases where the theory
of reciprocals in article 3 requires it. Hence
(28) Dees Dn eee
If @ has one or more degrees of nullity, it may be written as the
sum of #—1 dyads, which need not have independent antecedents
and consequents, unless the degree of nullity is one; and hence

22 EE. B. Wilson,

#1 consists of a single term containing all the antecedents. The
product #,@,_; is therefore null. In this case ®, is evidently also
null, and equation (28) must therefore hold for all cases.

The demonstration just given for the relation between ® and
@n—1 would evidently apply with only insignificant alterations to
establishing a similar relation between %., and ®y_2, D3. and Pps,
and so on. Hence the general formula

(29) (Pre Pn —¢ = Bn [nx
On taking the conjugate of each side, the formula
: (29°) Py, (Pn—z)e = by I;

is found. In case @ has no degree of nullity, these equations may
be solved. Hence ;
(30) PD; =H, (P,";)e or Be! =(Pn—Kc| Pn.
The formulas represented in (29’) look much like the successive
double powers of the formula for = 1, which is
(28’) P (By —3)e = Dy L.
If the ordinary rules of forming successive double powers be applied
formally, the result is

(DO,4, i= OF dy (DS Gi As e)p— Ga Tg

or Ps (Pn—1)o, = p ty; Pp, (Pn—1)s3, —— p qT, a es anaes
A comparison with (29’) would apparently yield the result
(31) (Pn—1)o = Pn Py-2, (Pn_1)3 = p Dj 5 ee

The justification for such procedure, however, would involve the
discussion of double powers of order greater than z.

Invariant Properties of Dyadics.

10. The scalar invariants.—Let a dyadic ® be written as the

sum of any number of dyads:
P=alat+@\Pt+yiyt+....

Suppose that the vertical bar which serves to keep the elements
of the dyads apart, be removed and the sign of the combinatorial
product be inserted in its place (again the value of having a sign
such as >< for the combinatorial product is brought out) so that
the antecedent and consequent of the dyad coalesce into a scalar.
The sum of these scalars, taken with the proper sign, obtained from
each dyad will be called the scalar of the dyadic and written?

(32) (1)"-16,>00 7 PR yy+--::

1 The sign is negative when the negative sign is called for in equa-

tT)

tion (d”).

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 23

The value of this scalar depends only on the dyadic and not at all
on the particular representation which has been used. This is due
to the fact that both dyadic and combinatorial products obey the
distributive law. Such scalars may be obtained regardless of the
class to which the dyadic belongs. In particular, the double powers
yield the w scalars

(33) Dine Ong, eee: Dye isis, Dog

where the subscript s has been omitted in the case of %, which
is a scalar.

The scalar of the conjugate of a dyadic is the same as the
scalar of the dyadic: for the negative sign which sometimes enters
into the definition of the conjugate occurs in precisely those in-
stances in which the reversal of the order of the factors would
introduce a change in the sign of the combinatory product. The
scalar of the product of two dyadics satisfies the equation
(34) (PBs = 8% &,

Perhaps the easiest way to see this is to consider both ® and ¥
expanded into a block of w? terms of the form (9) where the ante-
cedents and consequents are reciprocal sets and are the same for
both expansions. Then (% #), is obviously the sum of the products
of pairs of coefficients symmetrically situated with respect to the
main diagonals, one taken from one of the dyadics and the other
from the other. The same rule applies for evaluating @% %, and
hence the two expressions are equal. It may be seen directly, or
by the application of the rules for conjugates and double pro-
ducts, that

(35) (PD), =(@ #),.

A more general theorem is that the scalar of the product of any
number of factors is unchanged by a cyclic permutation of the
factors. The proof in the case of three factors is contained in the
equations
85) (@¥ 2), =[(% FP) Q=( ¥) X 2.= 2,5 ¥) =

. Qy(b By = (QF P)s;
the proof for a greater number of factors is by mduction. This
result may be used to put the matter of invariance of the scalar
of a dyadic in a different light. Consider any linear transformation
of coordinates. This may be represented by a dyadic % Under
this transformation, the strain represented by # becomes
(36) 2Q= Fb P-1
and 2,= (Cb £1), = (6 PIP), = Bs,
and hence it appears that none of the w scalar invariants of any

24 E. B. Wilson,

dyadic differs from the corresponding invariants of the transformed

dyadic.
By virtue of the identity #,= 4; J;, it appears that
(37) Pie OD, Tepe ge — De ee

This may be taken as the definition of %; in place of (32) and
analogous equations, and it offers a ready interpretation of the
scalar invariants of @ according to the matricular form (9) in which
the antecedents and consequents are reciprocal sets. In this case
@,; is merely the sum of all the coefficients in the main diagonal;
@,, is the sum of all two-rowed minors of the matrix which have
two terms of the main diagonal as their main diagonal; #3; is the
sum of all three-rrowed minors which have the three terms of their
main diagonal selected from the terms of the main diagonal of the
matrix; and so on until finally %, is the determinant of the matrix.
The values of these sums would be unchanged if the matrix under-
went a transformation of coordinates. The importance of these
invariants to the theory of matrices and to the mathematical
theories of elasticity is well known. It would be possible indefin-
itely to multiply the interpretation of the theory of dyadics in the
theory of matrices by reference to the expression of the dyadics in
the form (9) where the antecedents and consequents are reciprocal
sets: but this would not be worth while.

41. The identical equation.—\It was shown in article 6 that any
dyadic satisfies an equation of degree not greater than ?, and
from this fact was deduced the existence of an equation of least
degree. Consider the relation (28’) of article 9 as applied to the
dyadic #—g J, where @ is any dyadic and g is any scalar.

($—g1)n l= (Sg 1)(P 2) nae
The left-hand side may be expanded by the binomial theorem (25)
and simplified by the relations (37); the right-hand side may also
be expanded by the binomial theorem and then multiplied out.
The result is
n—1 n

[Pn—g Pn—1,8 + Pn—v, 5 —-.- + (—1) gn Bs + (—1) gn| l= (8),
where JI (g) is a polynomial of degree ~ in gy with dyadic coef-

ficients. The relation is an identity in g. By the same reasoning
which shows that two identical algebraic polynomials with scalar

*) The relation of a dyadic to its family of transformed dyadics # @ #—1,
where # is any complete dyadic, was apparently, left unmentioned by
Gibbs. Perhaps this was due merely to the brevity of his course on
multiple algebra.

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 25

coefficients must have equal coefficients, it may be seen that two
identical polynomials with dyadic coefficients must have identical
coefficients. Therefore not only may any scalar be put in the place
of g, but any vector or dyadic may be put in its place without
disturbing the identity. If # be substituted for g, the righthand
side vanishes. Hence
(38) }"_@, Or—-1 + Go, Gr—2 — _, . + (—-1)"—1 Dr_i, s
+ (—1)" d, T= 0.

This is the identical equation® which any dyadic must satisfy. It is
sometimes called the Hamilton-Cayley equation.

The actual equation of the coefficients of the different powers of
g gives the dyadic equations
(39) D Pn_1,c = Pn vA

Pn—1, ¢ + (Pr—2 C Dc = Pr-rys I,

(Dn —2 ely + Pp (Gage le — = Py —9, s fi:

(Ce ui in oe peer,
(®X In-2)o + B= O,1
If the relation (P—g Dn L, = (®—g I)y (®—g In~2, ¢) had been used,
the same identical equation of the matrix would have been found,
but the equations obtained from comparing coefficients would have

been
(39’) & In—2, ce ve Py (Pn_3 % x Nee Cima Pr—-1, s I,

Py_2, ¢ 49x LT (Gn—s < Se + ®, (Cae S, Sip = Ge ok

(By / EINES Pp S ji (2 S I,-3) c s= Py, =] Py s I,
(@ So In=s)e HPS L= @, Is

Consider the scalar equation, called the characteristic equation,

(40) Xn — Bs x™-1 4+ Pog er—-2 — ... + (—1)"—! Gy_i, 5 %

+ (—1)" Pn = 0,
and suppose the roots are a, 6, c, ... with the multiplicities /, ¢,
r,.... The identical equation (38) may then be factored into
(38') (b—al)p (b—b1)1 (@—cl)"...=0.
As the scalar equation may be regarded as the expansion of (@—x#7) p,
it appears that each of the factors —aJl, 6—b/, d—cl, ... must

have at least one degree of nullity, that is, there must be at least
one element «@ such that (6—a/)a@=0 or $a=—aa, etc. The
roots a, 6, c, ... of the scalar equation are called the latent roots

26 EE. B. Wilson,

of the dyadic. There is at least one element fixed except as to
magnitude for each latent root of @. .

If any element is a fixed element (except for magnitude will be ~
understood) corresponding to the latent root a, no product of the
form
(41) II (b) = (@—b1)1 (@—c I)...
can annihilate the element. For by direct substitution it is seen that

a= a (a—b6)1 (a—c)...
In like manner, if @ is an element which satisfies the equation
(d—a I)? 8 =0 but does not satisfy the equation (P—a /)P—1 B=0,
then (/—a /)P—' 2 is a fixed element corresponding to the root a, and
no product of the above type (41) can annihilate it. It follows,
therefore, that factors of the type (#—a/)?, (—c 1)4, ... are entirely —
independent in their nullities, and the product of such terms has
the same nullity as the sum of the nullities of the factors. It ap-
pears also that the equation of lowest degree must contain each
of the factors of the type /—a/, —b/, ... at least once, or there
would be some elements which would not be annihilated by the
product. The equation of least degree may therefore be written as
(42) A(®) = (S—a 1)P’ (S—bT1)v (S—c1)”’...=0,
PS RPS FST ees

where none of the exponents vanish and the degree of the equa-—
tion is not greater than x.

12. Lhe reduction of a dyadic.—With his usual desire for general
hypotheses, Gibbs made no use of the Hamilton-Cayley equation
and the resulting fact that the degree of the equation of least
degree is not greater than 7 when he came to reduce the dyadic
to a canonical form. He based his work on the existence of an
equation of least degree as proved in (16) of article 6. Suppose
this equation were factored by the methods indicated in that ar-
ticle. Let the equation be

(43) A(d) = (b—al)p (@—b61)1 (S—cl)’....,
and let Pik¢s tree a ee
Further let

(44) 6-al= ¥, 6—bl= ¥- (a—b) I, 6—cl= €#-+4 (a—oc)l,....
Then .
(45) (@—b])1 (@—cly ...=AI+BP+C#H4+...- aes
where i.

A = (a—b)i (a—c)’... >= 0.
Divide d7+ BY+ CP+...4+ HP~-?P into J by the ordinary

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 27

algorithm and carry the division up to and including the power
PP-! in the quotient. Then

vA
46 BY au a semi
46) AIl+BP+...+ HPmn-p Bi bd See ae) oN. 22g iis eh) Ld)
st pr P(#)
AI+B@+...4+ Hpnr-p

where P(#) is a polynomial of degree m—p—i in # Set
G@)) L=(4/1-8F8-....+ AP?) (AIF @...4.E Pr)
= f= PP P( Pp).
In like manner compute /;, /;, ... corresponding to the values 6,
Sarre
The dyadic /, does not contain #? as a factor; for it is /—#p P(P).
It does, however, contain (Y@—é6 /)1 (@—c J)" ..., which represents
the other factors of the equation of least degree. Hence J, #?
contains the equation of least degree and vanishes. Hence
Ly? = Ig |[I—#? P(P)| = Lag—Ta PP P(P) = I.

The product /, J, contains in Z, all the factors of the equation of
least degree except (#—a/)? and in /, it contains those. Hence
i, = 0. Thus

(48) Let dg Ty? = dy, be? = Tes
? Lilh=0, Kk =0, l,l, =0,....

Let 2 be the sum
(49) i aig hia Lelie ee
It follows that
@=2 or (Q—1)2=0.
: This expression is a polynomial in # and is equal to zero. It must
. contain the equation of least degree as shown in article 6. But 2
contains no factor of this equation, because any factor such as
@—al is contained in all the /’s except 4 Hence all the factors
Bo the equation of least degree must be contained in Q2—/. As
Bo is of degree m—1 in #&, which is less than that of the equa-
tion of least degree, the only possibility is
(50) 21 = 0 and BSL
Suppose Jy, J, /.,... written as the sum of the fewest possible

number of dyads, so that

(51) aie t + B\p

“Then if sie Ue compared ait Ta,
=(aa) aj\at+(af)« p B+ ( ay) a
+ (88) |B + (Ba) Bla+ By) B
ate

RI |
= =

28 E. B. Wilson,
-it follows that
aa=Ppp—y7y—...—1, ap—pe—ay—7e—py—
Furthermore the equation J, J, = 0 gives
i) =i — 1

And if any linear relation existed between the antecedents of the
different /’s such as

o=aace+bBt+tliAtmut...+...=9,
there would result the equation
Ign6=ae+bs4+...=9,

which contradicts the hypothesis that /g is expressed as the sum
of the fewest possible number of dyads. And similarly in the case
of the consequents. Hence the total number of dyads in all the
Zi’s cannot exceed »; and on the other hand, as their sum is the
idemfactor, it cannot be less than z. Hence the sets

a, By ys, AD, oo, ©. eandw eB, 26, ee
are reciprocal, that is
(51’) L=ale+ ele +yly' +...

Lh=Aal + ule trio +..
Next consider the expression
(52) @=@/=O@(Lththt+..)=&m& 7+ Ht&+...
The dyadics @g, %, G, ... have the property
(52’) Dy Dy = Dy Be = By Oe =... =0,

owing to the presence of the factors 4, i, /,,.... The dyadic@

oe

Ee ee

9

@ has now been resolved into the sum of as many dyadics as there —

are latent roots. These are all homologous with one another and
with the original dyadic. The equations

(52”) Py ae ae P1q, Py —— lh bly, ee
which follow from this fact, shows that %q, Bp), ... have the same
antecedents and consequents as Jy, fy, .... Hence if ® be ex-

pressed in the form (9) where the antecedents and consequents are
reciprocal sets, it follows that @ will consist of a series of matrices
strung along the main diagonal and equal in number to the number
of latent roots. The further discussion of @ may be restricted to
the treatment of these individual dyadics %g, #p,.... The question
of the reduction of a dyadic to standard form has been reduced
to the single case in which the dyadic has only one latent root.
Gibbs then reduced dyadics with only one latent root to a matric-
ular form in which the terms underneath the main diagonal dis-
appear. This reduction, however, is not complete, and consequently
a modified form of it will be given: It may be pointed out that
the above reduction of ® to a sum of independent dyadics is in
no way dependent on the completeness of # The result is equally

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 29

valid for incomplete dyadics. If the dyadic # be arranged in matric-
ular form with no terms beneath the main diagonal, the existence
of the Hamilton-Cayley equation is evident. Finally it may be noted
that the reduction yields the same form for all of the transformed
dyadics of # For if @ satisfies the equation

A (#) SS Gu ape eer pi} is ce 3 Am-1 Pp + Am / (ee 0,
then
(54) A(PP P-1) = (POP-1)m + 4, (Pb P-)m—-14- |, An_, POP!
ss Am ff
= PO Pit 4,Pgr— @1+..,. + Am_, VSP-1
+ Aml

= P A(P) P-1 — 0,

It is obvious that this proof could have been given just as well in
article 6, and that in particular the equation of least degree is
identical for all the transformed dyadics ###-1, The fact that
the scalar invariants of #@ @ @—1, as shown in article 10, are identical
with those of @ shows that the Hamilton-Cayley equations are the
same in both cases. The remaining steps to fill in for the purpose
of establishing the identity of the reduction of # and ¥ # #—1 are
too obvious to need detail.

13. The canomcal form of a dyadic.—The equation of least degree
gives the relation
(54) (#—al)p Ig =0 or (6—al)P Ig? = 0 or (ba—al,)rP =0
For brevity let
(55) Pa—a ly = Z.
The further classification and reduction of dyadics therefore depends
on the classification and reduction of nilpotent dyadics. Consider
the successive powers
(56) Z, 72, B,... , D—', 7 = 0.
These have increasing nullities, but the change of nullity between
two successive powers never increases. This may be expressed as

(57) a), Be = = O, an bs 7 k+ks =e Bre + Seige O,

Lith: +. ..4 hea 0.
where, by the theorem at the end of article 5,
(58) Rk Sho Ss... Shp-oShy-1
and R+- hy + kot... + kp—ot hpi = m,
if m be the multiplicity of the root a, where it is understood that
the next higher double powers of each dyadic must vanish. The
subscripts therefore denote the number of independent dyads in the
dyadics. It remains to show that, with the aid of these relations,

30 E. B. Wilson,

@, may be put in a form which is such that any other dyadic
which has the same form may be written as the transformed of the
given dyadic. .
Consider the dyadic Z?—! to be represented as the sum of &
dyads, that is,
(59) ZP—- = a, |, + aslag+... anlar
Then each antecedent will be a fixed element of #,. For
ZZP—- =. or @, = 2a, O — 4 ag, 6 2, See
By the reasoning of article 5 it appears that the ensemble of ele-
ments linearly derivable from the antecedents of #” must be con-
tained in the ensemble of elements linearly derivable from the ante-
cedents of #”—!, Let the dyadic ZP—2 be expressed in terms of
the following antecedents: 1° the elements @, @,..., ax, 2° any
other independent fixed elements of #, which may be necessary,
3° as many other elements #;, Bs, ... as may be necessary. Then
Ze— has the form
(59’) ZP—2 = a,|() + a@el() +.--- + axl)
+ Bl) Baler.
Wa Geet |\€ iste oe .+ arti ();
where it is assumed that no linear relations exist among @, a», ...,
tk, Ohi, »- OF -amone, Bi, Bo, =:
The number of p’s cannot be fewer than &: for ZZP?—? must be
equal to Z?—1. This establishes the equations ,
(60) Z Bi = Li (a, Go, ..., Ge)
where ZL; denotes a linear expression in the a's. If the number
of p’s were greater than #, it would be possible to eliminate the
e's and obtain an equation of the form
Z (a, Bi: +a B2+...) =0.
That is, some linear combination of the #’s would have to be a fixed
element of %,. This is impossible, because all the available in-
dependent fixed elements have been expressly assumed as ante-
cedents of Z?-2 before the ’s were chosen. Hence the number
of #’s is exactly equal to & As the #’s are independent, the deter-
minant of equations (60) cannot vanish, and it is possible to find
a new set of #’s such that
(61) ZBi1=%, ZPy=—%,..., ZPE= ak.
As the number of dyads in ZP-? is &+,, the number /=, — &.
In like manner Z?—-3 may be written as
(59) ZP—3 = a,|()-+ ae|() +: - ee! CO 4 orgs () +-- 7 eal
+e Bl OF Bl Oa == a Be
a () + Ye Cy Pr) al sy -

he PV ee a eee

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 31

and it may be shown that there are exactly #, of the y’s and that
they may satisfy the relations

(61’) ZAVi;= fi, Z¥o— Bo, --., Ze = Bu
EVEN == Oey ge 5 LV ks = Ces

Moreover, /, = #,.—,. And so on.
In this way the expression for Z becomes

(02) Z—a|() + ol() +... + ael() + aril) +... + an!
Sc ee IO)
ee ill at b2|()--... + Be ()
eerie eal iat «= = vel) yegal() ee. vel O)
and all the antecedents are independent. Let J, be expressed as
(63) Ja = @|a, +... + Gep—2\c' 2+ AlAv +...+tn Veo Spee

— kp —1| @'kp—1
The relation Za@;=0 shows that the product of @ and any con-
sequent of Z is zero. The relation Z;=«@; shows that the pro-
duct of 3; and any consequent of Z except that in «@;|() is zero
whereas that is 1. The relations for Zy,... show similar facts.
From the properties of reciprocals, it follows that 4, may be written
in the form

(64) eee: 5. @eiey 41-4 Bs | 854124 711704 s-- to p terms
gay =] + am|Bit Bilvit-... to p—1 terms
(Qari | ery + aye | yep +.-- to p—i terms
Be + Ob4ilyk+i+... to p—2 terms
a
@ kp—2| @kp—2 +...» + A kp—1| kp.

This is the form obtained by elementary divisors. The terms in the
second rows of the sums ™& are called the shearing terms.

Any other dyadic 2, which satistied the equations (57) could be
reduced to the same form, the only difference being that the
antecedents and consequents would be different. If however Y—-!
be the dyadic which carries these antecedents into the antecedents
of #,, there results the relation
(65) Qa, = FO, PP,

To revert to the case of the general dyadic with any number of
latent roots, the theorem may be stated that: A dyadic #@ and its
transformed dyadics ¥ # #—1, are entirely determined by the scalar
invariants

Tee a Ps, Se Chae 3 Peete P,,
and by the sets of invariant numbers
Cte ed ee

32 E. B. Wilson,

which correspond to each of the latent roots. It is hardly neces-
sary at this point to indicate the relation of this result to the
theory of elementary divisors. Another matter which will be passed
without examination is the reduction of a real dyadic to a real canon-
ical form. This is not of importance to the work that follows and
it was not treated in any detail by Gibbs. All that is essential in
his treatment of dyadics, as given in his course on multiple algebra,
has now been set forth.

Part J].—SomMe ALGEBRAIC AND GEOMETRIC APPLICATIONS.
Square Roots of the Idemfactor.

14. Involutory strains.—If a strain represented by # be involutory,

its square is the identical transformation and analytically
(66) 2— f, (J) (+ 1) =0.
Any dyadic which satisfies this equation may be called a square
root of the idemfactor. The algebraic theory of these square roots and
the geometric theory of involutory strains correspond, and each may
be used to study the other. Equation (66) is clearly of lowest
degree, and the latent roots are +1 and —1. As the individual
factors enter the equation of lowest degree only to the first power,
the reduction is

Poa) = [41) = G01 + Go| ao +... axl a’,

P—1) = L131) = aegal eg +... + nl @'n.

Hence
k n
(67) P= [i4y—f_-1 = Tq| a’ i—Tai| ai.
1 kt
There are x-+1 different types of these roots according as @ con-
tains 0,1, 2, ..., #—1, or m negative signs. The first and last are

1 The relation of involutory strains to the group of unimodular strains
in the simple case where z =3 has been treated in detail by me in an
article entitled Oblique reflections and unimodular strains, Transactions
of the American Mathematical Society, volume 8, pp. 270—298, 1907.
Reference to the case of three dimensions will be to this article. A
number of references to the literature of involutory transformations may
be found there or in my article Involutory transformations in the pro-
jective group and in its subgroups, The Annals, of Mathematics, second
series, volume 8, pp. 77—86, 1907, where only the most general questions
are discussed.

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 33

respectively the idemfactor and its negative; and the other types
occur jn pairs, namely, 1. and m—1, 2 and w—2,... which differ
only by the factor —1.. The number of square roots of type # is
co2k(n—k). Another form in which @ may be expressed is

n

k
(68) &$’—+ 7/2 Da;|\ai), k= (3)
1

2
Ny. : n ;
where (5) is the integral part of 5} and where the relations

(68’) Gap) dee Nien ee — 0
hold. For some purposes this form is more convenient. It should
be remarked that what is important is not the individual antecedents
and the individual consequents, but the spaces

UGA, Oesys. = ¥ 5.5" Ok) EGE (Ge dae er een)
of & and of m—k dimensions which are determined by them. It is
clear that the spaces A; and Ry_; are invariant under the trans-
formation #; the former having all vectors identically fixed and
the latter having all vectors reversed in direction or vice versa,
according as the — or the + sign is taken with the parenthesis.

To consider the transformation of vectors in general, it will be
best to resolve the vectors along the two fixed spaces. Then the
component along the space identically fixed will remain fixed, and
the other component will be reversed in direction. It is clear that
if either of the fixed spaces be taken with all the dimensions of the
other fixed space except one, the result be a space of m—1 di-
mensions which will be fixed. The volume of an -dimensional region
is not changed in magnitude or in sign by the even types 0, 2,...;
and is changed only in sign by the odd types 1,3... As the
transformations may evidently be regarded as a generalisation of
reflection, namely a reflection through the space Ry (ce, ds,... ak)
parallel to the space Ry—« (a, @,... , @) or vice versa, according
as the — or + sign is used, the designation ‘oblique reflection’ or
merely ‘reflection’ will be applied to the geometric counterpart of
the square roots of the idemfactor. In case the volume does not
change sign the reflection will be called proper, in other cases it
will be called improper. And these terms will be used to apply to
dyadics in general; if 4, > 0, the dyadic is a proper dyadic, and
if Py < O, it is improper.

If two square roots of the idemfactor are to be homologous,
they must be commutative. It is a general theorem in _transfor-
mations that the necessary and sufficient condition that the product
of two involutory transformations be commutative, is that it shall
itself be involutory. Hence two square roots of J will be hom-

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 3 SEPTEMBER, 1908.

34 E. B. Wilson,

ologous when and only when their product is a square root of J.
As the involutory strains of types 0 and mz are respectively + J
and —/, they may be excluded as trivial when referring to the
product of two. As the product is 7 when and only when the two roots
are identical, that case may also be laid aside. In the case of two
dimensions the only involutory transformation is ¢|@ —~|~’. The
determinant is negative and hence the determinant of the product
is positive. The product is therefore —J/, and it is seen that the
line through which the reflection takes place in one is the line
parallel to which it takes place in the other, and vice versa. In
three dimensions there is a line and a plane entering into the
characterisation of any involutory transformation, and unless the
product of two is to be J, it is necessary and sufficient that the
line of one reflection lie in the plane of the other and vice versa
if the product is to be commutative.

Consider next the case of dimensions, Let # denote an in-
volutory transformation and let 2 by any transformation which is
commutative with it. Then

PLQ—=LNL or QEQ-1= FZ.
And &= @y|a'nt Gn—-1|@'n-1 +... + ae-1] a1 — axl e's
—...— | 0’.
Ti 2-Carries, 04,\0a).. : 35 Ge Into WB Bas em
2 = B,|e', + Bla’g t+... + Bnle'n
and 8 & 2-1 = By|B’n + Bn-11B’n—1 +. ~~ + Bital Bet — Bel Be
—...— P,P’.
If this is to be identical with #, the spaces Ry (fi, B2,..., Bx) and
Rx (@, @o,..., @) must coincide, and also the spaces Rn—x (B41,

., Bn) and Rn—x (axr41,..., Gn). Now if it be involutory, the
transformation between the #’s and a’s in A; must be involutory ;
and so must the transformation between the #’s and a’s in Rp~;.
If 71, Yo,---, Ye ANd yuy1,..,, Yn be the fixed elements of the
involutory transformation 2, it is seen that they all lie in the fixed
spaces A; and Ry; A different way of stating the result is this.
et 5

$= eee e) and oe (E25 Bi Bs), Bots z()

1

with the spaces Rx, Rn—, and Sz, Sn. Suppose Ay and S; inter-
sect in Jm. Then if the product ¢ # = #@is involutory, A; inter-
sects Sn: in A’;—m and .S; intersects Rn, in S'i-m and the space
Vi.4i—2 m compounded of R’;~m and S’;_m is fixed in the product.
Furthermore R,—; and S,_; will have in common a space 7n—4—14+m
which compounded with 7m gives Vnr—z-i42m as a fixed space of

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 35

the product. Which of the spaces Vy4i-2m and Vy-x-i12m is
identically fixed and which is involutorily fixed depends on the
signof ##. If the signis +, V,z—z-142m is identically fixed. The
problem of determining the conditions under which two square
roots of / are homologous may therefore be considered as solved.

15. The product of two involutory transformations.—Next consider

the product of any two involutory transformation, 2 = #4, where
k

(69) b= + (I-2¥ a;| G) b= E(5)
w= + (1-2 Bil Bi) a
= 2 U2 Bi Bs) == (3)

As @ and ¥ are their own reciprocals, 2-1 = @ w by (14). Hence
by (35)

(70) Qes = (Lk Pi) s = (Pi Pr)s = Qks.
On substitution from the relations (30), there results
(70') Brg = Qn Qn—ts s, 2, = te ff

There arise, then, four different cases of the scalar or characteristic

equation (40):

(71) 4°—Qs %n—1 + Qos x"? —...— 22 5x74 2, x -1=0, nodd, 2, +0,
aD 1 Qa, 0 * —... + 22 5 x* — @, x +1=0, -n even, 2, >0,
Bg 1 Oo, x"? —... + 22,47 — 2, x +1=0, nodd, 2, =—0,
eet oe bt - —...— Bagh 1 Ge + -1—O0, neven, 2, —0,

according as ” is odd or even and 2 proper or improper. The

first three of these equations are reciprocal equations, the last is
not, unless 2, s = 0. Thus, if a dyadic can be written as the pro-
2

duct of two square roots of the idemfactor, the scalar equation is

reciprocal except in the case that x is even and the determinant of

the dyadic is negative. This case is treated later.

If the number of dimensions is odd, the determinant of —/ is
negative. Hence the third case in the above list may be reduced
to the first case by making the simple change of 2 to —2. More-
over, if the question of interest were to decide whether, given a
reciprocal scalar equation, every dyadic which satisfied it were
resoluble into two reflections, it would be sufficient to answer the
question for dyadics ‘of positive determinant, in case # is odd, in-
asmuch as —/ is commutative with any dyadic. In the fourth case,
it would be possible to replace 2 by 2 (J—e\e@) or by @ times
any reflection of determinant --1. But here nothing is gained,
because the product 2 (/—« «) may not satisfy an equation of the

36 E. B. Wilson,

second type. In fact, when 2 = 2, a dyadic which satisfies an
equation of the type «27 + ax—1=0 is not in general resoluble
into two reflections. The case of the fourth type must be examined
more in detail. i :

Consider the product of two reflections in an even number of
dimensions and let the determinant of the product be negative. It
is evident that the two reflections cannot be the same. In fact if
the types are & and /, it is necessary and sufficient that & + / be
odd in order that the determinant of the product be negative. The
product may then be written in the form

k .. l =
oe a Bi) ae aa. Lh <M,

The spaces fj, Bo ---, Bk, G1, &,--., a Of the consequents are
therefore together greater than 7 and must intersect. The trans-
formation of vectors in this space of intersection is either identical
or is such as to reserve the direction of each vector without in-
troducing any other change. In the former case +1 and in the
latter case —1 is a root of the scalar equation. On substituting
either of these values in the fourth equation of (71), if is seen that
Qn = 0. In other words it appears from special considerations

that the equation of the fourth type is also reciprocal if 2 is the
product of two reflections. As there is this additional condition in
this case, the question might arise whether there were not also
additional conditions in other cases.

This question may be phrased as follows: Given any reciprocal
equation .

2 1 1
(72) Xn—0, 0-14 ag ah? —...+25 82 - fae
fe, aS ie a
of degree m, can a dyadic 2 be found such that
2, = 2,.= co) ae
(73) 2s = @, Qoas=—ay, ..., Ln—2, 5 = Qn, s = =
a2; N,

and such that 2 may be written as the product of two square roots
of J? Suppose that the roots of (72) with their respective multip-
licities are

Vy, 1, 5 Fa, To 1, Mg 5, 13, Fa 4h is ee 5 ee
The dyadic which has these roots may be written as
(74) Q=7n |e +1% Gel a'g +... Om|@'m + 72 Gm: 41] C'm41

+ Yo Cm42| Cmte...
+717 Bi! B+ 11 Ba! Ba +... 471 Bl B’m TF 79 Bi +1] B’ms 41
re) Bs -9| Bm 429 + oe

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 37

Se Cra agg na Om +1| O'ms+2 Sinan

= 6i| Ba + BalB’a +e.) Bmi1/ bmi ta «2
where the shearing terms in the last two rows may or may not
occur; and such a dyadic will evidently satisfy the relations (73),
It remains to ascertain whether 2 is resoluble as desired.

The answer is negative. For suppose that 2 = #4, where @
and ¥ are involutory. It has been seen in article 12 that the
equation of lowest degree is the same for the set of dyadics which
are the transformeds of a given dyadic. Now if @ satisfies the
equation
(75) 2? —b, OP—1 + by QP? — ... + bp-2 BD TF bp1Qti=0, pen,
of least degree, so will ®2@—!, But as @ and ¥ are involutory,

®@201-—-@P-—27,

aye (21)? — pb; (O—1)P—! +4- by (Q@—1)P- 2 2. + bps (Q-')? =
bp AQ ail == 0:

Hence, to extend the use of the term reciprocal to equations in
dyadics, it may be stated that if a dyadic is the product of two
square roots of the idemfactor, its equation of lowest degree is re-
ciprocal. This is stating more than equations (72): for the dyadic
(74) would not in general have an equation of lowest degree which
was reciprocal. If the equation of lowest degree is reciprocal, the

1 ; : ;
factors 2—a J, 2 I which correspond to a pair of reciprocal

1 :
roots a, — of the scalar equation must enter to the same degree.
a

Moreover, from the results of article 13 it is seen that the invariant
numbers k, k, Ro, ..., kp—1 are the same for a dyadic and its trans-
formed dyadics. It is therefore clear that the invariant numbers

if
which correspond to two roots a, 7 Inust be equal in case the

dyadic is the product of two square roots of /. The question now
is whether these conditions are sufficient for such a resolution.
@ousider the spaces /'(o;, @o,-.... @m. 81, Br, «.., Gms) and
S(G@mi-+-1, +--+, Bmi:4.1--.), made up of the antecedents which cor-
respond to any root and its reciprocal and of all other antecedents.
These spaces are fixed and moreover the space R and the space
S are independent and together contain 2 independent directions.
The transformation in two such spaces will determine the trans-
formation in all space. But the transformation in each of these
two spaces is such that its scalar equation would also be reciprocal.
If now the transformation in these spaces of dimension less than 7

38 E. B. Wilson,

can be resolved into two reflections, the transformation in m-dimen-
sional space may be so resolved by merely combining the elements
through which the transformation takes place in the two spaces R,
S and the elements along which it takes place. Thus the question
has been reduced to the same question for a fewer number of
dimensions provided that there are two independent fixed spaces
Rand S in Q.

There remains to consider only the cases where there is just one

‘ : 1 heey ae
pair of reciprocal roots a, 7 or one root which is either +1 or —1.

The first of these arises when x is even and the type of both re-

<b Woes : :
flections is = with the # consequents of the two reflections and the

2
n antecedents each independent. However, if there is only one
pair of reciprocal roots, the dyadic may be written in the form

(76) Q=aaylay, aag|a'g+...+4 ay| a'n +a B1| 8's + a— Ba| Ba
re 8
+ a4 a a~* Bn B'n
eda}

+ ay| a's aia | ig = eee + 61| 8's 7 Galion
where it must be assumed that the shearing terms which occur in the
second row are equal in number for both roots and are similarly
distributed. Moreover it may be assumed that none of them are
lacking, namely, that their number is »—-2: for otherwise the rea-
soning just given for different pairs of roots would apply. The
transformation may be written in oblique coordinates as

(76’) X= AN, %y9= AX HX, ..., Xn =AXn +a xn,
2 2 ater’
j il ; 1 , a
Yi = =F V2 = 2 I 5 a = IK + In
a a of .i@na5 ao

This transformation leaves a quadratic form invariant. For con-
sider the terms

(77) Ay myit Ag, XoJy + As, X3V1 «= =f An Xn Vi
ma
— Ap X13 — e ° e e . . e . . . . -+ Ans. Xn t NM a= 0
2 ae

elf

+ Ain X1Vn + Aon Xo Vn +As3,n X3 Vir +Aan X4yVn «os 0
=-3 ~<-3 Se i el a
2 Z 2 2 2 2 2 2

+Ai.n sin oa Aon on E +As,n avn ‘ 0. 0 op eee
7 a Thee Die eee

+A,,n X1Vn + Aon Xan O> < 2. See
371 Sa =) Bou

+Aj,n Vn 0 0 SS SS ee

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 39

Any term 4; ; *; yj; may arise only from the possible combinations of
Kj SAX THI, Kept = Axi + MH

; sl 4 1
and Si Gi OTA, Se ave TW.
If A;; x; yj; is to be an invariant term, the relation
1
(78) Aig 7 Aity 57 a Ai, j41 + Atty pi = Ai

must hold. If this be applied to any of the zero terms, it is seen
that they yield nothing. If it be applied to the terms in the main
diagonal it is seen that they an invariant. If it be applied to any
of the terms in the diagonal next above the main diagonal, there
is established a set of conditions imposed upon the terms of the
main diagonal, namely,
eee As 12a nt Seer = 1 0 ets ae: ..
2 Tee ee 2

If it be applied to the terms in the next diagonal line, these arises
a condition to be imposed on the coefficients in the diagonal next
to the main diagonal, and so on. These conditions are such that
they may obviously be solved for the ratios of the coefficients in
the successive diagonal lines. The result in case of six variables
4%, X, X3, Vi, Vo, V3 gives a quadratic form of the type (stars in-
dicate the possible presence of terms)

of which the determinant is clearly not zero; and a similar form
may be written down for any even number of variables. Now,
Smith? has shown that the transformation of a quadratic form with
itself may always be resolved into the product of two involutory
transformations. Hence the dyadic (76) may be factored into the
product of two square roots of J.

1 P. F. Smith, On the linear transformations of a quadratic form into
itself, Transactions of the American Mathematical Society, volume 6,
pp. 1-16 (1905). The theorem here referred to is found on p. 13. The
more detailed exposition of the relations between collineations and strains
is taken up in our next article 16.

40 E. B. Wilson,

In case there is only one root +1, it may be assumed that the
dyadic takes the form
(79) ale’ +alP+B81P+86lytylyt+ylo+0|0+d0le ele + -.55
in which all the shearing terms occur: for if any of them were
absent, a reduction to two spaces of lower dimensions could be
effected as in the case of two pairs of roots. This may be factored.
In case 2 = 2,
(80) ala’+a\@’+ lp’ =(ale’ — B\B’) (ala'+ alp’— B|B)
where each of the factors is a square root of /. In case 2 =8,
(80’) ale + «lf Ble Bly FY =

(ala’—B\8>- BI IY) (ele Gls BP ie
with similar remarks. Again in case 7 = 4, the factors are
(80") ael@’+ale+@lP+Bly+7ly+7|04+46|0 =(aela— B|P +
By’ +y\7'—d|0 —2y|0'— Bo’) (e|a + alp’— Bie’ + yly'—vld—d ld).
If the root were —1, the factors would be respectively
—a\a'+ a|p’— B|B’=(a\a’— B\B’)(— a\|a’+ a|B'+ B|B),
(80"”) = GONE ae BE Say ye
=(al\a’'— B|B’— Bly’ + vly) Cale’ alP'+ B\P’— lv);

—alec’+al\p’— BP +Bly—yl7'+y|\0— d6|\0 = (al\a’— B|P'— Bly
+y|y'—6|0' + 27|5'— B|6’) (—ala’+a|#'+8| B'—y|y'—y|0+4|0).

Although this method of factoring could be carried on to higher
dimensions, it is better to proceed in another way, which at the
same time will indicate how the factors may be obtained if they
are not evident. Consider, for example, the case of seven dimen-
sions, where
(79) ale’ +ale+éle+Blyt+yiy+yvlo0+dl0+d0le +ele&

el GG lS 1, Gia ian
and note that the two expressions
(81) ala'+a|\p’— BIB trlyty|o—dl0 +ele +8|o
— 61S + ala’

ale’ —B\B+8Blyt+yiv —dé|o+dle +eje —C|0C +6|y +yI\q7
are obviously square roots of I and that their product has the form

(79") ale’ +ale’+ ele 4+ Bir +yly trlO kolo + dle+ele

+ elS 61S + Slq +-4lq' + Blo’ + dlc,

This fails to be identical with (79’) owing to the extra terms ~|0d’
+6 ¢. Nevertheless it belongs to the same type of dyadic as that.
In fact it is true that when a dyadic has been reduced to the form
(64), which in matricular expression means that the only terms oc-
curring are those of the main diagonal and some (the shearing
terms) along the diagonal next above it, then the addition of any
terms in the half-square whose diagonal is constructed of the f terms
alert Blestulyet-., 10S, of of the fp 2 teem

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 41

Ma: Pl Pitvlye t+... , 2-1S25%, and so forth, does
not effect the nullities of Z, Z?, Z°,... and hence does not alter
the type of the dyadic. Hence if the transformation which carries
(79) into (79’) be obtained and applied to the factors (81), the
factors will take the desired form.

From the preceding analysis it is seen that in every case either 2
may be factored or may be referred to similar transformations in
a less number of dimensions. As the proof that any dyadic which
satisfies a reciprocal equation has been given when z= 2 and when
n= 3,1 it follows that: The necessary and sufficient condition that
a dyadic # be factorable into two square roots of the idemfactor
(or geometrically, that a strain be resoluble into two oblique te-
flections) is that the scalar invariants

Os "Ogg. :3 3's RBG 2: On=+1
be such that the scalar equation is reciprocal and that the sets of
invariant numbers
Re hy 23 4 Rp 3; hp A
which correspond to any toot and its reciprocal be equal. This is
the generalisation of the result I obtained for the case 1 =3.

16. Kelations between strains and collineations.—If a strain in n
dimensions be written as a matrix by chosing the antecedents and
consequents as reciprocal systems, so that

(82) 2= Cy | e199 +O | @'o +... + On dy |e'n
+ C91 Gg| Oy + Coo g| a'g +... + Con adel a'n
etn in| @o 7 CnnOn | Oo, a... ae Cum On | en
and GMa Xo One a i nen
the transformation e& = 2o in oblique coordinates becomes
(82’) Hy = C44 4 + Cy Hy +. + Cin Xn
Hg = Co, Hy + Ca, Ho +... + Can Xn

Xn = Cn X1 + Cng Xo +... + Cnn Xn

1 It should be noted that in these cases the additional condition that
the invariant numbers be equal for reciprocal roots is fulfilled necessarily
as the equation of lowest degree completely characterizes a dyadic when
a<4. The treatment for x =3 is given in the first reference of p. 32):
the treatment for 7 —2 may be regarded as a special case of that or as
a special case of the investigation I gave in A generalized conception
of area: applications to collineations in the plane—The Annals of Mathe-
matics, second series, volume 5, pp. 29—45 (1903).

42 E. B. Wilson,

The ratios +1:%)...:%, of these coordinates may be regarded as
as homogeneous coordinates in a space of w—1 dimensions. In
particular that space may be taken as the space at infinity in the
original space of z dimensions. As the coefficients in (82) can be
arbitrary, the transformation (82’) is the general projective trans-
formation in z—1 dimensions. The correspondence between the
two is not one to one: for all the equations in (82’) may be multi-
plied by a constant. In particular the constant may be so chosen
that the determinant of (82’), which is supposed not to vanish, may
be + 1.1. Thus the correspondence may be considered to be be-
tween unimodular strains and the collineations.

In this correspondence any projective reflection in the (#—1)-
dimensional space at infinity becomes an oblique reflection of the
types here considered by merely passing spaces through the fixed
spaces of the projective reflection and through the origin, and con-
versely, any reflection in the spaces Ry, Rn—j; of the u-dimensional
space becomes a projective reflection in the plane at infinity and
with the intersections of that plane and Ay, Rn _; as its fixed spaces.
In the projective reflection the distinction between the reflections
of types 0, ” or 1, nm—1 or 2, m—2 or ... entirely disappears: there
is nothing corresponding to reversal of direction, as only the ratios
of the coordinates are considered. Moreover the Hamilton-Cayley
equation of the matrix of the coefficients in a projective trans-
formation may be written
(83) 2°—Q, Qr-1 + 225 Qn-2—... st Qn—-2; s 2? — -

de 2. T=0)
without any factors arising from the factor of proportionality which
may effect the coordinates: for that factor enters into Q;; to the
power & and into Qn; to the power m—A, and hence may be can-
celed out. If the projective transformation may be resolved into

Li
<)

the product of two projective reflections the equation for

a
J | Qn
must be reciprocal and the invariant numbers corresponding to a
pair of reciprocal roots of the scalar equation must be equal.

The connection with Smith’s work already referred to is inter-
esting. If a quadratic form in the 7 homogeneous variables in the
plane at infinity is invariant, under any projective transformation
of the variables, the same quadratic form must be invariant under

1 The distinction between +1 and —1 may be disregarded except for
questions of reality.

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 43

the corresponding strain. The interpretation of the form in this
case gives a quadratic cone issuing from the origin and cutting the
plane at infinity in the quadratic locus represented by the form in
the z homogeneous variables. Smith has shown that any trans-
formation with an invariant quadratic form may be resolved into
two reflections. From this it is evident that the matrix of any such
transformation must satisfy a reciprocal Hamilton-Cayley equation
and that the invariant numbers corresponding to a pair of reciprocal
roots must be equal. It may be noted that it is not true to say
that any strain which leaves a quadratic cone issuing from the
origin invariant is resoluble into two oblique reflections; it is nec-
essary to add that the strain is unimodular or Ue: the form which
represents the cone is invariant.

The question naturally arises whether every projective trans-
formation which is compounded of two reflections always has an
invariant quadratric locus, that is, whether the conditions stated for
resolubility into two reflections are both necessary and sufficient
for a transformation with a non-degenerate quadratic form in x
homogeneous variables. The answer is negative. To show whether
any transformation resoluble into two reflection leaves a non-de-
gerate quadric form invariant, it is merely necessary to examine
the different cases that may arise. Consider the transformation

ee 1
written in the reduced form (76’). Let @ and Fs be a pair of roots

corresponding to no shearing. As far as they are concerned the
transformation may be written as

{ ; {
H = Ak, Hy = Ak, «6, 1 = 7 I Va = 7

and the quadratic terms

ee eee ae
ao. | 0 ea oe 0 1 | Ceo

Io ae 0 ion 0 | 0 Oat | 0
; a 0 0 | Ons | 1
| 0 0 0 | 0 | 0

| 1 0 0 | 0 | 0

cs | 0 1 0 | 0 | 0

of non-vanishing determinant are invariant. If there are shearing
terms, the quadratic terms

44 E. B. Wilson,

| xy By | ses | Y. | Y2
* * 0
# 0 0
0 | 0 0
0 0 0
o> ae Gaen 0 OOP thedio

| |

as seen above are invariant. If a root is +1 without shearing terms
the invariant terms of the second degree are

Laas Lo
ie | ee 0
Ton uf 0)
one enamel

and the determinant does not vanish; and similarly in case of the root
—1. If there are shearing terms corresponding to -+-1, the trans-
formation may be written

Hy = yy Kg — Kg tb Ly Hig — My a Fy oa
and are invariant quadratic terms are

ae TBs Ls
ney |. Lf Se
Te —4 | il 0 |
a, aw oe)
oS aw - | Foo eee

The determinant vanishes if 7> 3, and similarly for the case of
a root —1i. If these sets of quadratic terms corresponding to the
various roots with or without shearing terms be arranged along
the main diagonal of a matrix of order », and if all the other spaces
be filled with zeros, the result is a quadratic form in # variables
which is invariant and which certainly has a non-vanishing deter-—
minant, unless +1 or —1 is a root with as many as three consec-
utive shearing terms.

It therefore appears that there are linear transformations in more
than three variables which are compounded of two reflections and
which leave no quadratic surface (with non-vanishing determinant)
invariant. In other words, the converse of Smith’s theorem is not
always, although it is generally, true. The simplest example of the
failure of the converse is in the collineations of three dimensions.

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 45

The collineation

ee OX 1 XA Xo; 0 KG Koes, O's = eet OX 1S Xu

which corresponds to the strain
2Q=—alatels’+e@|P+Blytyliytyl|o+d|o

which has been factored into two reflections which in turn corre-

spond to
P0484 =X, Xo, OX gs = — Xo; @ X'3 = %3— Ms, OX 4 — NX,
Sete i. OL4—— ta tg — Xa, OX 3 — Ay —O My, OX 4 —= — Ly,
leaves no non-degenerate quadratic surface O (x1, %,, %3, %4) =0

invariant. This is clearly seen from the analysis or from the following
simple geometric reasoning. The collineation (84) has one and
only one fixed plane f. This plane must be tangent to the quadric
Q: for if it cut the quadric in a true conic, the conic being trans-
formed into itself must have one fixed point, and the plane tangent
to Q at this point would also be fixed. The fixed plane f, which
is tangent to the conic quadric O must intersect the quadric in two
coincident straight lines or generators: for the collineation (84) can-
not have two distinct fixed lines. But the only quadrics which
can have a double line in common with a plane are the cones or
other more degenerate quadrics. Hence the theory of collineations
compounded of two reflections is not quite identical with the theory
of collineations which leave invariant a non-degenerate quadric but
includes it.

On the Resolution of Strains into Reflections.
17. The product of a unimodular strain by the simplest reflection.

Consider a dyadic 2 where 2, — + 1, and a reflection /—26| 6 of
type 1 where the relation 6 6 =1 holds. The scalar invariants
Mas, Ae, -:-, An—1,s Of the product

(85) X = 2 (1—2 6/0),

are determined by the expressions

(86) Xk s = [Qr (—2 6 O)k |s B23 een

If (J—2 6|0), be expanded by the binomial theorem, there are only
two terms in the expansions, namely,

(87) (I—2 6 O)k == RO <b 6/0.

Hence the scalar invariants take the form

(86) 2p s—2 (Q% Lei ¥ G6) s = Qes—2 Qe e & (k-1 ¥& 6|6)

It becomes necessary to investigate the expressions Qs ¢ © (Jp-1 26

ou

cy

more in detail. It is clear that if the scalar quantity Q; ¢ % (L;-1 $6

46 SB Wilson,

be expanded, each term of the expansion will contain a factor of
the form 6 «, a factor of the form fo, and no other factors which
contains either 6 or o. In other words, it will be possible to write

(88) Qi eX (Li-n ¥ 6/6) = 3 (6a)...(8 6) = (S al..)|(..) B) o=6 AMG

where 3 is some dyadic with antecedents of one dimension and
consequents of m—1 dimensions. The form of this dyadic will
depend only on the dyadic 2 and not at all on its particular mode
of representation. That is to say, the dyadics 3), 7), ..., 3("—1)
are invariant dyadics associated with 2.

At first it will be best to treat 3(?). Let @ be written as the sum

2 ee eee ee
of any number of dyads. Then 22 will be of the form
Q,=—aBlaBtaylay+BylByt+...

Let the idemfactor be 7 = 4/'+ uu + yryr'+..., and consider the
value of any term
(89) (a B\aB) % (AN & o|6) = (@BAG) (a B16)
A product like @#@i6 or «82 6 is called a mixed product in dis-
tinction to the pure progressive or regressive products. The only
formula which will be required here is

(90) | 2a ua Pa a
Auv...aBy...=| 28 “Pp vp |
[Ay by By |

which expresses the value of the scalar which results from multi-
plying any number (less than 7) of vectors into the same number
of spaces of m—1 dimensions.!
From the application of this formula to the case in hand there
results
BAe te GoM el
|B’ Bolloea 6 B|
= (ai) (i a) (B 6) (6 B) —(a@4) (8 6) (6 a) (7 B)
— (BA) (a6) (d' a) (6B) + (BA) (a6) (Ga) (4 B)
=6[(@12' a) B\B—(a42 B)a\B—(BAA a)Bat(BA2 Bala].
There is a similar expression for the other terms wu, vv, ... of L
These may then be added together and simplified by the relations
«le—=«e and so forth. The result is that the contribution of
aBlaB to Z®) is
(aa) B/B—(e 8) a\B—(B a) Bia+ (PB) ala.
Hence finally

(aB10)(A6a8)=|

‘ See footnote to p- 9.

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 47

(91) =2)=—Z((8 8) ala + (aa) B\B —(aB) «|B — (a 8B) Bla],

where the summation covers all pairs of antecedents «, ~, y, .
of 2. The form of this expression evidently bears out the state-
ment that the expression is independent of the manner in which 2
is written: for if @ is replaced by a,+4,, the sum of the terms
due to a, 8/a8 and «!\a@P is the same as those due to @f\af, and
so is it for similar changes in any of the elements that enter into 2.

To pass on to 3(?) consider the typical product

Ilya wa al lay au «
(aByiuc) (Auwoasby)—6|\y BB wB B Bi Bu Bio
Renee HY Nee, ey

The coefficient of the dyad «a is
a Balls c= 87 Aw) (Aw By)=BY hulu) By.
If this be summed over all pairs of different antecedents of /, the
result is the term (@y@y) a @ of Z®). In like manner the coef-
ficients of a|8, aiy, B\y, ... may be found. In fact the rule for
writing down the desired term is merely to pick out the two ele-
ments from the set ef8yaPy, leaving the other four to form the
scalar coefficients with the proper sign (which may be determined
according to the rule for expanding the determinants above) — thus
—(@7«8)7iB, +(abaa)ri7, —@rer) Ble
The extension to 2) is now immediate. There is no need of going
into the details.
If 2 is expressed in matricular form as
Q= Sajyj au| aj, Q.=4 2 Gij dim aa| arm, ...
it is possible to calculate 3), 3), ... also in matricular form.
From (9)
El) — § Saiz dim|[(a@ ma) ai| &j + (a7 a) a1|a@m— (aja) a| am
—(amai) a| aj]
= Aij Aim(e'm a1) G| @j — Saji; Aim (a; ar) ai | am
It should be noted that 7==/ and 7=— m, and that terms in the first
sum vanish unless /= m, in which case @» @;—1: and similarly
in the second sum j= /. Hence the coefficient of any dyad
a@%| aj m =) is ,
(5 * aii — = qi 141 j) ai | aj
where the accent on the ¥ indicates that those terms for which the
variable index is equal to either of the fixed indices are to be
omitted. These sums may be written in the form
(91°) m2) _ YY | aij Ut

Sah ce (2
S51 lay; ain J a= se

48 E. B. Wilson,

Analogously to (91) the formula for 2) is
(92) ZQ—s[(@yBy)alat(ayay)@\Bt+ (apa B)7|
—(ay® y)a@ e+ (cB By)a y— (By ay) Bl |
—(aBay)Bly+(Byae)y\a-—(ay ap)y| P|. |

DIR IN |

And

2,/,p all unequal
j,m,q all unequal
After making the necessary substitutions and reductions, it ap-
pears that

(92°) oy GI ULG m | |

=A a9 Di) 2} b gvsllonpe es
BO Fim | UG UIA m | ale;

1
Q, — 6 Zig Alm ay gq OG AL &p | aj me @

| Am j Ami Am m | }
where the double accent on Y means that /and m cannot be equal
among themselves nor equal to 7 or 7. Moreover the equal results
obtained from /—a, m—6 and from /—06b, m=—a have been ac-
counted for. The formula for =“ is the obvious generalisation of |
the results for Z() and g(°). The result tor = may be stated in
words: To find the coefficients of «| @; in =, form a determinant
of the Ath order from the matrix of @ by taking as the main
diagonal a;; and any combination (not permutation) of k—1 of the
elements in the main diagonal of 2 excluding a;;, aj; and add the
determinants of all possible combinations.
With the aid of these dyadics it is possible to express the in-
variants of the product of a dyadic and /—26 6. Let

|

(85) X= 2 (I—24\6)

Then

(93), Xs =82;— 2626, Xic=2Qs— 2026, k—2 3 ee
Xn = — Qn

A similar result could be obtained for the product

(94) X'=2 ([--2 6|6 — 22|7)

Here however, the expansion by the binomial theorem is
(I—2 6|6 —2t\t)x = Le 2 hi ¥ (6\6 +1\t) +4 h-2% orl Gr;
and hence
(94) Xis= rie Bh) 6 —27F"1+4Qi8% (Te_2% 6t|67)
The term Qe % (J;_-2% ot|67) could be treated as Qre% (J,-1% 6|t)
was treated; aad the invariant dyadic which resulted would be of
the second type, that is, the antecedents would be of the form @ B
and the consequents of the form ¢. In like manner for products
with more complex square roots of /, would yield invariant dyadics
of higher types. The study of these dyadics will not be taken up ~
at this time.

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 49

The converse problem is intcresting, namely, given a dyadic 2,
to find what dyadics may result from the product 2 (J—2 6|«6) by
a suitable choice of the reflection /—2o6\6. Consider the scalar
invariants of the product. The determinant of the product must be
the negative of Qn. Suppose it be desired to make the other scalar
invariants take assigned arbitrary values. This amounts to the so-
lution of the equations
(96) G2o6=/

62z26—=m or
6 FAG—p

2 —/ll)o=0
(=?) m T)G =0 m—1 equations
ea G=10)

alal
i |

She

(S
(=
0(5

under the condition 6 6 -|-0. ia gee Ww cele it amounts to finding
a space 6 which shall contain (Q —//) 0, (Z?)—m1)o,... but not
contain g. Suppose the roots of 2 are distinct and for simplicity
let #—4.. Then
2Q2—aal\la +OoBsl\B +eyly +dd|
(96) 2-.—a(ob+c+d)ala+b (ce+d+a) B\B +ce(d+a+5)yly
+ d(a+6-+-c) d|o
Ee) — a(bc {bd cd) ala +b (cd-+ ca-+ da) B\ Fe
+ ¢(da+db+ab)y\y +d(ab+ac- bc) 6|s
6— 467-9 Vy 1 oo
The three vectors (2 —-//)o, (22)—mT)o, (5@) —p/)¢ are easily
written down and the desired 6 may be passed through them un-
less the condition
(97) |(a—f) x [a(6+c+d)—m|x [a(bc+bd+cd) —p|x
| (6—l)y [b(¢+d+a)—mly [b(cd+ca+da)-—-ply y|_
(c—l)2 [c(d+a+6)—m]z [c(da+db +ab) — p]
(d—/)w |d(a+ 6+ c)—m|w [d(ab+ac+bc)— pl\w w
which expresses the fact that they lie in a 3-dimensional space
with o, holds. This may be reduced to the simpler form
(97') la GO ca) “a(oc ba 4-cd). 4
lb b(c+b+a) b(cd+ca+da) 1°
e c(dta+6) c(da+db+ab) 1|="*@S¢4)=0
\d d(atb+c) d(ab+ac+bc) 1|
This is a polynomial of degree 6 in a, 6, c, d. It is obvious that
the polynomial will vanish if any two of the roots are equal. Hence
(97°) P,(a, 6, c,d) = k (a—b) (a—c) (a—d) (b—c) (b—d) (c—d),
and according to the supposition that the roots are distinct P; = 0.
From this it follows that if the roots of 2 are distinct, a reflection,
I—2 6\6 of type 7 may be found which will make the product
Q (1—2 6|6) take such a form as to have any desired scalar in-
variants, with the exception of the determinant which is —2,

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 4 SEPTEMBER, 1908.

Pil
ae

50 E. B. Wilson,

Moreover it appears that the choice of 6 is arbitrary except that it
shall not lie in any of the invariant spaces of m—1 dimensions.
The result is stated for 2 dimensions because the proof is the same
as for four. In particular these scalar invariants may be chosen so
as to make the Hamilton-Cayley equation of the product a recip-
rocal equation with distinct roots, and hence the product is resoluble
into two reflections. Geometrically this means that a reflection of
the first type may be found in co”—! ways such that the product
of the reflection and any collineation (or any unimodular proper
or improper strain) which has distinct roots is resoluble into two
reflections. In other words, 2 in this case is always resoluble into
three reflections, or analytically may be regarded as the product
of three square roots of the idemfactor.

18. Some special cases of the product.—The theorem which has
just been established for the general case where the roots of 2
are distinct may be extended. It is clear that 2 may be such
that the product 2 (/—2 o|6) cannot have arbitrary scalar invariants:
for if 2 were a reflection the product would have to have such
invariants as to make a reciprocal equation. It may, however, be
shown that: If the Hamilton-Cayley equation of a dyadic @ is the
equation of lowest degree, the choice of a reflection /—2 6|6 may
be made in co”-? ways so that the scalar invariants of the product
Q (I—2 o\6) are arbitrary with the exception of the determinant
which is —2,. It should be noted that the condition that the
Hamilton-Cayley equation be identical with the equation of lowest
degree is equivalent to saying that in the canonical form (64) to
which the dyadic may be reduced all the shearing terms correspond-
ing to equal roots must be present. If 2 — 4 the possible cases are

(08). 2—ane 2=—aad Oar ’
+aget 7? tae, hate.
eae Lary. \ ee On /
+dde +468 + ade

Oo = 4
o if sf ae + «p (The vertical bar has
coke been omitted for brev-

+ Cc Y Vy

Wey Oe ae ity.)

As the proof of theorem in general involves great detail, and at
the same time general reasoning on tolerably varied and involved
formulas, it will be well to carry the computation through in these
cases, after which the general cases will offer no particular difficulty.
The expressions for Z@) and 3) in each of the cases above are

)

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace.

B?)—a(a+ct+d)acd

Talaterd) pe
+ c(a+a+d)yy

+ d(a+a+c) dS
poe eae + (at+d)ap’ _

a(2a+d) Be

ec cd) > yr at aay

d(2a+ a) 5S

=?) —a(sa)ac’

EB2a

| BETS a
+ a(8a) 6g = vi ay
+ a(3a) yy Sam a 3 5
a(Ba)d5 | 747"
B22 —alat2c\ac’ .
a ¢ ee Sa aeanp
+ a(a-+ 2c) BB
ec 2a) yy
| +2ay0

+ ¢(c+2a) dod

+(c+d)ap’

51
= 3)—a(actad+cd)ad -
-t- a(actad+ed)pa 6% *F
+ c(ad+ad+aa)yy’
+ d(ac-+ ac+aa)o0
=23)=a(a+2ad)aa’
ay + a(a?+2ad) 8 ae ve B —day
+a(a?+-2ad) yy P
+d(a?+2a*) 6S
Goa ea. ;
ME a aid ;
mee) BP it 2 9) ay as
a OC ia aera vo
+ a(3a’) 06
#9 =aQactcC)ac, ,
ale ape

SEACH (BS VE) ay J
+ ¢(2ac-+ a’) y}
AG eee te G

In the first case the condition that the solution desired be im-

possible is

and d are equal.

(a—/) xy |a(aerd) —m)x(c+d)y[alac-ad+ed)—p|x+cedy x
(a—-l)y [a(a+ce+d)—mly [a(act+ad-+cd)—ply y
ee) 2 \6(4-4-4)—m)\z [c(ad+-ad--aa) — p|z Ame
(d—l)w |d(atatc)—m|w [d(ac+ac+aa)—p|w w

Here the last column may be multiplied by /, m, fp, and subtracted
from the first, second, third columns respectively, and thus the /,
m, p disappear; the w, z, y of the last three lines may be canceled
out; the second line may be multiplied by « and substracted from
the first and then the y in that line disappears. Finally the second
line may be subtracted from each of the last two. The condition

reduces to
(99') : 1 int ca 0 |
Gs *h(Gj616)), @(@e;ada-ed)) Pa >
| c—a (c—a)(a+d) (c—a)ad 0 | =
| d—a (d—a)(a+c) (d—a) cd 07

Here it still is clear that even if the factors c—a and d—a are

stricken out the expression will vanish if @ equals c or d or if ¢

As the expression is only of degree five, it must

be of the form

(99°) Ps (a, c, @) = k (c—a)? (d—a)? (c—d).

Hence P; does not vanish unless two of the roots a, c, d are equal.
The second case is between the first and third. In this case it

turns out that the polynomial to which the determinant reduces is

on
bo

——"

E. B. Wilson,

P; (a, d) = k (d—a)s
and cannot vanish unless a and d are equal. In the third case the

determinant is
|

(100) |ex+y. 3@a-2ay—2 (S3a°s 1a’ y—a2-u
laxt+tzs 3@y+2a2z—w 3a3y+a?2—aw baat.
laztw 3a22+2aw 302+ aw z a
| aw 3aw saw w

where the 4 m, p have been omitted as they obviously go out by
the same reasoning as before. Here the w factors out of the last
row, which may then be multiplied by x, y, e and subtracted re-
spectively from the first, second, third rows. The w then factors
out of the third row, which may be multiplied by y, z and subtracted
from the rows above. Now the factor w drops out of the second
row, which may be multiplied by z and subtracted from the top row
whereupon the y drops out. The condition is reduced to

(100’) De, Ogee lieeo
Oo —1 —a 0
4 oy a ease

| a). 30> 200A |
which is clearly unfulfilled.
The last case is instructive, because it illustrates the dependence
and independence of different repeated roots. The condition is
(101) | ax+y a(a+2c)x—-@y a(acte)xtrey x |

ay a(a+ 2c)y a(2ac+ c*)y 3a
cx-+w c(c+2a)2e4+aw c(2act@)e+eo 248
cw c(c+2a)w c (2ac + a’)w w

The y, w of the second and third lines go out, and a reduction.
similar to that given before removes the x, zg. It is this possibility
to get rid of the coefficients in the expression for 6, which shows
that these coefficients may have any values other than 0. The
condition reduces to

(101°) 1 —2¢c ee i) |
@ @(65-26)~ae@ecsee)s a | Aue
| 1 — 2a a Opies
[-€ wilt" 2@)); se@ac-|- a7) oe

which amounts to merely
(101’°) P, (a, c) = k (a—c)*
and cannot vanish.

The foregoing cases are typical of all that can arise. With regard
to the case where m has any value the following remarks will
suffice. Suppose that @ has k repeated roots a. Construct the
half square upon the portion of the main diagonal of 2 correspond-

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 53

ing to these roots. The shearing terms will be #—1 in number
and will be situated in the next diagonal line. In constructing =(?)
there will be shearing terms in the corresponding line. Moreover
the next diagonal line will contain terms to the full number —2:
but there will be no other terms in the half square. In construction
=(3) there will be terms in these two lines and also in the line third
removed from the main diagonal. And so on until 2/- has a
term in the corner of the half-square. Such is the case for every
set of repeated roots. All the other terms will be lacking in 2°),
&@), .... These results are all obvious consequences of the
determinantal definition of the coefficients in 7), 7@),.... The
determinant which must not vanish if the solution of the problem
is possible will reduce to the discriminant of the roots of 2,
where however the differences which correspond to repetitions of
the same root have disappeared. This is the only change: for the
differences which correspond to different repeated roots occur as
many times as the product of the multiplicities of those roots.

The proof of these general theorems is carried out by mathe-
matical induction. It is merely necessary to show that, on the
assumption that the results are true for any given distribution of
roots, they still remain true when the number of roots and the
number of dimensions is increased by one, whether by adding a
root equal to one already existing or different from all those
present. In any given case the proof is very simple; but on the
assumption that there are & roots of multiplicities m7, m2, ..., mr
the notation becomes very cumbersome. As there is no other
difficulty than this, it seems hardly worth while to insert the general
proof at this point. The geometrical consequences of the theorem
of this article are: That any collineation or strain of which the
Hamilton-Cayley equation is the equation of lowest degree may be
converted by multiplication with a reflection /—o\|o, which may
be chosen in co”-1 ways, into a collineation or strain which has
roots arbitrary except that their product must be the negative of
the product of the roots of the given collineation or strain. In
particular these roots may be chosen in such a way that the re-
sulting collineation or (unimodular) strain may be resolved into
two reflections.

19. On the product of a strain and a reflection —Although it is
evident that no reflection of type 1, nor any reflection of any type
can be found which will make the scalar invariants of the product
of any given unimodular strain and that reflection arbitrary, and

54 E. B. Wilson,

that therefore the method adopted in the last two articles for
showing that such a strain may be resolved into three reflections
must break down in some of the special cases (for instance when
the given strain is itself a reflection), the theorem that any strain
is resoluble into three properly chosen reflections is strongly
suggested. If 2 be a strain and @ a reflection, the necessary and
sufficient condition that @ @ be resoluble into two reflections is seen
from article 15 to be that the Hamilton-Cayley equation of Q®@
shall be reciprocal, and that the invariant numbers which corre-
spond to a pair of reciprocal roots of the scalar equation shall be
equal. The first part of this condition is not hard to state and, in
the simplest cases, to examine. The last part of the condition ap-
parently requires very detailed consideration.

For the present purposes the fourfold division of the problem,
according as w is odd or even and 2», is + 1 or —1, may be some-
what abridged by the use of (70). If X—®@, the conditions be-
come

(102) Kis Xj, FEES), Xns—0

with the supplementary condition necessary only when wz is even
and the determinant of the product X,— — 1, and with the further
condition that the invariant numbers which correspond to any pair
of reciprocal roots of X must be equal. These are the necessary
and sufficient conditions that 2 be resoluble into three reflections.
In case @ happens to be of type 1, these conditions reduce to

(102’) 5|2— 2-1. (Oo) 16;
o [EW — FI- — 3 (2, ,—9,,) ]o=—0, 1< k < EC)
= sree)

ad We 21s even and. X,—=— 1, oes $2 haf) jo=0

where Z\-—”) has been written as an Abbeesaien for the &th in-
variant dyadic ZF associated with 2-1. Thus there are E equa-
tions to be satisfied in case m is odd, or in case # is even and

n

Xn=—1; but if ” is even and X,—=-+1 there are only & 9 =a

equations to be fulfilled. In all cases they must be satisfied sub-
ject to the restriction og=|=0. If ® were of type 2, or higher up

n
to type £ (3) the conditions which would be analogous to (402’)

might be expressed in terms of the invariant dyadics of higher class
referred to in article 17 but not investigated.

Ore tae

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. E

Ol
Or

The connection of the conditions (102°) with work which has
already been Seen is this. In case 7 — 2, the only reflection
is of type 1 and if 2,——1, X,—-+ 1, there is no condition to be
fulfilled. Hence the transformation 2 may always be written as
the product of three reflections. If 2,—-+-1, the Hamilton-Cayley
equation of 2 is necessarily reciprocal and 2 is resoluble into two
reflections. These results are well known; and as far as collineations
are concerned there is no distinction between the two cases except
as regards reality. If 2—23, there is only the one reflection, which
is of type one, (except for its negative) and only one condition —
which may always be satisfied! Hence in three dimensions the
resolution into three reflections is always possible. In case n—4
and @ is of type 1 and 2,——1, there is still only one condition
(102’) to be satisfied, and it can clearly be satisfied: but another

: 4
difficulty arises owing to the fact that if a, a are double roots of

the product X, it may conceivably arise that for all reflections ®
which satisfy the condition there may be a shearing term for one
of the roots and none for the other, so that the supplementary
condition concerning the invariant numbers would not be fulfilled.
In a delicate question of this sort a count of constants is of no
value; a detailed investigation of the product X is required.
Whereas if 2, —-+1, there are two conditions (102’) to be satisfied
simultaneously, and in view of the developments of article 47 it is
by no means evident that this may always be accomplished. If ®
is of type 2 and 2,——1, there are again two conditions (102)
to satisfy, not to mention the conditions imposed by the invariant
numbers, and again it is not obvious that they can be met. If
however 2,—-+ 1, Smith’s theorem previously cited, and arising
out of the special fact that a collineation in four homogeneous
variables may be regarded as a collineation in six variables with
an invariant quadratic form, may be adduced to show that all the
conditions (102) may be satisfied. If ” > 4, the difficulties signalised
for the first three cases when »—4, are further emphasized.

To show that these difficulties are not only conceivable but ac-
tually arise, it is worth while to treat the simplest case. Suppose
(103) 2=aa|a'+aBe\s +ay|y +a36|5, Qn=—+1, O=—1—2olo
Here there are two conditions so satisfy, namely
(104) o(2— 2-'!—43(2, —Q7')I]o=0, of —422,1)o=0.

‘ This is precisely the condition of my theorem 23, p. 295, of my
communication to the Transactions cited in the footnote on page 32.

56 E. B. Wilson,

As ® possesses six degrees of freedom, a count of constants would
indicate that the two conditions could be satisfied. The actual
computation is conducted as follows.!
(Se a Fae bce eteigl +ayly +e d|o
Q5—3a-+ a3, QS 1—-3q-1+ 43, Qos = 27, = 3a +3a-,
=)—a(2a+a—*) ala 4 a eos B|8 +a (2a+a-*) y|y+3a—2 0,
=) —$ O2 , [—4(@ —a-®) [a|a + 22 +y|7¥ 34/8)
@ — 2-14 (2, — B) I= 4 (a— a) [a a? (ae +88 + 7/7)
— (a? -+-4-+-a—*) 6|d]
From these expressions, it is found that [2 —2-1—4 (2, — 27") Io
and [E')—§ 22 s1|o are § (a—a~!) [Axa+Ays+ Azy— Awd)
and 4 (a?—a-*) [xatysB+z2y—3w 0]
where A=(a+a—!)}, A =@+4+a-4, o=xa+yspt+sytweo.
Neither of these vectors vanishes identically unless a— a—!—0O or
a’? —a~-*—0, that is, unless a is a square root or fourth root of
unity. From the form of the vectors it is clear that they cannot
be collinear unless
| 4 A tees al ae |
Ee sae 1 3 |
In the first case a@ must be a sixth root of unity, and in the second
the two vectors are both parallel to o. As the constant a in 2 may
be arbitrary, the first case can be excluded, and the second violates
the condition oo=|=0. Hence it may be assumed that the two
vectors are independent and determine a plane through which any
G must pass. But this plane clearly contains g inasmuch as any
three rowed determinant from the matrix

| Ax Ay Az eel

=2(@ + 1-+4a~-)=0orw—

| * y Bi Ts ee

HS i oo Dorn bets coat |
vanishes. Hence again the condition o@ == 0 is violated, and it is
evident that despite the six degrees of freedom, no reflection @—
I—26\o can be chosen such that the conditions (104) may be
fulfilled, and @@ may (possibly) be resoluble with two reflections.

It is necessary to try a different type of reflection. As a matter of 3

fact Smith’s theorem happeus to be applicable to this particular case.

The detailed discussion of the various difficulties which arise in
the different special cases must be postponed to a later time. There
is one question which will be suggested and left as an easy exercise
in the use of the dyadics =. It is geometrically apparent that, if

1 It may be noted that in the fourth line down be — F(2) — } CS ea

would be the negative of the given value as it should be.

* oes reso

é

a |

Double Products and Strains in Hyperspace. 5

Q is itself resoluble into two reflections, then it must be possible
to find a reflection @ of type 1 such that the product 2 @ is still
resoluble into two reflections, and consequently the conditions (102’ )
must be capable of fulfilment in this case.

The results of the second part of this paper may be summarised
as follows:

1°. The determination of the square roots of the idemfactor by
means of the properties of the equation of least degree.

20, The determination of the necessary and sufficient conditions
that a dyadic be resoluble into the product of two square roots of
the idemfactor.

3°, The correlation of these results with the theory of reflections
in connection with unimodular strains and with collineations. And
in particular, the fact that not all products of two reflections leave
a non-degenerate quadric invariant.

40, The introduction of invariant dyadics = and their application
to the problem of finding the scalar invariants of the product 2@.

5°. The fact that in case the Hamilton-Cayley equation of 2@
is the equation of lowest degree, there may be found a ® = /—2o0\6
such that the scalar invariants of the product are arbitrary. The
corollary that in such cases, if Qn—-+1, 2 be written as the
product of three square roots of the idemfactor with the appro-
priate interpretation in the theory of reflections.

6°. The determination of the necessary and sufficient conditions
that a dyadic be resoluble into the product of three square roots
of the idemfactor, with an example to show that it is not always
possible to take a square root of type 1 as the first of the three.

Massachusetts Institute of Technology,
Boston, Mass., December, 1907.

TRANSACTIONS OF THE

CONNECTICUT ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES

INCORPORATED A. D. 1799

VOLUME 414, PAGES 59-170 DECEMBER, 1908

The Morphology
of Ruppia Maritima

BY

ARTHUR HARMOUNT GRAVES, Ph.D.

INSTRUCTOR IN BOTANY IN YALE UNIVERSITY

PUBLISHED UNDER THE AUSPICES OF

YALE UNIVERSITY

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WEIMAR : PRINTED BY R. WAGNER SOHN

CONTENTS
PLATES I -XV.

INTRODUCTION .

MORPHOLOGY OF THE VEGETATIVE ORGANS

STEM
A. Genoral Gharseters
B. Branching : ;
1. Branching in jee maritima
a. Vegetative Branch System
b. Inflorescent Branch System

2. Comparative Study of the Branching of he Powers:

tonaceae
C. Anatomical Structure
1. Growing Point

2. Stem Structures in the Veectative Besion

a. Upright Stem
(1) Epidermis
(2) Cortex :
(a) Outer Cortex .
(b) Middle Cortex
(c) Inner Cortex .
(3) Endodermis
(4) Vascular System : f
(a) Course of Vascular Bundles .
(b) Structure of Vascular Bundles
b. Rootstock . ;
3. Stem Structures in the Penal ‘Begion
a. Peduncle
(1) General Gitumnetens
(2) Anatomical Structure
(3) Coiling of the Peduncle
b. Rhachis é
c. Stipe .

4. Brief Comparative Study oe the aren Nonterng a ihe

Potamogetonaceae
Ivar. : -
A. Reimenation of lava of Picadas
B. Arrangement 5
C. Ordinary Foliage Peigts

coil)

bo

Pe

Cr

Root

A. H. Graves,

. The Leaf Blade

a. Epidermis .
(1) Chloroplasts
(2) Marginal Teeth .
(3) Secretion Cells .
(4) Absence of Stomata .
b. Subepidermal Layer
c. Vascular System
(1) Course of Vascular Bandles
(2) Structure of Vascular Bundles
d. Lacunae : 3
e. Comparison with Other eh Saniieg nance:
The Stipular Sheaths
a. Structure
b. nest i gs
. Function
a. Morphological and apes Considers
Axillary Scales p
a. General Characters and Amateny :
b. Function

. Subfloral Leaves
. Scale Leaves
ik

The Vegetative Seale Le: ie

a. General Characters

b. Internal Structure

The Florfl Scale Leaf . .

a. General Characters and Structure . ,
Orientation of Scale Leaves in Floral Region .
Summary of Distinguishing Characters

PAGES
89
90
90
40
40
91
91
91
91
92
92
92
93
93
43
93
95
96
96
97
97
98
99
99
99
32
99

100
101

Morphological and Physiological Nature of Seals ee: 102

Comparison with Other Potamogetonaceae

A. General Ginacetas
B. Root Arrangement
C. Anatomical Structure

iy
9

3.

The Coleorrhiza
The Growing Point of the Book
The Anatomy of the Mature Root
a. Epidermal Region
(1) The Root Hairs
b. Cortex
c. Endodermis
d. Vascular System
e

102
102
102
103
104
104
108
109
109
110
1119
1118)
112

. Brief Comparative Shady of Prete of Gian potas!

getonaceae

D. Functions of the Root.

112
113°

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 63
PAGES
ECOLOGY OF THE VEGETATIVE ORGANS 115
INTRODUCTORY : 115
Hypropuytic ADAPTATIONS 116
A. The Shoot : 116
1. Gross Morsnolanical Raseicnen: 116
2. Internal Structural Adaptations 117
a. Epidermal Modifications 117
b. Development of Air Spaces 118
c. Absence of Mechanical Tissue 119
d. Reduction of the Vascular System 1s,
B. The Root 120
Gross Moepliolorical Mauptations 120
. Internal Structural Adaptations 121
a. Air Spaces 121
b. Reduction of the Vascdlar Sy stem 121
Hatopuytic ADAPTATIONS 121
A. General : 121
B. The Adaptation to a ‘Salt Water Bitcironment 122
ADAPTATION AND HEREDITY 26
SUMMARY 126
REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS 128
MorpHoLocy oF THE FLOWER 128
Fiorat DEVELOPMENT 130
MicrosPpoRANGIUM 131
MEGASPORANGIUM 135
FrMALE GAMETOPHYTE 136
Mate GAMETOPHYTE 139
POLLINATION . 143
FERTILIZATION 144
ENDOSPERM 145
EMBRYO : 146
FRUIT AND SEED 156
SEEDLING : : : : : ; ~ wes:
SUMMARY OF PARIS ON REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS, EM-
BRYO, &ce. 160
SUMMARY OF RELATIONSHIPS TO OTHER PO TAMOGETON-
ACEAE 162
BIBLIOGRAPHY . 165

EXPLANATION OF PLATES

INTRODUCTION

Of late years there has been manifested a tendency toward a
systematic investigation of the internal structure of plant species,
as contrasted with the more superficial description of external
characters by systematists. For although, as stated by Campbell
(1897), a description of external characters “is usually quite suffic-
ient for the mere identification of a plant, and for determining its
relation to nearly allied forms, it is quite inadequate for settling
questions of relationship between more remote groups, and espec-
ially those of obscure affinities.”

This movement has been directed especially to the study of the
origin and development of the sexual generation in Spermatophytes
and the problems of embryology in this group, resulting in an over-
whelming mass of literature on these subjects.

But, in the meantime, it is commendable that some botanists have
also directed their attention to a study of the internal structure of
the vegetative organs; for it is only by a complete account of the
development and structure of the whole plant, together with its
life history, that we can hope to acquire sufficient knowledge for
the solution of one of the most interesting and vitally important
problems in all plant morphology—i. e., the interrelationship of the
various plant groups.

Some of the recent works of Campbell (1897, 1898) are most
noteworthy in presenting in this way a connected account of several
species. especially certain little understood monocotyledons.

The present work, extending over a period of five years, was
undertaken with a similar purpose; and seeks to comprehend, as
far as possible, a connected account of the development and structure
of the plant organs, together with the life history, of one of the
simpler monocotyledons, Ruppia maritima.

The Potamogetonaceae of Ascherson (1889) to which the genus
Ruppia belongs, comprise an interesting family of remarkably simple
plants. As to whether this simple structure represents a primitive
or a reduced condition is an extremely important question, but in
the present state of our knowledge a clear, unassailable verdict on
either side is impossible. A discussion of this point will, however,
be postponed for the present.

66 A. H. Graves,

A few remarks may be in order here as to the literature which
relates to the subject of this paper, and which I have found most
helpful in its preparation. Ascherson (1889), in Engler and Prantl’s
Natiirliche Pflanzenfamilien, cites the most important references
bearing on the Potamogetonaceae up to the date of his contribution.
Among these, the papers on Althenia by Prillieux (1864), Cymodocea
by Bornet (1864), and Zostera by Grénland (1851) are valuable
for their contributions to the morphology of these allied plants.
In this respect, also, the works of Irmisch (1851 and 1858) are
remarkable for the accuracy with which they describe the external
morphological relations of #. roste/lata and other Potamogetonaceae.
Of later works, which are especially useful in a comparative mor-
phological study of the vegetative organs, are, among others, those
of Sauvageau (1891, II), Campbell (1897) and Goebel (1898). As
to ecological considerations pertaining to water plants, the work of
Schenck (1886) deserves especial mention. In the preparation of
the parts on the reproductive organs, embryo, &c., the works cited
are too numerous to mention here, and the reader is referred to the ~
bibliography (p. 165).

If we except a rather doubtful reference of Hofmeister, (1861,
Figures 1—7, Pl. II, and see p. 148 of this paper), the only investigation —
of Ruppia maritima which has ever been published, so far as I can
ascertain, is that of Roze (1894), who describes chiefly the con-
ditions of fertilization, but also presents a valuable historical review ~
of the whole genus. Others, it is true, such as Miss Scott (1906) —
and Chrysler (1907), have dealt with special features of the plant,
in the course of their comparative morphological investigations.

Ruppia rostellata, on the other hand, if we piece together the
results of various observers, has been pretty thoroughly worked out.
First Irmisch (1851 and 1858) described carefully its external mor-
phological characters; next, Wille (1883) studied the development —
of the embryo, and quite recently Murbeck (1902) published an —
admirable paper on the reproductive organs and embryo. :

The genus Ruppia is aquatic, characterized by its long, linear, —
grass-like leaves with basal sheaths, and grows in brackish and salt —
water (but probably never salt water of normal ocean strength, :
see p. 124), in creeks and bays along the coast and in the neigh-—
borhood of inland salt springs, throughout all parts of the temperate —
and tropical zones. Except at low tide it is completely submerged —
until the period of flowering, when it produces its flowers a short |
distance (1-3 cm.) above the surface of the water. The flowers,
always two to each peduncle, are borne one above the other, on

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 67

opposite sides of the rhachis, the latter being homologous to a
spadix, but not at all fleshy. The flowers are naked and consist
of two practically sessile anthers, each with its two large sacs or
thecae separate and arranged transversely on the rhachis, making
a diamond-shaped arrangement, in the center of which is a group
of pistils, always four in number in the specimens I have examined
(Pl. IX, fig. 49).1. After the shedding of the pollen, the pistils if
fertilized develop a stipe or pedicel of considerable length (Pl. IV,
fig. 13). The peduncle, or floral axis, however, elongates whether
fertilization is consummated or not. After fertilization the fruit is
drawn below the surface of the water, the elongated peduncle
usually coiling up to aid in this process (see p. 85).

In company with most of the submerged plants, Ruppia is per-
ennial. The majority of the leaves and stems die at the approach
of cold weather, leaving the living rootstock buried in the mud.
Some green leaves, however, remain, connected with the rootstock,
and lie at the bottom of the ditch or pool, so that it is possible to
collect all of the vegetative organs all winter.

One locality, indeed, is worthy of note, where Ruppia maritima
flourishes all winter. Here, possibly on account of springs, the
water is tempered somewhat, and I have gathered Ruppia in a
green, vigorous condition, when the surface of the ditch was covered
with ice over an inch in thickness. Although there are doubtless
springs here, the water nevertheless contains a large percentage of
salt. It is quite possible that there are many other similar locations
where Ruppia grows all through the winter.

In no case, however, have I found the bulbous winter buds,
which have been noted in the Potamogetons by Irmisch (1858).

As indicated by Britton and Brown (1896 vol. I, p. 79), considerable
variation exists in Ruppia maritima. Thus, one form which I have
noticed especially, is of a more slender habit, with narrower leaves
and stems than those of the ordinary individual. Its branching is
ultimately quite irregular, although the system accords with that
of the normal form. This form grows in quiet pools.

There is, moreover, still considerable uncertainty as to the number
of existing species of Ruppia (Ascherson, 1889; Sauvageau, 1891, II,
p. 209; Roze, 1894, p. 479). The question is such a large one that
it cannot be discussed here, and would require, besides, a careful
study of herbarium material from different parts of the world.
I will only state that as far as I can learn from a study of systematic

1 But see Roze, 1894, p. 479.

68 A. H. Graves, The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima.

descriptions and figures (Griffith, 1851, I-IL; Irmisch, 1858; Hille-
brand, 1888; Ascherson, 1889; Sauvageau, 1891, Il; Hooker, 1894;
Roze, 1894; Britton, 1907), four species may be safely recognized ;
namely, R. maritima L., R. rostellata Koch, R. brachypus Gay, and
R. occidentalis Wats.

All of the material for the present work was collected in tidal
ditches in Fort Hale Park, near New Haven, Conn. Here it grows
in abundance, forming large tufts with its grass-like leaves, which
follow easily the direction of the current. At extreme low tide a
large portion of the plant floats, but at high tide it is completely
submerged. The period of flowering commences in June and con-
tinues until the severe frosts in autumn, up to which time, even in
October, I have gathered flowers in good condition.

The material was killed either in chromacetic acid, Flemming’s
solution, or Keyser’s fluid. The first seemed the best, although the
others gave good results. Several stains were used: for general
work haematoxylin and erythrosin; for cytological study in the
development of the male and female gametophytes, &c., and the
embryo, the triple stain was used with excellent results. For the
latter investigations Heidenhain’s iron haematoxylin was also found
to be good. In all, about 20,000 microtome sections were cut of
the different parts of the plant. For all of the microtechnique
Chamberlain’s “Methods in Plant Histology” was found invaluable,
and in all preparations the directions given therein were closely
followed.

I would like to avail myself of this opportunity to express my
gratitude to Professor Alexander W. Evans, Eaton Professor ot
Botany in Yale University, for the great interest he has taken in
the work and for the invaluable criticism and suggestions which
he has been ever ready to give. I desire also to thank Professor
W. R. Coe, Professor J. W. Toumey, and Dr. A. L. Dean, of Yale
University, for their kindness in offering suggestions, material, &c.

THE MORPHOLOGY OF THE VEGETATIVE ORGANS
STEM
A. General Characters

Under the heading of “Stem” may be classed several parts of
the plant, all of which are cauline in their morphology and origin,
but differ to some extent in their functions and relations to the
other parts of the plant. The horizontal axis, which les prostrate
on the soil, bearing the roots and upright shoots, may be termed
the rootstock ;' the axis of the upright shoot may for convenience
be designated the stem; the parts which bear the flowers and fruit
we may speak of respectively as peduncle, rhachis, and stipe.

In general, all these parts are slender, terete, and of a whitish
color, although the stem at times assumes a greenish tinge due to
a small content of chlorophyll.

I shall consider first the branching and anatomy of the stem and
rootstock; next, the development of the stem structures which are
connected with the production of flowers and fruit, comparing
their anatomy with that of the first two structures.

B. Branching

1. Branching in Ruppia maritima.

Two principal systems of branching occur in Ruppia: one in stem
and rootstock and connected with the ordinary growth, which we
may call the vegetative branch system; and the other in the stem
only, and associated with the production of flowers, which we
may therefore designate the inflorescent branch system.

a. Vegetative Branch System.

The vegetative branch system is a distichous monopodium, the
branches being borne alternately on opposite sides of the axis and
in the same plane. In the rootstock, indeed, except near its grow-
ing point, this initial arrangement is generally later much obscured,
due to the upward growth of many of the lateral branches (PI. VI,

1 As will readily be seen—a point which will be brought out more
clearly later (p. 82)—the rootstock does not differ from the stem from
a morphological point of view, either externally or internally; for any
stem, by becoming horizontal and producing roots at the nodes, assumes
the character of what I have termed the rootstock.

70 A. H. Graves,

fig. 36). In the case of the stem, however, the natural arrangement
often remains apparent (Pl. I, fig. 2; Pl. Il, fig. 6).

On account of this distichous system, it is possible to cut a
longitudinal section through all of the branches and the stem at
the same time, especially if the region of the growing point is
selected, as is represented in Pl. I, fig. 1 (cf. Pl. VI, fig. 25).

A study of this figure of a vigorously developing stem apex will
show clearly the order of development and the orientation of the
branches. Since the origin of the branches is inseparably connected
with the leaf development, it will be necessary to include in a
description of the figure some reference to leaf development.

The apical growing point G P has given off in alternate succession
the primary leaves L4, LY LU LIV, &c. A secondary growing
point arises in the axil of each of these leaves, which develops
leaves in the same manner. The first leaf, however, is a scale leaf,
which will be discussed at length later. (See p. 99.)

Since L4 LY, LI, LIV, &c. are developed in acropetal suc-
cession and hence show equal gradations in age, a study of their
successive axillary structures presents a clear idea of the manner
of development of the branch. The youngest leaves, LV’ and
£ VU are hardly more than protuberances from opposite sides of
the growing point, and as yet reveal no structures in their axils.
At LY! we first see a small axillary growing point—the beginning
of a branch. In the axil of ZL” the rudimentary scale leaf, vs/,
appears on the left of the growing point gf(”). At the base of
L1V we find the scale leaf (vs/) in its normal position, and also
on the left of the growing point point the first vegetative leaf of
the branch, 4). The axils of L“7 and L/” show successively
advanced stages until in L/ appear four leaves of the branch besides
the scale leaf;—4,), 4(7), 4,4) and 7,4). Moreover in the axils
of 4) and 4) appear young growing points to form branches of
a second order.

Such a growing point under ordinary conditions will develop in
a regular way for some time, the leaves and axillary shoots appear-
ing in acropetal succession and the nodes of increasing length
basipetally, according to their age. This stage is represented in
Pl. I, fig. 2, a sketch from a living specimen.

t\

Sooner or later, however, in the course of the development of —

the system, its regularity becomes more and more modified to suit —

environmental relations, a condition which is of course true of any

branch system. PI. II, fig. 6 is a drawing from nature of the upper

portion of a plant whose vegetative branch system has undergone

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 74

considerable modification in this way. The period of blooming is
at hand, and although no flowers have yet appeared, we find flower
buds at the ends of the lateral branches as well as at the termination
of the main shoot itself.

Some of the modifications here exhibited are the varying orien-
tation of nodes and internodes—an arrangement evidently brought
about to obtain the most advantageous light, space, &c.;—the
irregularity in length of internodes, those at the base of the plant
being not necessarily the longest; and the number of leaves borne
on the branches previous to the development of flowers, for since
the latter must bloom above the surface of the water, the lowest
branches must necessarily be longer and hence bear more leaves.

In its development of flower buds, the case is a good illustration
of the manner of change from the vegetative branching to the in-
florescent type, as described below.

b. Inflorescent Branch System.

Irmisch (1851) has
accurately described
the inflorescent type
of branching in R.
rostellata, but for the
sake of completeness
and confirmation in
R. maritima, 1 will
review the more im-
portant points.

When the upright
or upward growing
branches arrive at or
near the surface of
the water, their api-
ces terminate in in-
florescences,asshown
diagrammatically in
Text-fig. 1, consisting
of a slender peduncle Figure 1.—Diagrammatic representation of inflor-

: escent branch system; @ and 4, stronger and
and a rhachis homol- weaker shoots respectively ; 7, ZZ, and Z/7, suc-

ogous toa spadix, the cessive generations of sympodial development ;
ft, flower.

latter bearing always
two flowers. From now on the inflorescent type of branching prevails.
For from the axil of each of the two nearly opposite leaves sub-
tending the peduncle (see p. 97 ff.) arises a secondary branch (Text-

72 A. H. Graves,

fig. 1, a and 6), which continues the growth of the stem. Of these
branches, that in the axil of the upper leaf (Text-fig. 1, a) is nvariably
of stronger growth, exceeding considerably the branch on the other
side of the floral axis. These axillary branches, after forming a few
leaves, terminate in flowers again, and the process of branch form-
ation is repeated. In this way, since the main axis is continued
by the stronger branch, the system in the region of the flowers is
sympodial. In most instances, however, the weaker axillary branch
has a fairly vigorous development, as in Text-fig. 1, in which case
the branching approximates a false dichotomy, and a characteristic
fan-like form is thus often produced.

In Text-fig. 1 the branch a develops two ordinary leaves before
it terminates in a flower. This brings the upper of the pair of sub-
floral leaves at the right side instead of the left, as at I. Such
an arrangement as this is not as common as is the continual pro-
duction of the stronger branches on the same side of the stem,
but in this way also the fan-like form may be attained.

2. Comparative Study of the Branching of the Potamogetonaceae.

In Zannichellia, Campbell (1897, pp. 38 ff.) finds that the apex of
the stem divides into two equal parts, one of which develops into
the female inflorescence, while the other continues as the main

axis of the stem. Farther on he says “the inflorescence is the

result of the dichotomy of the main shoot, whose other member
continues the growth of the axis.” So that, although a sympodium
is the ultimate result, it is attained by a dichotomy of the growing
point, one of the branches becoming a male or female flower.
Schumann’s (1892) interpretation had been somewhat different from
this, maintaining that the female inflorescence terminated the main
axis and that the growth of the shoot was continued by an axillary
branch arising in the upper of the two subtending leaves. The
position of these leaves much resembles that of the subfloral leaves
of Ruppia, so that if Schumann’s idea were correct, the inflorescent
branch system of Zannichellia would be a sympodium similar in
origin and development to that of Ruppia.

Campbell’s figures, however, show a vigorous, simultaneous de-
velopment of the primordia of both flower and main axis, which
lend to his theory a great deal of weight. In Ruppia the primordium
of the axillary shoot arises much later than that of the flower, so
that such a dichotomy as Campbell claims is here impossible.
(See Pl. 1X, figs. 54—56.)

‘Se

a

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 73

Irmisch (1858) investigated the vegetative branching of Zannichellia
and found it to be a pure sympodium as regards its horizontal axis.
This develops beyond its second leaf into an upright shoot, which
ultimately bears the flowers; at its base, however, from the axil of
the second leaf, arises a branch which prolongs the horizontal axis.
This again, after two leaves are given off, develops into an upright
shoot and the horizontal axis is again repeated from a branch in
the axil of the second leaf. This process goes on indefinitely, so
that the horizontal axis is therefore merely a succession of generations
of axillary branches and hence a pure sympodium.

The branching of Naias is peculiar, according to Campbell’s (1897)
interpretation. The leaves are developed approximately in pairs—
one slightly below the other and larger. From the axil of this
lower one a primordium arises which by dichotomy produces a
flower and a lateral branch. The branch bears at its base a single
leaf. The upper leaf of the original pair is sterile, so that the stem
of Naias has its leaves apparently in whorls of three, with a branch
and flower arising from each whorl. Apparently the apex of the
main stem never terminates its growth, but goes on producing its
pairs of leaves—one sterile and one fertile—so that the system is
very unlike that of Ruppia.

Cymodocea, an entirely submerged marine genus, distinguished
by its long ribbon-like leaves, very simple flowers and filamentous
pollen, is placed by Ascherson (1889) next in order to Ruppia.
In Cymodocea nodosa, Bornet (1864, pp. 15 ff.) describes types of
branching which conform to those of Ruppia. The vegetative
branching is monopodial, and a longitudinal section of the bud
(Il. c. Pl. IV, fig. 1) resembles very closely that of Ruppia. The
flowers are terminal and the growth in length is continued by a
lateral bud. It appears, however, that this bud is not necessarily
one of the two buds nearest the flower.

In Zostera the rootstock is also monopodial, the inflorescent
system being sympodial (Sauvageau, 1894, I).

Phyllospadix closely resembles Zostera (Dudley, 1893).

In Althenia (Prillieux, 1864), on the other hand, a genus resem-
bling Zannichellia and found in Europe, Africa and Australia, the
vegetative branching is sympodial, much as in Zannichellia. The
growth of the rootstock is continued by successive branches from
the horizontal axis which in each case itself becomes vertical and
bears the flowers. The flowers are unisexual—the male terminating
the upright axis or stem. In the axils of the two leaves subtending
the male flower arise secondary branches, which bear male or

74 A. H. Graves,

female flowers, but more often the latter. From these, branches
of the third order arise, and in this manner a complex sympodial
development is the rule.

Irmisch (1858) found that the vegetative branching of Potamogeton
lucens, natans, crispus, obtusifolius, and pectinatus was purely sym-
podial as to the rootstock, just as it is in Zannichellia and
Althenia. It is very probable that the other Potamogetons have
the same system. As to the floral system the branching is sym-
podial.

Summary. The branching of Ruppia is of two main types:—a
sympodial system occurring in the region of the flowers, and a
monopodial system present in all other parts of the plant.

Zannichellia, Althenia, and Potamogeton have, however, a sym-
podial system in the case of the rootstock, but a purely monopodial
development like that of Ruppia occurs in Cymodocea, Phyllospadix,
and Zostera. With the exception of Zannichellia, where Campbell
finds a true dichotomy, all these genera have a similar inflorescent
branch system—a single or double sympodium formed from branches
in the axils of the two characteristic subfloral leaves, or at any rate
from a lateral bud as in Cymodocea.

C. Anatomical Structure
1. Growing Point.

In a good median section the growing point of the stem reveals
the three divisions of primary tissue more or less clearly marked:
the whole is covered by a layer of dermatogen; beneath this lies
the periblem, composed of usually one layer and surrounding the
three or four layers of plerome cells.

Text-fig. 2, besides demonstrating these meristematic divisions,
shows an interesting very early stage in the development of the
youngest leaf. Here the periblem on the right has undergone
several divisions preparatory to the formation of the youngest leaf
primordium, which is destined to appear at this region, opposite
the next youngest leaf, Z 1.

On the whole, the arrangement of cells and young lateral or-
gans is very similar to that figured by Douliot (1890) for Cym-
odocea aequorea.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 75

2. Stem Structures in the Vegetative Region.

a. Upright Stem.

In its internal structure the stem is remarkable in many respects,
-but chiefly because of the reduction and consolidation of the vas-
cular system into what may be termed a single axial vascular bundle,
if we except the two minute bundles situated in the cortex. The
morphogenesis of this reduced structure, as well as the structure
of the whole stem as regards its ad-
aptability to its environment, will be
considered more in detail later.

The epidermis surrounds a large
zone of cortical parenchyma cells
with a ring of lacunae in their midst;
these cortical cells adjoin an endo-
dermis, which encloses the axial
vascular area (P1.I, figs.4—5; Pl. I,
figs. 7, 8 and 9). The four parts
—epidermis, cortex, endodermis and
vascular system will now be de-
scribed in order.

(1) Epidermis.

The epidermal cells are small in Figure 2.—Longitudinal section
comparison with the cortical par- through growing point of stem,
enchyma cells and much smaller showing origin of youngest leaf

: primordium in the periblem; @,
than the epidermal cells of the root Qermatogen ; 3, periblem; //, ple-
(Pl. 1, fig. 5). Their walls are thin, rome; ZI, ZU, older leaves.
and yet thicker than the walls of —
the interior cells, the free wall being slightly thicker than the others.
Occasionally these cells contain a small amount of chlorophyll.

As might be expected from a comparison with other submerged
plants already investigated (Schenck, 1886), no stomata occur through-
out the plant.

In the epidermis, rather regularly distributed over the stem, but
specially abundant in the region of the nodes, are secretion cells,
which are, however, more numerous in the leaf, and will be de-
“scribed more in detail there (see p. 90). These cells occur scattered

here and there also in the cortex, and some may be seen in the

axial vascular bundle.

(2) Cortex.

The typical cortical parenchyma cells are large in comparison with

the cells of the epidermis, endodermis and vascular tissue; they are

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 6 DecemBer, 1908.

76 A. H. Graves,

rounded so that intercellular spaces often occur, and elongated in the
direction of the length of the stem (PI.I, fig. 5; Pl. Ill, fig. 7 ; Text-fig. 3).
The majority of the cortical parenchyma cells show in an oblique
view parallel horizontal stripes or bands on their side walls. A lon-
gitudinal section proves that this appearance is due not to bands of
thickening, but to slight undulations (Text-fig. 3). These are not
necessarily regular in size or distance

| apart; they may or may not occur all

| through the cell, and certain cells are
apparently entirely without them. . Their
function is not clear. Similar undulations

were observed by Caspary (1858) in sev-

eral aquatic plants, notably in Zannichellia

palustris. Prillieux (1864) has also noted
them in the stem of Althenia filiformis —

Figure 3.—Longitudinal and in the roots of epiphytic orchids.

section of a portion of Another point of general interest in the -
cortical parenchyma cells, stem cortex is the occurrence of starch
showing undulations in i 2
the side walls. >< 210. grains. These, as shown in PI. I, fig. 5,

are quite numerous. Their size evidently
increases in the vicinity of the axial and cortical bundles and veal
where at the nodes. Irmisch (1858, p. 35) has found starch abundant
in the Potamogetons and has described its occurrence and appear-
ance in considerable detail.

In the cortex appear also the secretion cells noted in the epi-
dermis, that is, they are apparently of the same nature, behaving
in general in a similar way. They do not contain starch, as do
most of the cortical cells, but are filled with fine granular contents
and are especially abundant at the nodes. Bornet (1864, pp. 40-41)
has noted cells evidently quite similar in the cortex and vascular
tissue of Cymodocea, filled with a “liquide oleagineux, un peu teinte
de jaune, tout-a-fait semblable a celui que renferment les cellules
epidermiques des antheres.”

In describing the cortex we may for convenience divide it into
three portions: (a) an outer zone of cells, compactly arranged and
bounded on the outside by the epidermis; (b) a central area, with
a large portion of its territory occupied by a ring of lacunae or
air spaces; and (c) an interior zone of cells limited on the inne
side by the endodermis (Pl. [, fig. 5).

(a) Outer cortex. <

The outer portion of the cortex consists of two or three layer.
of cells (Pl. I, fig. 5 oc; Pl. I, fig. 7). The cells of the outermo

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. iu

layer are much larger than those of the epidermis, but partake
somewhat of the nature of the latter in their slightly thickened walls.
Toward the outer part of this cortical region intercellular spaces
rarely occur: instead the triangular prismatic areas which the spaces
would occupy are filled with thickening and probably supplement
the firmness imparted to the stem by the epidermis.

It is in this outer portion of the cortex that two small vascular
bundles occur, which may be termed cortical bundles (PI. I, figs. 4,
5, cb). An account of these will be given in connection with the
vascular system.

Toward the interior of this zone the cells increase in size, and
intercellular spaces begin to appear.

(b) Middle cortex.

The most striking feature of the middle area of the cortex is the
ring of large air spaces or lacunae (PI. I, figs. 4, 5, mc and /a; PI. Ill,
fig. 7). These originate schizogenously by a splitting apart of the
walls of adjacent cells when these are in a very young stage, and
subsequently they become much enlarged. A ring of from twelve
to eighteen is disposed in a fairly symmetrical way in this central
part of the cortex. As a rule somewhat elongated radially, they
are separated from each other laterally by a single column of cells.
In length up and down the stem they extend from node to node,
no diaphragms being stretched across as in the leaf lacunae. Com-
munication through the node is maintained by means of small inter-
cellular spaces.

Between the lacunae and the small intercellular spaces occurring
near the inner and outer limits of the cortex lie many air spaces of
intermediate size, so that although the large lacunae appear quite
distinct on account of their large size and fairly regular arrangement,
yet gradations exist between them and the small triangular inter-
cellular spaces (PI. I, fig. 5).

(c) Inner cortex.

The interior zone of the cortex, terminating with the endodermis
(Pl. I, fig. 5, evd), is a good deal similar to the outer zone. The
cells and intercellular spaces gradually decrease in size, and the
latter also in frequency, toward the endodermis, while the cell walls
gradually increase in thickness.

A striking peculiarity of the cells of this inner cortical zone is
their chlorophyll content, which is very noticeable in freehand
sections from fresh stems. It was definitely ascertained that the
chlorophyll grains belong to these cells and were not drawn inward
from the epidermis by the razor.

78 A. H. Graves,

(3) Endodermis.

The endodermis is a fairly regular layer of cells surrounding the cen-
tral vascular region (PI.I, fig. 3). On the application of concentrated
sulphuric acid all the walls of the endodermal cells become beauti-
fully undulated, the radial walls showing a stronger suberization. In —
many cases the ring of cells outside of the endodermis is also quite
strongly suberized and therefore withstands to a considerable extent
the action of the sulphuric acid
(Text-fig. 4). No U-shaped stripes
of thickening appear on the walls,
such as were seen by Schenck
(1886) in Potamogeton pectinatus
and other species. Although a
Figure 4.—Cross section of portion banded appearance is produced in

of endodermis and next outer ring : 2 : a
of cells treated with concentrated ‘6 sees pange iO ie ioe 8!
sulphuric acid, showing slightly tudinal section shows that it is

thickened radial walls. >< 400: due merely to the slightly undu-

lating walls, essentially as has

been shown in the cortical cells. The radial walls, however, are
slightly thickened uniformly.

(4) Vascular System.

One of the most interesting features of the stem is its remarkably
simple vascular system. This comprises two small cortical bundles
and a larger central bundle (PI. I, fig. 4; Pl. Ill, fig. 7). I shall
describe first the course of these bundles, and then turn to a de-
scription of their anatomical structure.

(a) Course of Vascular Bundles.

The course taken by the vascular bundles in the stem is very
simple. The main central bundle travels in the center of the stem,
and at each node sends off two branches in the manner figured
(Pl. V, fig. 17)—a large branch to the lateral member which almost
invariably occurs at each node, and a smaller contribution to its
subtending leaf. This is repeated at each succeeding node until the
floral region is reached. Here the main bundle continues to its
termination in the rhachis, but gives off on each side a couple o
branches to the lower and upper subfloral leaves with their axillary
members in turn. This is simply a repetition of the process occ
at then odes, except that here, between the lower and upper subflor
leaves, the node is practically obliterated (Pl. V, fig. 18). Thi
arrangement, at least in the vegetative*region, is much like that
Potamogeton pectinatus, described and figured by De Bary (1884
p. 273).

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 79

The course taken by the cortical bundles, although simple, is not
quite as evident. The cortical bundles are entirely independent of
the central bundle, never connecting with it, so far as I have been
able to ascertain. Their position can be best shown by the use of
figures selected from a series of cross sections. A cross section in
the region of a node, just below the point where the leaf is given
off, is represented in Pl. V, fig. 19. Here the cortical bundles are
situated in the outer cortex, not quite diametrically opposite each
other. This figure also shows the axial bundle somewhat dilated
radially. Pl. V, fig. 20 shows the edges of the leaf sheaths appearing
at the cleft at the upper side of the figure. The cortical bundles
occupy about the same position as before, but the axial bundle is
commencing to give off its two branches—to the leaf and axillary
branch. In Pl. V, fig. 21 the leaf sheaths are still more separated
from the stem; the two large leaf and branch bundles are now dis-
tinct from the axial stem bundle; the cortical bundles have moved
outward slightly, and a new cortical bundle appears nearer the
central bundle. Since the section is cut slightly obliquely, and the
right side represents a portion higher up in the stem, only one of
the pair of new cortical bundles thus appears. PI. V, fig. 22 shows
both, however, and also represents the former pair of cortical bundles
as moving gradually into the still further separated leaf. Pl. V,
fig. 23 shows, the leaf with its lateral (cortical) bundles, separate
from the stem, and fig. 24 does the same for the branch which
it subtends.

It is clear, therefore, that the cortical bundles of the stem furnish
the lateral nerves of the leaf. It will be seen also that not only
do the cortical bundles have no connection with the axial bundle,
but also that a new pair arises at each node to pass into the leaf
at the node next higher up. After a careful examination, I find
absolutely no connection between these successive pairs of cortical
bundles.

Although the figures and description of De Bary (1884, p. 274)
for Potamogeton crispus seemed to present an arrangement similar
to the above, the work of Chrysler (1907), which appeared while
this paper was being prepared for publication, corrects De Bary’s
account but confirms my investigation of Ruppia maritima. Chrysler’s
conclusion (1. c. p. 171) is undoubtedly correct that “ this condition
has in all probability been derived by reduction from that in which
the cortical bundles joined the central cylinder at the next node
below the insertion of the leaf to which they belong.”

The cortical bundles of Zostera marina (De Bary, 1884, p. 275;

80 A. H. Graves,

Sauvageau, 1891 1; Chrysler, 1907) are similar to those of Ruppia,
but are continuous up and down the cortex and send a branch to
the central cylinder at the nodes.

(b) Structure of Vascular Bundles.

Anatomically the cortical bundles in a young stage consist of small,
closely packed cells, which are all tracheids or tracheae (Pl. IIL
fig. 8). No sieve tubes can be distinguished (Text-fig. 5). Ata
later stage (Pl. I, fig. 5; Text-fig. 6) these small elements have for the

Figure 5.—Cross section of cortical Figure 6.—Cross section of cortical
bundle, before dissolution of its bundle, after dissolution of its vas-
vascular elements. > 210. cular elements. >< 300.

most part been resorbed, so that only a passageway remains, except
at the nodes, where they remain intact.

In structure, the central cylinder is composed of a central xylem

region surrounded by a zone of phloem. The xylem is in-a young

stage represented by

a SET a group of tracheae

at the center, which,

however, very early —

in the development

of the stem, become

pulled apart and dis-

organized except at

the nodes, wherethey ~

es are conspicuous in

aR Z iS) a" the mature stage. The

= resulting space, then,

Figure 7.—Tracheae and tracheids from axial vas- _ is a lysigenous cavity, —
cular bundle of stem: a. tracheid with annular afl
thickenings ; b. tracheid with annular, spiral, anddoesnotreprea™
and pitted thickenings; c. disorganized trachea an enlarged cell (P Le
with thickenings lying in the cavity. >< 1350. fig.3). The thicken-

ings of the tracheae
are mostly annular, although spiral and other forms may occur
(Text-fig. 7). Occasionally these thickenings may be found lying loose

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 81

in the central lysigenous opening. In sections of the stem it ap-
peared as if tracheids were also present, especially at and near the
nodes, possessing the same characters as to their thickenings as
the tracheae, but showing cross walls (Text-fig. 7a, )).

Surrounding the central cavity are thin-walled xylem parenchyma
(Pl. I, fig. 3). Just outside of these lies the phloem region, the
boundary between the two being impossible to determine on account
of the apparently identical characters of the xylem and phloem
parenchyma.

In the phloem zone are distributed the sieve tubes, with their
companion cells, in an irregular ring in much the same way as in
Zannichellia (Schenck, 1886). As a rule, the sieve tubes are larger
than the surrounding cells, and on this account and because of
their arrangement in a ring, each with its companion cell, they
stand out quite clearly even in
freehand sections. Between them
and the endodermis lie one or
occasionally two layers of par-
enchyma cells (Pl. I, fig. 3).

One noteworthy feature of the
phloem region is that in the vic-
inity of the node, i. e. immediately
before and after the branches are
given off from the central cylinder,
it is localized into four distinct
symmetrically situated portions
(Text-fig. 8), although this is never
evident in the internodal region.
Such an arrangement would be
expected when one considers the
true nature of this fibrovascular
area, as described below, and
compares it with certain Pota- Figure8.—Photomicrograph of cross
mogetons which reveal this char- section of stem, &c., similar to P11,
ee distinctly (Schenck fig. 8, but cut at a higher plane and

J > near anode; showing localization of
1886. pp. 40-41 and figures 35, phloem into four regions in central
36 and 38), and with Zostera marina cylinder of stem. > 35.
_(Chrysler, 1907, p.172 and fig. 29).

In his work already cited, Schenck (1886, pp. 27 ff.) reviews in
a most admirable manner the various interpretations of the concen-
tric type of bundle as it exists in water plants. He concludes with
Sanio and Russow that it represents phylogenetically not a singl,

—_——

82 A. H. Graves,

bundle, but the product of the gradual centripetal union of many
stem bundles, and is therefore not comparable to the concentric
bundle of the majority of the Gleicheniaceae, for example. This
is true both of mono- and dicotyledonous water plants.

In support of this theory Schenck shows how there exists at the
present time in different aquatic and amphibious species, every
gradation from the typical bundle arrangement common to land
plants to the simplest structure as exemplified in the submerged ~
aquatics. He says, “Im Laufe der phylogenetischen Entwicklung —
riickten infolee immer weiter gehender Anpassung der Structur an
die Lebensweise der Pflanze unter Wasser diese Leitbiindel bei |
eleichzeitiger Reduction des Xylems nach der Axe zusammen zu —
einem gemeinsamen Strang, in welchem die Xylemteile nach und '
nach zu einem einzigen axilen Kérper verschmolzen, wahrend die
Phloemteile, ihre normale Lage nach aufsen beibehaltend, zu einer |
Ringzone sich vereinigten.”

According to this interpretation therefore, Ruppia is descended
from a form with four distinct main vascular bundles, traces of which
are still apparent in the four phloem regions at the nodes; for
here, as is generally admitted, ancestral characters are wont to
appear.

Summary. The stem is composed of a thin walled epidermis;
a loosely constructed cortex, containing as its principal feature a ring
of radially arranged lacunae, and also two small bundles ending in
the cortex—fibrovascular connections with the leaf sheaths; and
a well defined endodermis, surrounding a very simple axial vascular
region of a concentric structure, the appearance of which at the
nodes indicates its reduction from four vascular bundles.

b. Rootstock.

The branching of the rootstock, or horizontal axis, as already
stated, conforms strictly to the monopodial type, although torsion
and the decay of the leaves often renders this obscure.

In its internal structure, as would be expected, it agrees with
the stem (PI. III, fig. 9). No points of difference were noted, except
that sometimes the cells are somewhat larger than is customary in
the upright axis, and often contain a large amount of starch.

The main differences between this and its morphological equivalent,
the upright axis, are its horizontal position and the occurrence of
roots at the nodes j

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 83

3. Stem Structures in the Floral Region.

Three forms coming under the category of stem are found in
connection with the production of flowers and fruit: (a) the peduncle,
or the stalk of the inflorescence, (using this term in its narrower
sense); (b) the rhachis or axis of the inflorescence, which is joined
to the apex of the peduncle and bears the sessile flowers; (c) the
stipe, a stalk which acquires its full development subsequent to the
fertilization of the ovule and bears the mature fruit at some dis-
tance from the rhachis.

These three parts will be considered in order.

a. Peduncle.

(1) General Characters.

At the time of blooming the peduncle is short, about 2.5 cm., in
length, and is raised nearly its whole length vertically above the
surface of the water. About the time that the pollen is shed
and the anthers fall off, the peduncle becomes horizontal, floating
on the surface of the water. From now on it commences to
elongate, presumably by simple stretching of its cells, as no merist-
ematic regions were found to prove the contrary. It elongates
until in some cases it attains great length. One specimen I measured
was 18.2 cm. long. Elongation takes place whether fruit is matured
or not, and the length is apparently just as great in either case. Indeed,
the specimen just men-
tioned bore no fruit. The
average length of the
peduncle when no fruit
was matured was 5.39
cm. The average length
in 80 specimens when
ovules were matured x.
was 4.9 cm. On the
whole, therefore, the
average length of the ex-
tended peduncle is about
5 cm. or about twice that
at the time of flowering.

(2) Anatomical struc-

Figure 9.—Cross section of peduncle, showing
at x the apparently double epidermal cells;
ture. ep, epidermis; /a, lacunae; c, cortex; axd, axial

Ingeneral, the anatom- bundle. >< 185.
ical structure of the ped-
uncle is very similar to that of the leafy stem (Text-fig. 9; Pl. VI,
fig. 34). The following points, however, are noteworthy :—

B4-—. A. H. Graves,

1. As would be expected, no cortical leaf trace bundles are
present.

2. The central vascular area is very similar to that of the stem.
The tracheae in the center are pretty well disorganized, which is
natural when one calls to mind the considerable extension of the
peduncle.

3. The lacunae are more numerous and much larger in proportion
to the diameter of the peduncle than in the stem (Text-fig. 9; Pl. VI,
fig. 34).

4. In comparison with the stem the epidermis has slightly thicker
walls, and small intercellular spaces may occur between it and the
subjacent layer, an appearance which one never sees in cross sections
of the stem (Text-fig. 10).

5. Occasionally some of the epidermal cells have a peculiar
halved appearance, as if a periclinal wall divided an ordinary ep-
idermal cell into two parts. This is due probably not to a division
in the epidermal cell, but to the fact that a smal] subepidermal cell
is wedged up close to a small epidermal cell (Text-fig. 10).

Figure 10.—Portion of cross section of peduncle ; x, apparent-
ly double epidermal cells ; /a, lacunae’; 7, intercellular spaces.
>< 800.

On the whole, the main differences between this structure and
that of the ordinary stem are its lack of cortical bundles and its
lighter construction. The latter is explained when one recalls the
fact that the peduncle for a great period of its existence floats, —
and hence its specific gravity must be small.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 85

(3) Coiling of the peduncle.

Sooner or later the peduncle becomes spirally coiled, drawing
the fruit, if any is matured, below the surface of the water. Some
individuals exhibit this characteristic more markedly than others.
Often, in fact, the peduncle is fairly straight. In case the coiling
takes place, jt is due to the cells on that side of the peduncle which
will form the outer side of the spiral becoming longer than those
on the inner side. This difference in length was ascertained in
several specimens by actual measurement of the cells. Such cur-
vatures as this occurring in plants are most often, as Strasburger
(1908, p. 269) has explained, due in like manner to unequal growth.

b) Rhachis.

Here the internal structure is practically the same as in the ped-
uncle. No appreciable elongation takes place as in the peduncle,
and, therefore, the tracheae are not disorganized to such an extent.
At the point of attachment of the stamens the rhachis is practically
triangular in outline (Pl. II, fig. 14). The single axial vascular
bundle sends a branch to each stamen and to each of the four
pistils of a flower (Pl. Ill, fig. 12). This axial vascular region
terminates with the branch sent to the uppermost stamen (PI. III,
fig. 12), the most distal member of the inflorescence, and does not
therefore have a blind ending at the end of the rhachis.

The termination of the rhachis is simply a rounded knob (PI. III,
fig. 12).

All through the rhachis, in the interior as well as in the epidermal
tissue, the “secretion” cells are abundant.

c) Stipe.

Although the pistils are termed sessile, and correctly so from a
macroscopic standpoint, early in their development, before fertilization
(Pl. Ill, fig. 12), considerable tissue is formed between the ovule
and the rhachis by a region which remains meristematic for some
time. At length the cell division ceases, and the cells stretch out,
forming a stalk of considerable length, having at its end the mature
fruit (Pl. IV, fig. 13). This stipal development is correlative; when
no fruit is developed, the stipe is also wanting.

Pl. IV, fig. 14, which shows the secretion cells in the epidermis
' of the stipe, represents a stage when the cells are still quite young
and short.

In its internal structure the stipe reveals no marked differences
from the stem (Pl. IV, fig. 15). As in the peduncle, the cortical
bundles are lacking. The lacunae are less pronounced than in the
peduncle. The apparently halved epidermal cells occasionally appear,

86 A. H. Graves,

and in places the subepidermal layer is thick-walled and constructed
much like the epidermis (PI. IV, fig. 16). Asa whole, the structure
shows greater strength than the peduncle.

4. Brief Comparative Study of the Stem Anatomy of the Potamo-
getonaceae. .

Zannichellia (Campbell, 1897) and Althenia (Prillieux, 1864) perhaps
most closely resemble Ruppia in their cauline structure, although
they possess no cortical bundless. Potamogeton pectinatus (Schenck,
1886) also, which externally resembles Ruppia so closely, internally
reveals a very similar stem anatomy. Moreover, the Potamogetons
possess cortical bundles lacking in Zannichellia and Althenia. —
Cymodocea (Bornet, 1864), appears to differ mainly in having a —
thicker stem and a ring of small cortical bundles with lacunae _
between these and the axial vascular area. |

In its vascular system Zostera (Sauvageau, 1891. I.) shows close
relationship to Ruppia. Z. capricorni and Z. nana have one cortical .
bundle on opposite sides of the stem, as in Ruppia (Sauvageau,
1891). Zostera marina (Chrysler, 1907. p. 172, fig. 29) is also
similar. In other species these bundles are more numerous. The
bundles run free the whole length of the internode, unite with the
central area at the node and send out branches which become the
lateral nerves of the leaves. The central vascular area appears
composed of four fibrovascular strands, the phloem parts isolated
and separated, and the xylem bundles united into an axial strand.

LEAF
A. Enumeration of Kinds of Leaves

Of Strasburger’s (1908, p. 26) four categories of leaves, three
occur in Ruppia:—the scale leaves, small specialized structures at
the base of every branch (PI. II, fig. 6, vs/; Text-figs. 19-20, vs/,
fs!) ; secondly, the ordinary long, narrow foliage leaves; and finally,
the subfloral leaves, belonging properly to the category of bracts,
a pair of which is borne at the base of the peduncle (Text-figs. 19-20,
up. sfl, low. sfl). Since the flower is naked, there are no floral
leaves.

B. Arrangement

An investigation of the position of the leaves throughout the
plant reveals the following:

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 87

1. The general leaf arrangement is distichous (Pl. I, fig. 2; Pl. II,
fig. 6), as in other members of the Potamogetonaceae so far as
known, with the exception of Potamogeton natans and Potamogeton
lucens, where a several ranked arrangement sometimes occurs
(Irmisch, 1858 and Ascherson, 1889).

2. A single plane, therefore, will intersect all points of leaf in-
sertion on any stem (PI. I, fig. 1; Pl. VI, fig. 285).

3. Moreover, on all branches, this plane of leaf insertion coincides
with that of the main stem, a feature which combines with the
methods of branching to produce the characteristic flat, fan- or sickle-
shaped plants, a condition already noted in the Potamogetonaceae
by Ascherson (1889) (PI. I, fig. 2; Pl. Il, fig. 6).

4. The first, or basal leaf of every branch, which is in all cases
a scale leaf, originates on that portion of the branch opposite to
the subtending leaf—i. e., with its back toward the main axis of
the shoot (PI. Il, fig. 6, vs/). No internode is placed between it
and the subtending leaf, so that it is therefore exactly opposite the
latter.

5. The second leaf of every branch, in all cases a foliage leaf,
is developed on the side of the branch adjacent to the subtending
leaf, and thereafter ordinary foliage leaves of the branch proceed
in regular distichous order (PI. Il, fig. 6, 4,4), 4(), &c.).

In an account of the leaf of Ruppia I shall describe the three
sorts of leaves, beginning with the ordinary foliage leaves, taking
up next the subfloral leaves, and concluding with the scale leaves.

C. Ordinary Foliage Leaves

General Characters. The ordinary foliage leaves are ‘“ribbon-
shaped”; long (7—17 cm.), and very narrow, (about 1 mm.) (PI. I,
fig. 2; Pl. Il, fig. 6). Although to the naked eye the margins appear
entire, the microscope reveals at the apex a large number of one-
to three-celled teeth, and these, with increasing distances between
them, extend a considerable distance down the margins of the leaf
(Pl. VI, fig. 26; Text-fig. 11). Upward from the base of the leaf, on
each side, extending for 13—27 mm. are thin translucent appendages,

1 Goebel (1898, pp. 68—69) says, however, in speaking of the phyllotaxy of
axillary branches in general, that, due to mechanical causes in the bud,
“die bei weitem hiufigste Stellung der beiden ersten Blitter des Axillar-
triebs eine /aterale ist, und erst die folgenden Blitter medzan oder mehr
oder weniger schief gestellt sind.”

88 A. H. Graves,

which I have termed the stipular sheaths (Pl. I, fig. 2; Pl. Il,
fig. 6). In external appearance the leaves very closely resemble
those of Potamogeton filiformis and Potamogeton pectinatus, both
also typical submerged plants (Morong, 1893). The leaves of
Zannichellia and Althenia are also macroscopically very similar:
those of all species of Naias are much shorter with strongly serrate
or toothed margins.1

Development of the Foliage Leaf. Different stages of leaf
development are represented in PI. I, fig. 1; Pl. VI, fig. 25, lon-
gitudinal sections of a vegetative bud, where the youngest leaf
is the protuberance at one side of the growing point (£V//
in Pl. I, fig. 1). The next older leaf primordium, shown on
the right of the growing point (Pl. I, fig. 1, 2/7), has already

l slightly elongated, until now it extends
f beyond the growing point. Successively
older stages are represented by LYJ,

~ ee EV RICE ASG:
3 @ al Pl. VU, fig. 43 represents a transverse
ey @) section through a similar bud cut through

ly about the region of the line ad in Pl. I,

fig. 1. Therefore, we find here the different

iC members in exactly the same orientation
| A as in Pl. I, fig. 1. Thus, the outermost leaf,
= q L!, embraces with its sheaths all the

| } internal complex, just as is shown by L/

S {} with its sheaths in Pl. I, fig. 4. The next

) inner member is 4!4), or the lowest and

UW largest fohage leaf of the axillary bud of

Epa oe 11.—The marginal 77; then a section through the apical
eaf teeth, showing variation ; 3

in cell arrangement. >< 300. Portion of the scale leaf which envelops

this axillary bud; next the leaf sheaths of

the next upper main leaf, LU, appear, which brings us to a cross

section of the central stem: without going into more detail it is

sufficient to note that the remaining parts may be correlated to their

corresponding longitudinal sections in the same way. The line a6

1 All these species belong to Hansgirg’s (1903) * Vallisneria~Typus
der Strémungsblatter,” a physiological group showing little differentiation
into blade and petiole and characterized by the lack of cuticle, hair
structures and stomata, by the absence of any considerable amount of
Supporting tissue, and by the ribbon-like, isolateral form.

.
4
.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 89

in Pl. VII, fig. 43 represents the approximate plane in which a
section similar to that in Pl. I, fig. 1 and Pl. VI, fig. 25 would
be cut.

With the help of these sections and other similar serial preparations,
I have found that the course of development and distribution of
growth in the ordinary foliage leaf is approximately as follows: the
leaf primordium first appears as a mere swelling at one side of the
growing point, Pl. I, fig. 1, 2/7; this protuberance soon differen-
tiates into two parts, an “upper leaf,” elongated in the direction of
the growth of the shoot, and a “leaf base,”—to use the terms of
Eichler, 1865—consisting of lateral protuberances on each side of
the base of the “upper leaf” and extending part way around the
shoot axis (Pl. VII, fig. 39). This arrangement is also shown, though
not very clearly, by Pl. VI, fig. 28. The “upper leaf” will produce
the leaf blade and the “leaf base” the leaf sheaths. The upper
leaf now elongates rapidly, being composed entirely of embryonic
tissue, and the succeeding stages are essentially those described by
Prantl (1883): the cells at the apex are the first to commence
extension to their mature size, and this stretching gradually proceeds
toward the base of the leaf. The final developmental stage is
marked by a considerable growth of the sheaths due to the inter-
calary growth of the leaf, which Goebel (1898, p. 518) states is so
characteristic of monocotyledonous leaves.

A point of interest here is the comparative large size of the sheath
rudiments at the first segmentation of the leaf primordium (PI. VI,
fig. 39), a circumstance which will be discussed below under the
heading of the leaf sheath.

For purposes of further description, it is best to divide the leaf
into two parts,—the blade and the sheaths, assuming the blade to
be that part of the leaf from the sheaths to the apex (PI. I, fig. 2;
Pls I fie. 6).

1. The Leaf Blade.

‘A cross section of a leaf, made above the region of the sheaths,
is represented in Pl. VII, fig. 43, 44). An epidermis of comparat-
ively narrow cells, a subepidermis of wider cells, a single axial vas-
cular bundle with one subsidiary bundle running along each leaf
margin, a lacuna or air space on each side of the axial bundle, and
a few extra interior layers of parenchyma cells toward both edges
of the leaf and surrounding the vascular bundle comprise, in brief,
the internal structure of the leaf blade.

90 A. H. Graves,

a. Epidermis.

(4) Chloroplasts.

An interesting point brought out by a study of the epidermis,
and shown especially well in the living condition, is the fact that
here most of the photosynthesis is carried on, for the cells contain
large numbers of chloroplasts (Text-fig. 12). The discussion of the
causes of this condition, being of an ecological nature, will be post-
poned for the present.

(2) Marginal Teeth.

The teeth, mentioned above, p. 88 (Pl. VI, fig. 26; Text-fig. 11),
have already been observed in the leaves of
Ruppia maritima by Sauvageau (1891, II, p. 209), who
says, “a son sommet |i. e. of the blade] la plupart
des cellules terminales se prolongent en dents
arrondies composees de 1—2-3 cellules. Des dents
semblables, mais plus espacées, se retrouvent sur
les bords lateraux du limbe et font legerement
saillie.” In a young stage, as in Pl. VII, fig. 39, the
teeth appear mostly at the end of the leaf primor-

Figure 12.— : ,
Beda an of epi- dium; later they may be found down the margins

dermis of leaf, of the leaf anywhere from 4 to ? of the whole

showing chloro- distance from the apex. Finally, in the adult leaf
plasts. Drawn

from living leaf. they rarely extend more than j of the distance
>< 335. from the apex. .

(3) Secretion Cells.

In the epidermis I have observed also the cells referred to by
Sauvageau (1891, II, p. 209) as “cellules seécretrices,” containing, in
alcoholic material, a granular or a homogeneous content of a
brownish color, and somewhat larger than the ordinary epidermal
cells (Pl. VI, fig. 30; Pl. Ill, fig. 8). They appear to be identical in
nature with those of the stem. Although Sauvageau asserts that they
are most abundant at the edges and at the apex of the leaf, yet
they appear to me often to increase in numbers towards its base,
including that part which adjoins the sheaths, as well as in the
sheaths themselves (Pl. VI, fig. 25). According to Sauvageau
these peculiar cells occur also in Posidonia, Cymodocea and Halo-
dule. He has ascertained the presence in them of tannin, probably
in combination. In my permanent slides their contents were almost ~
invariably granular, assuming, with the triple stain, either a crimson
or a brilliantly refracting yellow colof—more often the latter.
With ferric chloride the contents stained a brownish black and the ©
same result was given on treatment with potassium bichromate.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 94

These reactions confirm Sauvageau’s assertion that these cells are
tanniferous. As is well known, tannin is a common byproduct
in plants, and in this case is possibly deposited in special cells on
account of the difficulty of its diffusion through the epidermis. That
these tanniferous cells should be more abundant toward the base of
the leaf is natural, for it would be more economical for the plant
to devote as many as possible of the cells in the upper part of
the leaf to photosynthesis.

(4) Absence of Stomata.

Another peculiarity of the epidermis is the absence of stomata,
which will be discussed later (p. 118).

b. Subepidermal Layer.

Below the epidermis, at all parts of the leaf, is a distinct layer
one cell thick, which I have termed the subepidermal layer (Pl. VIL,
fig. 43), composed of cells about twice
the width, tangentially, of those of the
epidermis ; and longitudinally, 1. e. running
the length of the leaf, many times longer
than the epidermal cells (Text-fig. 13).
This layer contains a few chloroplasts
(cf. Sauvageau, 1891, II, p. 293).

c. Vascular System.

The vascular system of the leaf is ex-
tremely simple. Three strands of con-
ducting tissue are present—one large
axial and two small marginal.

(1) Course of Vascular Bundles.

These three vascular strands enter the : ,

ine . Figure 13.— Portion of sub-
leaf separately at its insertion on the stem. epidermal layer of leaf
The axial bundle maintains a median po- _ blade, showing a few chlo-
sition and extends to very near the tip der Drawn from
x ongitudinal section cut
of the leaf (Pl. VI, figs. 26, 30; Pl. VU, from living leaf. >< 335.
fig. 43); the two lateral bundles enter
one on each side of this axial bundle, and throughout their extent
run parallel to it (Pl. VII, fig. 43, 76).

In the region of the sheaths each of these lateral bundles runs
along the edges of the leaf proper, just at its line of junction with
the sheaths, and above the leaf sheaths they retain this marginal
position. I can confirm Sauvageau’s (1891, II, p. 210) observation that
they do not unite with the median bundle near the apex of the
leaf, but disappear—according to my preparations, about 10 mm.
from the apex.

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 7 Decemper, 1908.

92 A. H. Graves,

(2) Structure of Vascular Bundles.

The axial bundle contains two or three annular tracheae in its
young stage, which generally break down in the mature leaf to
form an open passageway; surrounding this portion are phloem
cells and parenchyma, difficult to distinguish on account of their
low degree of differentiation, and about the whole axial bundle is
a pretty definite endodermis, which Sauvageau has also noted.
The structure of the two lateral bundles is extremely simple,
consisting merely of a very few small conducting cells (Pl. VII,
fig. 43, 76).

d. Lacunae.

On each side of the central bundle, separated from it by two or
three layers of parenchyma, are the lacunae (PI. VII, fig. 43, /a).
In mature leaves these are of the shape of flattened cylinders, ex-
tending longitudinally through the leaf, and divided into compart-
ments by transverse, sometimes oblique, perforated, one-layered
plates of roundish cells (Pl. VI, fig. 25; Text-figs. 14-15). The per-
forations are round intercellular spaces, occurring regularly at the

)
|

th

ante

SS

=a)
2p
(=a
=
=)
=
——
=I

UM

Fig. 15.—Surface view of one ©
of the diaphragms which sep-

Figure 14.—Longitudinal section of arate the leaf lacunae into com-

lacuna, showing cross sections of partments. The small circular

diaphragms; dz, diaphragm; Za, la- outlines represent spaces be-
cuna. >< 185. tween the cells. >< 350.

angles of the cells and affording communication for the air or gases
from one compartment to the next.

e. Comparison with Other Potamogetonaceae.

The anatomy of the leaf of Potamogeton pectinatus, a plant so
much like Ruppia in external appearance, is almost a duplicate of the
leaf structure of Ruppia (Schenck, 1886, p. 16 and figure 11 d).
The other species of Potamogeton show differences more or less
great, according to the shape of the leaf and the external conditions.
The leaves of Zannichellia palustris (Schenck, |. c.) and Althema

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 93

filiformis (Sauvageau, 1891, Il, p. 259, and Prillieux, 1864) are very
similar, the main difference being the absence in both of the mar-
ginal bundles, although Althenia has in place of these, small groups
of fibrous cells. Althenia is, moreover, further distinguished by a
rather large number of lacunae of various sizes.

The leaves of Zostera, Phyllospadix, Posidonia, Cymodocea. and
Halodule, show greater differences, of all of which, together with
the remaining Potamogetonaceae, Sauvageau has made an excellent
comparative study in his “ Feuilles des monocotyledones aquatiques ”
(1891, II).

2. The Stipular Sheaths.

a. Structure.

At every node the leaf envelops the stem by means of basal
sheaths composed of only two layers of cells. These cells lack
chlorophyll and become very minute at the free edge of the sheath
fet fis. 2; Pl. VU, fig. 43, sks).

b. Development.

I have already (p. 89) mentioned the fact that the development
of the sheath rudiments in the young leaf primordium is quite
marked. From the record of measurements (see Table p. 94) of
the length of sheaths at different stages of leaf development there
is manifested a certain periodicity in the growth of the sheath.
Thus its percentage of the whole leaf length in a very early stage
is high, as is shown in Nos. 1 and 2 and Pl. VII, fig. 39;1 next,
during the special growth of the leaf (see p. 89) this percentage
noticeably decreases, in some cases to a very marked extent ;? finally,
due to the ultimate basal intercalary growth, the proportional size
of the sheath again increases until in the mature leaf the proportional
length of sheath to entire leaf averages about 1 to 6 (Table, Nos.
27—38).

Although, even by making considerable allowance for error, the
data in the table are not at all uniform, as is natural, yet they do
bring to light with no uncertainty the large comparative develop-
ment of sheath both at the beginning and at the end of leaf growth.

c. Function.

That this periodicity in sheath development is related to the
principal function of stipules, that of protection of younger parts,

1 Such an early enlargement of sheath is mentioned by Van Tieghem
(1898, pp. 250-251), who speaks of it as quite general.

2 Possibly the very low percentages are results of environmental in-
fluence, e.g. position of leaf on shoot, surrounding leaf sheaths, &c.

94 A. H. Graves,

TABLE
of
COMPARATIVE LENGTH OF SHEATH
IN THE VARIOUS STAGES OF LEAF DEVELOPMENT.

Approxima |

eS
@ '
Description of specimen |°| ortiSvicat | ofsheath sheath toleat
elas length
Dissected from living plant | 1 14. mm. Stipa a
e . 5, ¥ 2) B41 256 ,, \4
From prepared slide 3 Dae =, 14.9 ,, .
ih ‘ * 4| .735 149 , a
‘ Bil? 1giayere isoipe |
| ‘ 6| 8187" ., 15. ,, oa
| 7) <5... issue
| ¥ - Syl dotoae = f: 8.4 ,,
| Living specimen 9| 1.382 6.9

Living specimen 14} 2.275 12623) a 11.5

From prepared slide 15 | 2.362 abn ae 9.6
; 53 16 | 2.458 AGG. 6.7
. x ‘ 17 | 3.745 1055. ta 2.8
Living specimen 18 | 11.14 fs US Naat ae 2.8
P 19 | 11.81 52, 4A
20 | 22. il * 4.5
21 | 31. ie . 3.2
22 | 38.6 3.6 st 9.3
23 | 61.9 9. 3 14.4
s ~ 24 | 66.6 4.6 " 6.9°
s. z 25 | 70.4 14 1.9
3 ” 26 | 70.9 2.9 e 4,
Living matured specimen | 27 |102. 14 F 13.7

” ” ” 28 |109.
” ” > 29 |116.
ye ‘ F 30 |116.
sf - 1 31/118.
” ” ” 32 |125.
” » ” 33 |130. »
” ” 2 34 |130. ”
” ” ” 35 |133. ”
” ” > 36 |134. ”
” ” ” 3¢ |144. ”
” ” ” 38 |163.

23. "|. sae

| From prepared slide 10} 1.41 a 122 8:6",
5 - * 11 | 1.47 7 19 128° 5
| x 3 s 12} 1.54 4 alc cd fel!
; * 13°] 1.80 We ae. : 9.4

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 95

is well exemplified in the leaf sheaths of Ruppia. It is stated by
Goebel (1898, p. 556) that no general rule can be given for the
time of stipular development, but that as Massart (1894) had already
emphasized before him, they are formed and called into play when
their function is most-needed, as is in fact true of other parts of
the leaf (Goebel, 1898, p. 503). I shall undertake presently to show
why the leaf sheaths may be considered stipular as to their nature
and origin.

In Ruppia the delicate parts in the region of the growing point
are in great need of the protective offices of the early developed
sheaths of surrounding leaves; and also the mature leaves, since
they almost always contain axillary buds, require large enveloping
sheaths. These considerations may explain the manner of sheath
development.

d. Morphological and Morphogenetic Considerations.

The nearly related genus Potamogeton throws considerable light
upon the question of the morphology and morphogeny of the leaf
sheath. This genus, as is well known, embraces a great variety of forms,
from those with broad floating leaves only (or with the addition
merely of capillary phyllodia), passing through intermediate forms
which have both narrow submerged leaves and broad floating
leaves, to the typical submerged plants with narrow leaves only.
In the last group we find basal sheaths on the leaves of most of its re-
presentatives, e.g. P. filiformis, P. pectinatus, P. interruptus, &c; but
in the broad leaved forms and in the intermediates we find no
sheaths, free stipules, however, being more or less prominent.

It seems clear, then, that in the submerged forms sheaths replace
the stipules; and this deduction is borne out by such a species as
P. diversifolius, which has the submerged leaves with stipules
sometimes adnate, and even better by P. spirillus, where the stip-
ules are always adnate to the submerged leaves, while those of the
floating leaves in both species are free.

A comparison of any of the above mentioned typical submerged
Potamogetons with Ruppia—especially P. pectinatus and P. filiformts
—shows the similarity of the sheaths in the two genera. One may
conclude, then that both the free stipules of the Potamogetons
and the sheathing stipules of the submerged forms and of Ruppia
are closely related, being connected as they are by many gradations;
and it is probable that the sheathing stipule has been evolved from
the free stipule, such as it is in Potamogeton.

As to the reason why this form of stipules is developed in water
plants, the most obvious explanation seems to be that joined to

96 A. H. Graves,

the leaf-base they can better perform their office of protection of
the axillary structures. In the case of the grasses, where the sheath

is also retained, Strasburger (1908, pp. 29, 30) states that be-
sides protecting the soft lower part of the internodes when inter-
calary growth takes place, the sheaths also give the stem rigidity.
Possibly this latter strengthening function applies also in some
degree to the sheaths of water plants.

3. Axillary Scales.

a. General Characters and Anatomy.

In the axils of all the leaves are two small, ovate, scaly forma-
tions, one on each side of the median line of the leaf (PI. II, fig. 8;
PI VU, fig. 48, as). These structures, common in water plants,
and first shown by Irmisch (1858, p. 12) to be of general occurrence
throughout the Potamogetonaceae, consist of generally two layers
of cells rounded in cross-section, and loosely joined together, con-
taining large nuclei and a large quantity of cytoplasm (Text-fig. 17).
A longitudinal section of a single scale (Text-fig. 16), shows that

.

Figure 16.—Longitudinal section Figure 17.—Cells from cross
through axillary scale, showing section through axillary scale,
arrangement and shape of cells. showing cell structure.

=< 170. >< 1400.

these cells are long and arranged more or less in rows in the
upper part of the scale. Prillieux (1864) has found similar struc-

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 97

tares in Althema filiformis, which he erroneously believed to be
stipules.

b, Function.

The nature of these “sguamulae intravaginales”’ points to their ser-
ving the purpose of secreting organs. Schenck (1886, p. 9) is of
the opinion that their secretion, which covers the growing point,
is a protection against parasites, but of this point he is not certain.
F. Miiller (1877) had already claimed that the slimy secretions of
such cells protected the delicate growing points from immediate
contact with the surrounding water, a position which Schenck
(1886, p. 10) criticizes by asserting that it is difficult to see how
the outside water could injure the growing points. But Schilling
(14894), who has made a special study of the subject, returns to
Miiller’s view. He shows that the slime is impermeable to certain
salts, &c. in solution in the water, and is probably only developed
until the epidermal tissue and cuticle are far enough advanced to
make such protection unnecessary.

Schilling’s arguments are reasonable. The growing point is an
extremely delicate part and might easily be injured by the salts or
other substances in solution in the surrounding water. Especially
is this true of Ruppia, a plant of salt or brackish waters. This would
be an omnipresent danger to the young growing parts: the attacks
from parasites would be intermittent or rare.

D. Subfloral Leaves

Although along the stem the leaves are distributed at fairly
regular intervals, just below a flower they approach each other so
closely as to appear opposite (Pl. VII, fig. 35; Text-fig. 18), a char-
acteristic common to many other members of the family, notably
Zannichellia, Althenia, Potamogeton, &c.

These two apparently opposite leaves, which I have designated
the subfloral leaves, besides differing from the ordinary foliage
leaves in their mode of arrangement, possess slightly specialized
sheaths and considerably shorter leaf blades. The sheath of the
outer or lower leaf envelopes that of the inner, while the sheath
of the inner or upper leaf surrounds the peduncle, and both together
form a protective envelope for the young flower before it elongates
(Pl. Il, fig. 6; Pl. VII, fig. 35). As a result of these conditions, the
sheaths are slightly wider than those of the ordinary leaves, and
they as well as the leaf blades are also shorter, the latter character-
istic being in harmony with the bracteal nature of these leaves.

98 A. H. Graves,

In all other respects, however—internal structure, axillary scales,
&c.—the subfloral leaves are identical with the ordinary foliage
leaves.

Koch and Irmisch have
called these two leaves
“folia floralia,” an un-
wieldy term, whose Eng-
lish equivalents at present
applied to the modified
leaves forming the floral
envelope in the Phanero-
gams. On account of their
position near the pe-
duncle and their slight
modification in form, they
approach the category of
“bracteal leaves” --ag8
Figure 18.—Sketch of flowering branch, show- ~ Hochblatter” of Stras-
ing location of flowers and subfloral leaves. burger (1908, p. 31) and

2 SRS Se Goebel (1898, p. 578), yet
the difference from the ordinary leaves is so slight that such a classi- —
fication seems unwarrantable. I have therefore adopted the term
‘subfloral leaves,” although bearing in mind their approach to typical
bracts.

:

E. Scale Leaves

Besides the subfloral leaves and ordinary foliage leaves, two other —
sorts of leaf structures occur in Ruppia maritima, quite similar in
appearance and structure. These are very small membranous for-
mations—one kind borne at the base of the ordinary branches and
the other at the base of the floral axis (Pl. I, fig. 1; Pl. Il, fig. Gm
vsl; Text-figs. 19-20, vs/ and fs/). The first sort is plainly what
Goebel (1898, p. 572) has in mind when he writes of “ Vorblatter.”
He says, “Die Vorblatter sind zunachst charakterisiert durch ihre
Stellung. Wir finden sie—wo sie tiberhaupt vorkommen—bei den
Dikotylen meist in Zweizahl an der Basis der Seitensprosse, bei den
Monokotylen wird gewohnlich ein Vorblatt angenommen, welches auf
der dem Mutterspross zugekehrten Seite des Tochtersprosses steht.” |

Strasburger (1908, p. 429) also mentions “ Vorblatter,” but with
him they signify bracts or bracteal leaves. It is his category
‘“Niederblatter” or “scale leaves” that includes the structures
described by Goebel as “ Vorblatter.”

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 99

In accordance with the Bonn Textbook I have adopted the term
scale leaf; the leaf at the base of the ordinary branch will be referred
to as the vegetative scale leaf, while that at the base of the ped-
uncle will be termed the floral scale leaf.

1. The Vegetative Scale Leaf.

a. General Characters.

This envelops the base of all axillary structures, except that in
the axil of the upper subfloral leaf, and is developed on the side
of the axillary member opposite to that of the subtending leaf.
Flattened out, it is in the form of a long narrow triangle (Pl. VII,
fig. 40), from 6 to 13 mm. in length; in position, its edges slightly
overlap at the base, on the side nearest the subtending leaf
(Text-figs. 19-20). If the axillary members are young, it completely
envelops them; when they grow out, forming a branch, it remains
sheathing the base of the branch.

b. Internal Structure.

Anatomically the vegetative scale leaf.is composed of two layers
of elongated large-vacuolate cells, rectangular in outline, with the
nucleus flattened against the wall, and with a very few small chloro-
plasts. No vascular bundles are present. PI. II, fig. 8 and Pl. VII, fig. 43,
vsl show a transverse section, and Pl. VII, fig. 37 a surface view.

2. The Floral Scale Leaf.

a. General Characters and Structure.

The other form of scale leaf, which I have termed the floral
scale leaf, occurs always at the base of the peduncle, on the side to
ward the youngest or upper subfloral leaf (pp. 97-98 and Text-fig. 20,
fst) and its base is coincident with the base of the floral axis for
nearly one half of its circumference. Its development can be easily
traced in PI. IX, figs. 54, 55, 56, 51 and Pl. VII, Fig. 41, fs/, and
it will be seen that never at any time does it completely envelop
the floral axis, as does the scale leaf the base of the axillary shoot,
but nevertheless partly surrounds it. When the peduncle elongates
in the course of floral development, the floral scale leaf remains at
its base, similarly as in the case of the vegetative scale leaf.
Moreover, in its growth this scale leaf follows the growth of the
flower and is entirely in independence of the adjacent axillary bud.*
(PI VIL fig. 41, fs/).

1] have been unable to find a flower bud in which there was no branch
in the axil of the upper subfloral leaf, which would of course, be an

100 A. H. Graves,

In shape the floral scale leaf differs considerably from the vege-
tative scale leaf. It is shorter, almost symmetrically oblong and
emarginate (Pl. VII, fig. 42; Text-fig. 19, fs/).

The internal structure is identical with that of the vegetative
scale leaf.

3. Orientation of Scale Leaves in Floral Region.

The plan of a typical arrangement in the floral region is represen-
ted in Text-figs. 19-20. Here we find the members occurring in the
following order, proceeding from right to left :—

19 dow. stl.
‘ er 20
_- axbre as %
xa VSI
ees atl
Se oe oe
~axbr=— ©
~ up. sfl-7 :

Figure 19.—Portion of the plant near the floral region, showing the two

kinds of scale leaves and the subfloral leaves. The parts are somewhat

separated so that they may be seen more clearly. /ow. sf. lower sub-

floral leaf ; axér, axillary branch; vs/, vegetative scale leaf ; ped, peduncle ;
fst, floral scale leaf; «J. sf7, upper subfloral leaf. >< 6.

Figure 20.—Cross section through flower bud, below flowers, showing parts
represented in figure 19. Abbreviations as in figure 19. >< 35.

1. The lower subfloral leaf (/ow, sf/), sheathing the entire flower bud ;

2. The branch (ax6r), arising in the axil of this leaf;

3. The vegetative scale leaf (vs/), enveloping this axillary struc-
ture and borne at its base on the side furthest removed from the
subtending subfioral leaf;

4. The peduncle (ped), bearing the flowers;

exception to the general rule. If such cases could be found, showing
a normal floral scale leaf, this would prove that the scale leaf is borne
on the peduncle and not on the axillary bract.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 104

~

5. The floral scale leaf (fs/), adherent to the base of the peduncle
in a position corresponding to that of the vegetative scale leaf ;
6. The branch (axdr), arising in the axil of the upper subfloral
leaf ;
7. The upper subfloral leaf (up. sf/).

4, Summary of Distinguishing Characters.

Irmisch (1851) has described the inflorescence in Ruppia rostel-
Jata. His account is in part as follows: “Die folia floralia bilden
nun zwei Achseln, aus denen Zweige hervorbrechen, welche sich
_ folgendermassen verhalten. Das erste tief an der Basis der Zweige
stehende Blattgebilde ist eine diinnhadutige abgestutzte lanzettliche
Schuppe, die sich um den Grund des Zweiges herumlegt. Ich will
sie Vorblatt nennen. Es steht dasselbe, wie das auch sonst regel-
massig der Fall ist, mit seiner Riickseite wegwarts vom Mutterblatte
des Zweiges und dem Bliitenstande A zugewendet”’;—and further,
“Der Zweig in der Achsel des obern fol. flor. ist dem des untern
in der dussern Bildung gleich.”

In this and his description following, it is clearly evident that
Irmisch considered the floral scale leaf and the vegetative scale
leaf in an inflorescence to be identical, for he alludes to nothing but
a vegetative scale leaf (Vorblatt) at the base of each branch. Of
course it is possible that no floral scale leaf, as such, occurs in
Ruppia rostellata, yet the two species are evidently quite similar.
For example, Sauvageau (1891. II) finds no differences in the struc-
ture of their foliage leaves.

To sum up the differences between floral and vegetative scale
leaves, they are in brief as follows.

1. Shape. The floral scale leaf differs markedly in shape from
the vegetative scale leaf. A large number of specimens was examined
and this difference was constant.

2. Position. As shown in Text-fig. 20, but more clearly were the
section cut at a lower plane, the floral scale leaf does not envelop
the axillary shoot as does the vegetative, but is turned toward and
partially surrounds the young flower or the peduncle, according to
the stage of floral development.

3. Development. The growth of the floral scale leaf is always
correlated with the growth of the peduncle and flower—even when
the axillary structure adjacent is as yet rudimentary. In case the

1 The axillary scales have been purposely omitted. The cross section
represented in Text-fig. 20 was cut above them.
a>)

102 A. H. Graves,

floral axis is already well developed, one finds a correspondingly
advanced development in the floral scale leaf, showing that it is
now connected with and influenced by the flower and peduncle.

5. Morphological and Physiological Nature of Scale Leaves.

That the vegetative scale leaf is a leaf and not an axillary stipule,
may be accepted without question, for its development occurs much
later than that of the subtending leaf and its origin is from the
axillary bud of the latter. As to whether one has to deal here with
a degenerate leaf, or one that approximates the primitive form is a
question difficult to settle without a definite knowledge of the
primitive monocotyledonous leaf form. It is probable, however,
that the ordinary foliage leaves are nearer to the primitive form.
Moreover, the lack of vascular tissue and chlorophyll, and the
simple structure in general indicate a degenerate form.

Whatever its genetic origin, the early development and complete
enfolding of the young primordia, which later grow out beyond it,
point to the present function of the vegetative scale leaf as being
essentially protective.

The nature of the floral scale leaf is not so clear. The striking
fact, however, that the branch adjacent to this scale leaf never has
a vegetative scale leaf at its base would seem to point to the con-
clusion that the floral scale leaf is simply this vegetative scale leaf
now connected with the flower and utilized for its protection in an
embryonic state.

6. Comparison with Other Potamogetonaceae.

Scale leaves (prefeuilles) are found in Althenia (Prillieux, 1864)
where there are often two on a branch below the first ordinary
foliage leaf. They occur also in Zannichellia (Irmisch, 1858, p. 30)
and Cymodocea (Bornet, 1864). In Potamogeton (Irmisch, 1858) the
scale leaves are quite abundant, occurring on the rootstock as well
as at the base of the shoots. The prophyllon, or fore-leaf, described
by Holm (1905) in his writings on the grasses, is an homologous
structure.

Roor

A. General Characters

The roots in Ruppia, as in many submerged plants, are simple,
and strikingly reduced in structure. The primary root, formed

i

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 103

in the embryo, does not persist; the sole representatives of
the root system are small slender adventitious roots arising at the
nodes (PI. VII, fig. 36, 7). These occur singly
or rarely in pairs and are unbranched. Each
root, in the early stages of its development, is
surrounded by a sort of pocket formed from
the secondary growth of the epidermis of the
stem. After the root has broken through the
tip of this pocket, the latter remains as a
persistent sheath or collar at its base. A zone
of root hairs appears on every root, developed
from specialized piliferous cells (Textfig. 21, rh).
As to the length of the root, I have measured
specimens 20 cm. long, but a much shorter
length is the general rule.
The life of the root is comparatively short; \
for as the stem advances in its growth, new ; M
. : Figure 21.—Sketch
roots are successively put forth from new nodes, of portion Rea cris
the older roots becoming gradually discolored stock and root; co/,
and ultimately dead, together with the stem °leorrhiza ; 7, root

eh ae hairs ; rs, rootstock.
or rootstock whence they originate. >< about 14.

B. Root Arrangement

Since the laws of the root arrangement in Ruppia are often obscure,
as regards both the roots themselves and also their orientation with
respect to the leaves, a somewhat more detailed description than
that already given seems necessary.

Irmisch (1858, pp. 44-45) has described at some length the re-
lation of root to leaf arrangement in Auppia rostellata, and for a
more detailed account I would refer to him. The foliowing is to
some extent a confirmation of his observations as referred to Ruppia
maritima.

The root is developed at the node, at one side of the leafbase,
and in the comparatively rare cases where a second root is de-
veloped at the same node (PI. II, fig. 10), it assumes a correspon-
ding position at the other side of the leaf base.

Since the roots, when occurring singly, invariably issue from the
same side of the stem, and since their orientation with respect to
the leaf of the node is as just stated, the following facts or laws
of arrangement are established :—

104 A. H. Graves,

1. The line connecting the points of insertion of the roots is
straight, provided the stem has undergone no torsion (Text-
fig. 22).

2. On account of the alternate arrangement of the leaves, the
roots appear at successive nodes on opposite sides of the median
longitudinal plane of the leaf,—i. e., if at one side of the leaf at any
node, then at the other side of the leaf at the next higher or lower
node (Text-fig. 22).

These simple rules of arrangement are, however, not often apparent.
In a great many instances the stems to a considerable extent, due
probably to currents of water, light conditions, &c., become
twisted.

In such cases the orientat ionof the roots with regard to the
leaves remains nevertheless constant, in accordance with the rule
stated in (2). In other words, no matter what position the leaves
may assume on the stem, the roots always emerge, in any two
successive nodes, at one side of the leaf at one node, and at the
other side of the leaf at the next node.

Compared with the other Potamogetonaceae, Ruppia has perhaps
the simplest root system, if one considers the number of roots alone.
Zannichellia (Campbell, 1897, p. 40), with generally two slender, un-
branched rootlets at each node, and Althenia (Prillieux, 1864, p. 182)
with two or sometimes more, borne on alternate nodes, most resemble
it. The roots of Cymodocea (Bornet, 1864) are often borne singly,
but differ in being branched. The roots of many Potamogetons
(Irmisch, 1858) are more numerous, arising often in a circular line
of insertion at the nodes. In Zostera (Grénland, 1851) and Phyllo-
spadix (Dudley, 1893) a cluster of roots occurs at each node.

C. Anatomical Structure

1. The Coleorrhiza.

Extending for a distance of often 5 mm. on the root from its
junction with the stem is a peculiar sheath-like structure, termed by
Irmisch (1858) the “coleorrhiza” or root sheath (Pl. VII, fig. 38;
Pl. VIII, fig. 45, Text-fig. 21). Beyond mentioning the fact that it
occurs in Potamogeton crispus, Zannichelha palustris and Ruppia
rostellata, Irmisch gives no description of it. In the related plants
which Prillieux (1864), Magnus (1870), Schenck, (1886), Campbell
(1897), and others describe, no mention is made of such a structure.
Sauvageau (1889) indeed merely mentions a coleorrhiza as appearing
in Zostera. Bornet (1864) notes in Cymodocea the formation of a

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 105

sheath “more or less short” at the base of the root, but does not
give a detailed account of it, so that its nature is not entirely clear.
This is, however, probably a coleorrhiza.

According to Sachs (1875, p. 143) in grasses
and some other Phanerogams, the first root arises
so deep in the interior of the embryonal substance
that in the fully developed embryo of the ripe seed
it is enclosed by a thick, sac-like layer of tissue,
which is ruptured on germination and is known
by the name of “ root sheath (coleorrhiza).” Similar
formations occur also in the first secondary roots
of the germinating plants of A/hum cepa, and
occasionally elsewhere.

The coleorrhiza! in Ruppia, which is found on
all the adventitious roots, is of entirely different
nature. Its development can be observed at all
the early stages of the growth of the root. The
first indication of it appears during the origin of
the young root within the stem. As the young
root develops and appears in the stem cortex, a
change in character takes place in certain of the
epidermal cells of the stem, and in a few in the sub-
epidermal layers, which lie in the region whence the
root would naturally emerge. These cells become

| J

Figure 22.— Dia-
orammaticrepres-
filled with protoplasm, their nuclei enlarge, and entation of root

arrangement; 7,

cell division takes place, the resulting cells being SS a

small and narrow (PI. Ill, fig. 10; Pl. VI, fig. 31;
Pl. VU, fig. 44). In other words, a new growth
starts up in the epidermis and a few of the cells of the subjacent
layer, but principally in the epidermal cells. This stage is, of
course, the most important for the proof of an entirely independent
correlative origin of the coleorrhiza.

As the root grows out from the node, the epidermal or coleor-
rhizal cells divide by anticlinal walls, keeping pace with the root
growth for some time, and forming the pocket or enveloping sheath
already mentioned.

1 Since the term “root sheath” may be applied to several sorts of
structures, it lacks definiteness. The subject of the present account,
however, has a distinct character, as will be demonstrated more fully be-
low, so that it seems fitting to apply the name coleorrhiza to it.

106 A. H. Graves,

A cross section of the coleorrhiza as represented in Text-tig. 23
shows that it is composed principally of a single cell-layer. The
section was cut purposely near the junction of root with stem, in
order to show how toward the proximal end of the coleorrhiza a few
of the cells of the subepidermal layer enter into its composition.
As is shown by

Be eal e328 longitudinal sec-
Bey E tions, the cells inthe
a sos ee outer or more distal

a region of this sub-
jacent layer are un-
TALES Gag doubtedly the re-
Je) OQ Q) ae sults of divisions

Se similar to those

which take place in
the epidermal or
coleorrhizal layer,
but at the proximal or basal part of this subjacent layer the cells
are larger and two or three rows deep, and those immediately adja-
cent to the root are considerably flattened. In this region, there-
fore, the subepidermal layers of the coleorrhiza are derived im-
mediately from the cells of the stem without division, being forced
outward by the development of the root and coleorrhiza.

Figure 25.—Portion of cross section of root show-
ing surrounding coleorrhizal layer. >< 400.

ea)

Figure 24.—Photomicrograph of longitudinal section of young
root still enclosed in coleorrhiza; co/, coleorrhiza; 7, root. >< 50.

Pl. VII, fig. 38 shows a well advanced stage, where by pressing ~
with the cover glass the root was detached from its connection

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 107

with the stem and squeezed out of the coleorrhiza, producing the
ruptured end of the latter. In this figure the coleorrhiza had attained
approximately its maximum development. It then, with its enclosed
root, appears to the naked eye as a small, smooth, blunt projection
at the node. A photograph of a longitudinal section of this stage
is shown in Text-fig. 24.

In the course of its growth the young root breaks through the
coleorrhiza, which then remains at its base as a collar-like structure
(Pl. VIII, fig. 45; Text-fig. 21).

An interesting incidental point in relation to the coleorrhiza, and
one which indeed may be connected with its function, is the
occurrence in its surface layer (when of
more than one layer in thickness) of cells
which are evidently secretion cells (Text-
fig. 25).

It will be seen from the above de-
scription of the coleorrhiza in Ruppia that
it is of entirely different nature from that
to which Sachs (1875, 1. c.) alludes. It has
an external origin, being the outgrowth of
the epidermis (including part of the im-
mediately subjacent region) of that part
of the stem which is situated over a
developing root.

Such a structure as this evidently falls
into the category of i correlative ‘ growths. Tvs OF auto eee
Having no immediate organic connection from surface of coleorrhiza.
with the root and yet taking its inception showing secretion cells.
close on the development of that organ, pes
the nature of its growth is analogous, for example, to the correlative
growth manifested in the development of fruit and fruit-covering
after fertilization of the egg cell and during the development of
the embryo.

As to the function of the coleorrhiza in Ruppia, not much can be
said with any certainty. Perhaps it acts as an organ of protection
for the root until the latter attains some length. The facts that it
occurs only in water plants, so far as known; and that also, borne
on it, are abundant secretion cells, may point to a functional secretion
of slime of some sort to protect the young root in the water.
Goebel (1893, pp. 233-237) has noted this quite general production
of slime and slime-producing organs in water plants and has ex-
plained in some detail its beneficial effects. It has already been

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 8 DecemBer. 1908.

108 : A. H. Graves,

noted that the axillary scales probably serve a similar purpose of
protection for the young growing points of the stem.

The references in literature to a similar root sheath or coleorrhiza
are scanty. As stated above, Irmisch gives it a mere mention in
his work, as occurring in Potamogeton, Ruppia and Zannichellia.
A similar formation in Lemna is described by Caldwell (1899).
Long ago Strasburger (1873) noted and described an epidermal root
sheath in Azolla. According to him the sheath was formed of two
layers of cells, the inner layer eventually disorganizing and leaving
the root free inside the sheath, which itself surrounded the root
during its entire existence. Leavitt (1902), however, finds only one
layer producing the sheath in Azolla, and through this the root soon
pierces, leaving it as a collar at its base. Quite recently Lachmann
(14906) has described an essentially similar structure in Ceratopteris
thalictrotdes.*

2. The Growing Point of the Root.

Four meristematic layers appear well defined at the root tip
(Pl. VI, fig. 31; Pl. VIII, fig. 44). The calyptrogen is a well marked
region with <del rows of tabular cells. The dermatogen layer,
one cell thick, encloses all of the remainder of the meristematic tissue
of the root. This dermatogen layer is continous, even at the apex.
Inside of the dermatogen layer the periblem rows converge until

they meet at the apex in a small cell area one or often two cells —

deep. At this same area the plerome originates, and the sides of
the plerome cylinder are generally clearly marked off from the
surrounding periblem.

Miss Daisy G. Scott (1906) in a recent paper has published the
results of her investigations of the root tips of several aquatic
monocotyledons. Among these are Ruppia, Naias and Zostera, in
all of which the periblem and dermatogen arise from a single initial
cell. These contain, then, according to Miss Scott, three apical
meristematic regions, giving rise, the first to calyptrogen, the second
to dermatogen and periblem together, and the last to plerome.

As will readily be seen, this arrangement disagrees with what I
have described for Ruppia. Four meristematic regions are always
clearly defined here. The dermatogen is invariably a continuous
single layer, and the periblem arises quite often from a two-layered
region at the apex, always showing at least one layer (Pl. VIII,
ORR 44),

1 Cf. also Goebel, 1898, pp. 469—470.

|
|
-

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 109

A four-layered type has indeed been known to be unusual since
De Bary’s (1884, p. 9) work, in which he describes it as appearing
in only two plants, Pistia and Hydrocharis. Recently Campbell
(1897, p. 40) has added Zannichellia to this list.

Beyond the papers of Miss Scott and Campbell, I find no record
of other investigation on the apical meristem of the root tips of the
Potamogetonaceae, if we except Potamogeton crispus and natans,
studied by Treub (1876) and Flahault (1878), who assign to them
three meristematic layers.

Considerable doubt and uncertainty have arisen concerning the
tissue-forming capabilities of the various meristematic tissues of the
growing point, a subject on which Scott (1894) has written an ad-
mirable resume. Histogenesis in the roots of Ruppia is. however,
pertectly clear. The plerome can be traced in its development into
the central cylinder, communicating with the central cylinder of the
stem. Thus, Pl. VIII, fig. 44 shows a plerome cylinder connecting

CHOC RT “Y ¥

Figure 26.—Cells from outer part of cross section of
root ; ef, epidermis, ex, exodermis. Showing also two
or three layers of cortex with intercellular spaces. >< 325.

with the central cylinder of the stem. The width of this plerome
at its base is about eight cells, which corresponds to the number
of cells in the diameter of the central cylinder of the mature root—
1.e., 7—10 (Pl. VIII, fig. 46).

3. The Anatomy of the Mature Root.

The internal structure of the root is even simpler than that of the
stem. It consists of an epidermal region and a large zone of corti-
cal parenchyma limited on the inside by the endodermis which
surrounds the axial vascular bundle (PI. VI, fig. 27). Each of these
four parts will now be described in detail.

a. Epidermal Region.

The epidermis is a layer of large, thin-walled cells (Text-fig. 26),
some of which produce the root hairs, to be described in detail pres-
ently. Beneath the epidermis, but not connected with it genetically,

110 A. H. Graves,

is a layer of small, thick-walled cells, lacking intercellular spaces
—evidently a strengthening layer (Text-fig. 26, ex). This may be
designated the epidermoidal layer, as described by Juel (1884), or
exodermis, as defined by Vines (1898, p. 111) and Strasburger
(1908, p. 102). i

(1) The Root Hairs. In a recent paper, Leavitt (1904) has pub-
lished the results of his investigations on the root hairs of the higher
plants, a subject which has hitherto been much neglected and con-
cerning which only scattering references can be found here and
there in the literature.

Leavitt has ascertained that the root hairs are of two types,
depending on their manner of development. The first type may arise
from any ordinary epidermal cell. The second type of trichome,
common to most monocotyledons, arises from a specialized cell,
which, in its embryonic state, Leavitt has termed a trichoblast.

It is to this second type that, as briefly noted by Leavitt, (1904,
p. 292) Ruppia maritima belongs. According to my investigations,
the root hairs arise here in the following manner. At a_ short
distance back of the growing point, certain of the epidermal cells
begin to differentiate. They are easily distinguished by their deeply
staining, granular contents, and their larger nuclei, (Pl. VI, figs. 29,
32, 33). As to their size, there is some variation, but on the whole ~
they are of about the same size as the ordinary epidermal cells.
These peculiar cells are the primordia of the trichomes, called the
trichoblasts, which by the subsequent development of tube-like pro-
jections from their free walls will produce the root hairs (PI. IX, fig. 48).

As to their mode of origin, there seems to be no regularity.
Often two or threé non-piliferous cells alternate with the tricho-
blasts, but again, as many as a dozen or more ordinary cells may
occur between two trichoblasts (Pl. VI, figs. 29, 32, 33).

Not all of the trichoblasts develop root hairs. They may remain
simply as large cells with granular contents and large nuclei. They
are evidently, then, as Leavitt has also noted, potential trichomes, 4
the development of root hairs depending possibly on some stimulus.
This explains why we find zones, often at considerable distances
apart, where the hairs are developed in abundance.

A remarkable characteristic of the root hairs is their persistency.
In roots which measured over 20 cm. in length, quite a number
of hairs were noted still intact and apparently functioning even
at the base of the root near the coleorrhiza. This condition 1
very common and may be due to the fact that the hairs are no
worn off easily in the soft mud. Often, however, hairs do no

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 114

persist in this way—becoming broken off. Their basal parts then
appear as blackened dead cells in the epidermis.

Leavitt (1904, p. 279) lays considerable stress on the small size
in general of the trichoblasts and bases of trichomes as compared
with the ordinary epidermal cells. In Ruppia, while some of the
trichoblasts and bases of mature trichomes may occasionally be
somewhat shorter, on the whole they average about the same size
as the non-piliferous cells, even from the very first appearance of
the trichoblasts (Pl. VI, figs. 29, 32, 33). In her paper on root
hairs, Miss Snow (1905), from the study of several species, assigns
no definite length to the hair-producing cells, but announces that
in the same root the average length of the trichome-cells is less
than that of the atrichomic cells.

b. Cortex.

Although to the cortex proper belong genetically the exodermis
described above under the head of epidermal tissue, the cortical
parenchyma, and the endodermis, I am describing each separately.
Varying with the thickness of the root, from six to twelve concentric
rings of large, rounded, thin-walled cells with diamond-shaped, schizo-
genous intercellular spaces, form the cortical parenchyma (PI. VI, fig.27).
Often, in the mature root, on account of the radial expansion of the
tissues, these parenchyma cells undergo a stretching, and separate
from each other laterally, producing long strings of collapsed cells.

A longitudinal section proves that the intercellular spaces of the
cortical parenchyma in the region of the endodermis, are often of
a somewhat peculiar nature (Pl. VIII, fig. 47, w). These spaces
arise by a local splitting of the wall, the split parts curving outward
in opposite directions, forming openings which in the longitudinal
section appear from spindle-shaped to circular in outline. These
spaces may occur in series or singly at intervals. Near the
endodermis they are small, increasing in size in the direction of
the middle cortex. Before we come to the middle cortex, however,
we find them elongated into long narrow canals, of which the
diamond-shaped spaces described above are cross-sections.

c. Endodermis.

A single—occasionally, in places, double—ring of cells surrounding
the vascular bundle, comprises the endodermis (PI. VIII, fig. 46).
Its radial walls show to a very slight degree the typical endodermal
thickenings. The tangential walls are minutely wavy at irregular
intervals. After treatment of cross-sections of the root with con-
centrated sulphuric acid, the endodermis as well as the epidermis
and exodermis remain clearly defined.

112 A. HA. Graves,

d. Vascular System.

This is represented by a single vascular bundle in the center of
the root, with a structure similar to that of the stem (Pl. VI, fig. 27;
Pl. VII, figs. 46, 47). No longer a typical radial root bundle, its
present concentric structure admits of the same interpretation as
regards adaptation as does the simplified bundle of the stem (see
pp. 81-82). It differs from the stem bundle in only a few minor
details. Barely as large as that of the stem, in all cases observed
the root bundle retains intact the axial vascular area composed of
a few tracheae. These tracheae are peculiar in that they possess
no thickenings of any sort. Their walls, although extremely thin,
can be distinctly seen in cross and longitudinal sections (PI. VIII,
figs. 46, 47, tra). Schenck has observed a similar peculiarity in
the root of Potamogeton densus. He says (1886, p. 61), “Die Ge-
faf$e aber erfahren keine deutliche Differenzierung der Wandung ;
auf Langsschnitten sieht man keine Verdickungen oder nur schwache
Spuren, so dafi die Gefaifse als Gange erscheinen. Uberhaupt er-
fahren in den Wurzeln der monocotylen submersen Gewdachse die
Gefafge, obwohl sie iiberall sofort zu erkennen sind, keine weit-
gehende Ausbildung. Die Resorption der Querwdande tritt meist
ein, bevor Verdickungen angelegt werden.”

Five or six sieve tubes, with their companion cells, are situated
at more or less regular intervals just inside the endodermis, forming
an irregular ring. These can be distinguished in cross-section by
their generally larger, nearly empty cell-cavities, their position
just inside the endodermis, and their accompanying companion
cells. In longitudinal section the sieve plates may be seen, as also
the accompanying companion cells with their protoplasmic contents
(Pl. VIII, figs. 46, 47 s).

The remaining tissue of the bundle is parenchymatous, and on
account of its disposition in all parts of the bundle, it is impossible
to distinguish phloem and xylem parenchyma. It may therefore be
termed “connecting tissue” in accordance with Van Tieghem’s (1870—71)
“tissu conjonctif’” or Schenck’s “ Verbindungsgewebe” (1886, p. 59).

e. Brief Comparative Study of Roots of Other Potamogetonaceae.

In general, Potamogeton pectinatus and Zannichelha palustris agree
with Ruppia in the vascular structure of their roots. The main
difference is the presence of only one central trachea, which is
considerably enlarged (Schenck, 1886, p. 61, figs. 80, 81). I find
no reference in the literature to the cortex or epidermis of these
plants, but see no reason why it should differ to any extent
from that of Ruppia. Very probably also other slender sub-

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.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 113

merged Potamogetons, such as P. filifornus, have a similar root
structure.

Another plant, whose roots resemble closely in internal structure
those of Ruppia, is Althenia filiformis. Epidermis, exodermis and

cortex are practically identical with the same tissues in Ruppia, and
" although Prillieux’s (1864) description and figures of the bundle leave
much to be desired, there is evidently a strong resemblance to
Ruppia.

The structure of the mature root of Cymodocea apparently differs
entirely from our plant, most certainly in the composition of the
central cylinder, according to Bornet’s (1864) description and figure.

D. Functions of the Root

As is well known, the two main functions of the root are—1. to
absorb water and watery solutions from the soil, and 2. to act
as organs of attachment. That these functions are both of much
importance in the roots of land plants is an established fact; that
their relative importance assumes the same proportions in submerged
plants is not so well established.

Some authorities, such as Sachs (1887) and Vines (1898), have
expressed the view that the roots of submerged plants are used
mainly as organs of attachment. Schenck (1886, pp. 57, 48)
modifies this somewhat, concluding that the absorption is of not
much importance, but may possibly supply mineral solutions from
the soil.

Strasburger’s (1891) view, as expressed in his work “Uber den
Bau und die Verrichtungen der Leitungsbahnen in den Pflanzen,”
is similar to Schenck’s. In the Bonn Textbook (1908, p. 165),
however, Noll says, “ Wasserpflanzen .... vermégen Wasser und
geléste Stoffe iiberall an ihrer Oberflache aufzunehmen. .... Die
in den Boden eindringenden Wurzeln vieler submersen Pflanzen
tragen aber zur Emahrung und zum Gedeihen dieser Wasser-
pflanzen wesentlich bei”—thus laying considerable emphasis on the
absorptive power of the root.

Pond (1905) has indeed recently proved quite conclusively that
this absorption is of more importance than was formerly supposed—
to such a degree that, for example, in Ranunculus aquatilis tricho-
phyllus, one of the various submerged plants he has experimented
upon, specimens rooted in soil exceeded in growth those rooted in
clean washed sand 62.96%/). Similar results were obtained by him
with other submerged plants.

114 A. H. Graves,

Not only the evident carefulness with which he has conducted
his experiments, but also the variety of species and number of
specimens used, joined with his very positive results, should put at
rest all doubt as to the importance of the absorptive réle of the
roots of submerged plants.

On the other hand, Pond’s experiments fail to show conclusively
whether or not water and dissolved salts are absorbed by the part
of the plant above the soil—a condition which is indicated by the
reduction of the xylem area of the root.

Too much emphasis, therefore, must not be laid upon the ab-
sorbing capacity of the root, as is shown by the following con-
siderations :—1. the absence of transpiration as we are acquainted
with it in land plants; 2. the probable absorption by the parts of
the plant above the soil of nutrient solutions from the surrounding
water; 3. connected with these two conditions a reduction of the
xylem area to a few tracheae of rudimentary nature; and 4. the
total lack of branches and the slenderness of the roots.

In brief, the absorption carried on by the roots of submerged plants —
and the importance of this function in the economy of the plant is —
much greater than is implied by Schenck, as the experiments of
Pond demonstrate; but, on account of the peculiar environmental
conditions of submerged plants, it can never equal in importance the
absorption of the roots of land plants.

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THE ECOLOGY OF THE VEGETATIVE ORGANS
INTRODUCTORY

In view of the fact that Ruppia is a submerged plant, living under
water at all seasons of the year, and unable to live out of it, a
study of the methods by which it accommodates itself to this life
is of interest, especially when one compares it with a typical land
plant.

Of course, in a comparison of these two types, the one point of
vital importance to be noted first of all is the radical difference in
the nature of their environment: the land plant pushes its stem
and leaves into the air, a gaseous medium; while the submerged
plant extends its shoots entirely surrounded by water, a liquid medium.

The striking formal, structural, and physiological dissimilarities
which obtain between land and submerged plants have their fun-
damental origin in the physical differences of these two media and
the concomitant variations in quality and intensity of light, temper-
ature, &c. These physical factors have already been clearly stated
by Warming (1902, pp. 127 ff.), Schimper (1898), and others, so that
it is unnecessary to recount them here.

On account of the various methods of ecological classification
by different authors, the assignment of Ruppia to a definite ecological
group is not as easy as might seem at first sight. Among his four
ecological groups Warming (1902, p. 121) detines the hydrophytes
as being those plants that are surrounded wholly or for the most
part by water, and those that grow in very moist earth. Of the
subdivisions of this group the “Enalid society or sea grass vege-
tation” includes such plants as Zostera, Cymodocea, Phyllospadix,
Potamogeton, Althenia, Ruppia, &c. (I. c. p. 156).

More recently, however, a tendency has been manifested to re-
strict the term hydrophytes to plants of fresh water only (e. g.
Atkinson, 1905, p. 484). According to this view Ruppia is excluded
and must be classified as a halophyte, an arrangement which seems
reasonable, if one accepts the literal meaning of the term “halo-
phyte.”

As a matter of fact, a study of the plant shows that the great
majority of its adaptive characters fit it for membership in the
hydrophytes, and only a few—possibly not more than one or two
—features added to its hydrophytic characters would qualify it for

116 A. H. Graves,

a halophyte. And when one reviews the strikingly diverse char-
acters exhibited by plants living in salty soil—which is the vegetation
one naturally thinks of as halophytic—and by those living in salt
water, it seems best to avail ourselves of Schimper’s (1898, p. 817)
terms “land halophyte” and “water halophyte” as a solution of the
difficulty.

Considered as a water halophyte, therefore, Ruppia has both
hydrophytic and halophytic adaptations. I shall outline first the
former, taking up in order those modifications that occur in the
shoot and in the root, and secondly describe the halophytic adaptations.

Hypropayric AbDAPTATIONS
A. The Shoot

1. Gross Morphological Adaptations.

In its external form and style of branching the stem of Ruppia
presents a marked contrast to the stem of a typical land plant.
Since water has such a greater density than air, it becomes no
longer essential for the plant to have a stout, firm axis capable of
holding itself erect and supporting numerous branches. Instead we
find the stems of Ruppia long and slim, and except at the very
apex, of equal diameter throughout. For the same reason the
branches are similar, and as long or longer than the principal axis
from which they arise. Hence the peculiar wide-spreading branch
system which I have already described—a type impossible in a
land plant without .a copious development of strengthening tissue.

The leaves of Ruppia, arising from such a weak, slender stem,
are of enormous length compared with the leaves of an ordinary
land plant having a main axis of similar diameter. This extreme
length is again made possible by the greater density of the sur-
rounding medium. A leaf of similar proportions in a land plant
would have great difficulty in holding itself out in a plane suitable
for receiving the rays of light.

The advantages of this extreme length seem quite apparent.
Coupled with the narrowness of the leaf, the effect is just as in
aquatics with finely divided leaves, such as Batrachium, Cerato-
phyllum, &c., i. e., to present a large amount of surface to the
water in proportion to the volume of the leaf. This increase in
leaf surface is beneficial for several reasons. In all probability much
of the nutrient mineral solution requisite for metabolism is absorbed
by water plants directly from the surrounding water. Moreover,

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 117

both oxygen and carbon dioxide are necessary for the life of the
water plant just as in the case of the land plant. Of the gases in
solution in water, both oxygen and carbon dioxide are present, indeed,
in a greater proportion than in air. The diffusion of these gases,
however, takes place much more slowly than in the air, so that
the larger the area of leaf surface, the more readily will the re-
quisite amount of gases be absorbed (Warming, 1902, p. 127 and
Goebel, 1893, pp. 248 ff.).

It is obvious, therefore, that for the purpose of carrying on its
absorption both of gases and nutrient mineral solutions in the best
manner possible, the long, slender leaf of Ruppia is an ideal form.

In the salt-marsh creeks and ditches where it makes its home,
Ruppia is constantly subjected to the action of fairly strong tidal
currents. On this account also it is advantageous to the plant to
have slender leaves; for such easily accommodate themselves to
these alternately inflowing and outflowing tidal currents. ‘This ac-
commodation becomes the easier from the fact that the leaves are
not dorsiventral, but alike on both flat surfaces and, therefore, bisym-
metrical ; a condition which may be referred to the diffuseness of the
light in the water, as well as the constant moving about of the leaves,
resulting in a tendency to equality of conditions on both sides of the leaf.

A condition of general ecological significance, which affects all
of the vegetative organs, but particularly the shoot system, has to
do with the tidal currents mentioned above. At times these currents
are even so strong as to detach portions of plants, which I have
often observed floating up or down stream, according to the tide.
These plant segments become entangled in grass, &c. along the

stream edge, or collect in some miniature cove and then begin an

independent existence, at perhaps a considerable distance from the

parent plant. This is probably a common mode of vegetative

reproduction among such water plants.

2. Internal Structural Adaptations.

a. Epidermal modifications.

In many respects the epidermis of stem and leaf clearly reflects
environmental influence.

In contrast to the thick outer or free walls of the epidermal cells
of land plants, we meet here with a thin wall. Surrounded by
water, there is no danger of the drying up of the plant by evaporation
from the epidermal cells—a process which, on the other hand,
commences immediately on exposure of the plants to the air—and
consequently a thick wall would here be superfluous. The fact
‘that even in Ruppia the outer wall of the epidermal cell is slightly

1418 A. H. Graves,

thicker than the others, may possibly be attributed to the necessity
for some slight degree of firmness in the covering of the shoot.

Besides the thinness of the walls, the epidermis of the leaf
exhibits the following two remarkable peculiarities, which have
already been observed in similar aquatics by Warming (4902),
Schenck (1886), Goebel (1893) and others, and need not, therefore,
be entered into in detail here. 4

The light is weakened to such an extent by reflection on the ;
surface of the water, absorption in the water, &c., that most of the
chloroplasts, for the purpose of the best illumination possible, are
located in the epidermal cells, which therefore assume the role of
photosynthesis, but yet have not at all the shape of the palisade
cells of land plants.

As in the majority of other submerged plants, no stomata occur
in Ruppia, nor, as already ascertained by Sauvageau (1894, II, p. 209)
any of the apical leaf pores found by him in other water plants,
so that openings of any kind are lacking in the epidermal covering.
The reasons for this, dependent on the characteristic mode of food
absorption, the lack of a transpiration current as it occurs in land
plants, the extreme permeability of the leaves of aquatic plants to
gases, &c., have been fully elaborated by the authorities quoted —
above (Schenck, 1886 and Goebel, 1893) and need not be dwelt
upon here. ,

It seems to be generally admitted that where stomata do occur
in submerged species, they are to be looked upon as hereditary —
structures, rather than as possessing any ecological significance.

Schenck (1886,.p. 6) claims that stomata in submerged leaves”
are positively harmful, admitting the water into the air reservoirs
located in the lacunae. Sauvageau (1891, II), although admitting their
uselessness, maintains that they are not harmful to the plant. They
have gradually disappeared from the leaves of water plants, not
because they are harmful, but because they are useless.

Development of sime. The slime developed by the axillary scales
in the shoot has been already treated in detail. It is of ecological
significance in that a protection is thus effected for the delicate
growing points against their aquatic environment, the protective
function of slime being well known (cf. Goebel, 1893, pp. 232-237).

b. Development of Air Spaces. ‘

The formation of large and small intercellular air spaces, most
pronounced in stem and leaves, is one of the most striking histologi- —
cal characters of the shoot system. In general, the larger of these

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 119

longitudinal rows present in the leaves, receive the special name
“lacunae.”

The function of these lacunae has not yet been sufficiently in-
vestigated. So far as is known, they occur in all water plants.
Schenck (1886, p. 49) states that water plants grown on land diminish
the size of their air spaces and, conversely, land plants grown under
water reveal a tendency toward a loosening up of the cortical
parenchyma. This necessarily indicates that the formation of air
spaces is in some way connected with and necessitated by an
aquatic environment. Haberlandt (1896) has probably hit the truth
of the matter when he explains that this is a method of obviating
the difficulty of osmotic interchange of gases in submerged plants:
“Es wird eine “innere Atmosphare ” geschaffen, mit welcher die ge-
schiedenen Gewebe einen lebhaften Assimilations- und Atmungs-
gaswechsel unterhalten.” The larger these inner air reservoirs are,
so much less will the plants have to suffer the difficulties of direct
interchange of gases with the surrounding water. It is probable
also that the considerable amount of air and gases enclosed in these
intercellular spaces is of advantage for submerged as well as for
floating plants, by its lessening of the specific gravity of the plant.

c. Absence of Mechanical Tissue.

As has been, in part, pointed out above (see p. 116), a land plant
with dimensions of stem, branches and leaves similar to those
occurring in Ruppia, must of necessity develop considerable mechani-
cal tissue. But in no part of the vegetative organs of Ruppia is a
characteristic thick-walled tissue developed. That such mechanical
tissue is entirely absent is to be explained in the greater supporting
capacity of water as compared with air, resulting from the greater
density of the aqueous medium. In this way this lack of supporting
tissue is to be considered as an adaptation to environment.

d. Reduction of the Vascular System.

The vascular system is greatly reduced. If we except the minute
cortical bundles of the stem and the small lateral leaf nerves, the
entire vascular system of the shoot is represented by a single axial
vascular strand. The xylem portion mostly disappears in the mature
stages except at the nodal regions, leaving a central cavity in the
vascular area. The phloem portion is, however, in all cases intact,
consisting of sieve tubes, companion cells and phloem parenchyma.

One may lay this vascular reduction entirely to the different mode
of nutrition employed by submerged plants. On the one hand, the
food solutions formerly conveyed from the roots by way of the stem
are probably now absorbed in large part from the surrounding water,

120 A. H. Graves,

and on the other hand, the transpiration current, unaided in its work
by stomata or even by apical leaf pores, and, moreover, rendered un-
necessary by the presence of water on all sides, must inevitably be
diminished.

That the sieve tubes and their companion cells should remain
intact simultaneously with a complete degeneration of the xylem,
seems reasonable when we consider that the function of the phloem
is the transportation of e/aborated food.

In another respect the reduction of the vascular system is of
ecological importance ; for not only are the vascular elements reduced
quantitatively, but also the fact that practically all of the vascular
system is concentrated into a single bundle, which is axial, deserves
especial note.

That this axial position of the bundle in the stem is considered
to have been attained phylogenetically, througha gradual displacement
of the more peripheral bundles toward the center of the stem and
fusion there into a single concentrically arranged bundle, has al-
ready been touched upon in the account of the morphology of the
stem (p. 81-82).

Ecologically considered, this axial arrangement enables the plants
to bend about easily and accommodate themselves to the move-
ments and currents of water. For the axial bundle of the stem,
with its slightly thickened endodermis enclosing the long cells of
the vascular tissue, is naturally the region most resistant to ben-
ding movements. Now, it may easily be seen that a plant with
its vascular area in such a position is capable of bending much

more readily than ‘one in which this area is more or less peri- —

pheral, as in the typical land plant. Such an arrangement is ana-
logous to the axial strand of roots, and there subserves a similar

purpose.

B. The Root

1. Gross Morphological Adaptations.

Another result of the absorption of nutrient solutions by the shoot
system directly from the surrounding medium is the great reduction
of the root system. This consists entirely of slender, unbranched,
adventitious roots arising singly at each node of the creeping stem
—a simplicity of form and development which is correlated with
‘the function of the root, and which has been already discussed in
detail under the morphology of the root (pp. 103-114).

As has already been pointed out, the development of a coleorrhiza
or root sheath may have some bearing on the environment, protecting

The Morphology of Ruppia Marttima. 124

the root in its very young stages. It may be here again noted
(cf. p. 107) that possibly the soil or the water, containing common
salt in solution, would injure the very young root if not thus protected.

2. Internal Structural Adaptations.

a. Air Spaces.

The root cortex, as is the case in the shoot, shows many inter-
cellular spaces, but much smaller. These, however, are often made
larger by the collapsing of the cells. The function of these air
spaces may probably be explained in the same way as in the shoot
(p. 119).

b. Reduction of the Vascular System.

The vascular bundle of the root, of essentially the same structure
as that of the stem, admits of the same interpretation, as regards
the reduction of its elements, as in the stem. Especially significant
is the reduction in this case, however, since the root is properly
the absorbing organ of an ordinary plant, and as such should possess
at all events a well developed vascular system. The absence of such
a one here is the most conclusive proof of the comparative small
amount of absorption carried on by the root system.

In this connection the presence of thin-walled tracheal cells without
thickenings, still intact in the xylem area of the bundle, is inter-
esting in comparison with the axial canal caused by their dissolution
in the stem. Their presence may indicate a need for them in the
root, and therefore some degree of absorption by this organ.

Hauopyytic ADAPTATIONS

A. General

It was pointed out by Schimper (1890, p. 1047, and 1894, pp. 25 ff.)
that any considerable amount of salt in the cell sap is detrimental
to the plant, and that here we have the probable cause of the
characteristic halophytic modifications, which aim, therefore, at a
lessening of the transpiration current. To this Warming (1902, p. 309,
310) replied that even if transpiration were diminished to a very low
degree, slowly but surely an amount of salt would be collected in
the plant which would eventually prove fatal. On the other hand,
Warming saw better logic in ancther idea of Schimper (1890), which
has become the widely accepted view at the present time—namely,
that the protective contrivances against strong transpiration are
necessary in halophytes, because os of water from a salt
solution is slow and difficult.

122 A. H. Graves,

On account of this difficulty in water absorption, then, one finds
exhibited in land halophytes many water-storing devices and typical
xerophytic methods of diminishing transpiration.

The water halophytes, on the contrary, especially the submerged ,
aquatics, such as Ruppia, Zostera, Phyllospadix, &c.—members of
the Enalid hydrophytic society of Warming (1902, p. 156) as above
noted—evince none of these modifications. The hydrophytic adap-
tations already described for Ruppia show how closely this plant
resembles a typical submerged fresh water hydrophyte. Although
surrounded by salt water to a much greater extent than land
halophytes, yet it shows none of the characteristic xerophytic mod-
ifications which are associated with land halophytes in general.

The explanation of this may be based on the fact that trans-
piration, as such, does not appear in Ruppia. The comparatively
small amount of water absorbed by the roots, the absence of any
openings in the leaf through which water could pass, such as
Sauvageau (1891, II, pp. 127 ff.) has described for Zostera, Phyllos-
padix, Halodule and Potamogeton; moreover, the fact that the
epidermal cells of the leaf, with the exception of the secretion cells,
are all photosynthetic and absorb solutions from the outside into
the interior, indicate the giving off of a very small amount of water,
if any from the leaves. Waste gases, however, can easily pass out
through the cell walls in solution. On account of these conditions,
structures adapted to the retention of a supply of water and
reduction of transpiration, are unnecessary, and we accordingly find
an absolute lack of such halophytic adaptations in Ruppia.

B. The Adaptation to a Salt Water Environment

In one particular, however, Ruppia shows a distinct halophytic ~
adaptation. This is exhibited in its power to withstand the plas-
molytic action of salt water. Ganong (1903) has found that the
root hairs of certain land halophytes possess specific abilities to —
resist plasmolysis in various solutions of sea water, showing in this —
way a greater or less halophytic adaptation. He says (1903,
pp. 353, 354), “I found a close correspondence between the halo-
philism of a plant and the power of its root hairs to resist plas-
molysis. This power has of course been gradually acquired, but
what its physical basis is I do not know; though we shall probably
find that substances osmotically equivalent to the salt of the sea
water have been formed in the sap of the hairs.”

But Ruppia, and all of the allied salt water genera, such 4
Zostera, Phyllospadix, &c., show an even greater adaptation than

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 123

these land halophytes, since they live and flourish entirely in a salt-
water medium.

Wishing to ascertain how great a concentration of salt water
Ruppia would stand without plasmolyzing, I tried first a 105 per cent
solution, obtained by evaporating salt water (taken at high tide at
Savin Rock, near the entrance to New Haven Harbor), to the
desired concentration. As is indicated in the following table,
(p. 125), both leaves and root hairs showed occasionally a very
slight plasmolysis. In the root hairs, indeed, the protoplasmic move-
ment continued, although in most cases the ends of the hairs,
especially, showed a slight plasmolysis. A solution of 110 per cent
strength, however, prepared in the same way, produced a marked
plasmolysis in both leaves and root hairs.

In order to get a comparison with submerged fresh water plants,
I experimented with the leaves and root hairs of Elodea and Calli-
triche, with the results as shown in the table (p. 125).

Compared with Ganong’s results, a few of which also are given
in the table, my experiments show that the plasmolysis index in
Elodea and Callitriche is about equal to that of Atriplex and Hordeum,
so that there is very little halophytic adaptation in this respect in
the latter plants. This is to be expected, since Ganong (1903,
pp. 359, 360, 364) expressly states that these grow in the higher
and drier places of the salt marsh.

Another point illustrated by the experiments with Elodea and
Callitriche is the slightly greater resistance in both cases of leaves
as compared with root hairs. This is hardly to be looked for, since
it would naturally be supposed that the roots would be accustomed
to somewhat stronger solutions in the soil and would therefore
evince a greater resistance to the plasmolyzing action.

Elodea, as is natural, being a very delicate plant, is more sensitive
in both cases than Callitriche.

Being curious to know how much pure salt (sodium chloride)
Ruppia would stand, I used solutions of 2.5, 3, and 5 per cent with
the following results.

1. Leaves of R. maritima, placed in 2.5 °/) NaCl solution, did not plasmolyze.
* a baer De “i Solon Gs ., plasmolyzed in 4—5 min.

3. ” oS 5 Se yD! Mince ss 55 ; ih about. il

Since ocean water in general is known to contain about 3.5 per
cent of salts (Atkinson, 1905, p. 622), it would seem from the above
that Ruppia could not live in it. And yet, as the table (p. 125)
shows, Ruppia does not plasmolyze in the salt water of New

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 4 DerceMBER, 1908.

—

124 A. H. Graves,

Haven Harbor, and not often even in a 105 per cent strength
solution of this.

This would lead one to conclude a priori that the water of New
Haven Harbor does not contain as much salts as the 3 per cent quantity
of NaCl of the above experiment, and certainly not as much as
the 3.5 per cent of ordinary ocean water.

On next ascertaining the percentage of salts contained in the
water of New Haven Harbor (procured, as in the first experiment,
from Savin Rock, near the entrance to the Harbor, at high tide),
I found by evaporation that the proportion was about 2.8 per cent,
as would be expected from the a@ priori conclusion. This amount,
therefore, explains why Ruppia plasmolyzed in a 3 per cent salt
solution, but did not plasmolyze in the water of New Haven Harbor.

The sea water used, although purposely obtained at the entrance
to the harbor and at high tide, is, therefore, quite brackish. The
fact that Long Island Sound is considerably shut off from the ocean
and also has several large rivers emptying into it, probably
accounts for this. Very probably a similar percentage of salts
prevails all along the Connecticut coast.

It is possible that the sea water used in Ganong’s experiments
had a greater content of salt. If so, his results with Atriplex and
Hordeum mean somewhat more than the comparison in the table
indicates.

An interesting point which should not be overlooked, since it
shows how delicately adjusted these plants are, comes to light in the
sometimes slight plasmolysis of Ruppia in the 105 per cent solution.
A little calculation shows that this is about identical in strength with
the 3 per cent salt solution, at which plasmolysis occurs very slowly.
It is perfectly clear, then, that Ruppia is adapted to life in wate
containing a solution of sodium chloride and other salts; that this
solution does not equal in strength that of the ocean in general and
hence may be termed brackish; and furthermore, that Ruppia coul
not live in such ocean water; that this adaptation of the plant i
brought about through an ability to resist plasmolysis by maintain-
ing in some way a higher osmotic tension than prevails in submerge
fresh water plants, probably by the presence of an equalizing salt
solution in the cells themselves.

;

125

RELATIVE RESISTANCE TO PLASMOLYSIS.

Percentage of |
Sea-water

LEAF (epidermal cells)

!
: Calli- alli- See al aettegs Ag
Elodea cana- ative Ruppia Hlodea oe Ruppia |Salicornia) Suaeda |Plantago| Atriplex ne ie
; densis 1..4.:. | Maritima| canadensis rte maritima |herbacea|maritima| maritima] patulum | & $
~ palustris palustris ons
S es
8
Ne 10 - - -- ~ _ - —
8
aS 20 - - ~- aa - — ~ _
nS 30 - : — — - - -
aS 40 very slight =
> very gradual gradual, r plas-
x 50 | appearing in but finally] gradual plasmolysis | mo-
= about 7 min. | marked lysis
= very rather grad-| _ ae
20 60 |bet. 40s. & 2 m. \ eradual ual but final- Rees
3 179 m. ly marked |=" ~~
SS ; lasmo
Q, 0 35 45 s.— : Dy ise a p asmo-
35—%5 Ss. 1 min. distinct 7
5 i 2 | gen lysis
= 80 | 1216s. 45s.-8m. 1 m. pes
S 25 = MLO YSIS
S 90 |10 s. & under |! 4) © 30 s.
N (eto
100 immediate |15—45s. - 20 s. eae 1 Ganong, in all cases, gives the
i occasion- ak es solution which the plant will
105 immediate ae ally very| immediate occasionally “endure without plasmolysis.” I
mediate slight very slight assume, therefore, that plasmolysis
we ] ecur at the next higher
F distinct rather slow would ocer : 8
; é im- ; ‘ ¢ strength of solution.
110 immediate |), diate (24 fairly) immediate but finally
rapid distinct

ROOT (root hairs)

Comparison with Results of Prof. Ganong
on Root Hairs of Land Halophytes!

126 A. H. Graves,

ADAPTATION AND HEREDITY

When one reviews the manifold ways in which Ruppia is adapted
to its environment, it becomes clear that this plant represents an
advanced stage of special evolution, resulting in a particular type
of plant, growing entirely below the surface of the water and almost
ideally adapted to the novel conditions which present themselves.

That the characters of aquatic plants cannot, however, always
be explained on the hypothesis of adaptation, Sauvageau has well
illustrated. Another factor should be reckoned with, namely, he-
redity. For instance, among other examples, Sauvageau (1891, Il,
p. 121) speaks of Althenia filiformis and A. Barrandonu, which
grow side by side in certain ponds near Montpellier: “Les feuilles
de la premiere ne possedent jamais d’élements épaissis; celles de
la seconde, au contraire, ont non seulement leur unique nervure
entouree d’un endoderme puissant, mais l’epiderme a ses parois plus
epaisses, le limbe est parcouru par deux gros cordons fibreux plus
ou moins lignifiés, et la gaine en montre plusieurs semblables. Ces
faits sont completement inexplicables si l’on admet l’action predo-
minante et quasi exclusive du milieu.”

It is evident that as Schenck (1886, p. 7) has declared, adaptation
and heredity are two opposing factors in the transformation of an
organism, and that “Jl’etat anatomique . ... . maintenant depend
assurement non seulement du temps depuis lequel Vadaptation a
commence, mais aussi de leur structure originelle et de leur rési-
stance specifique a l’adaptation, autrement dit, des caracteres qui
leur ont ete legues par hereédite.” (Sauvageau, 1891, II, p. 120.)

One meets in Ruppia very few of these useless structures handed
down presumably from former generations. We have seen that the
cortical bundles of the stem are evidently rudimentary structures,
. but one cannot affirm with certainty that they are now useless.
Again, the tracheae of the axial bundle in the shoot become so
disorganized in the mature condition that it would seem as if here
were an ancestral structure which is no longer needed. And, as
if to carry out this idea, we find the tracheae absolutely lacking in
such highly adapted plants as Ceratophyllum and Naias (Schenck,
1886, p. 30).

SUMMARY

1. It is best to classify Ruppia ecologically as a water halophyte. —
As such it exhibits both hydrophytic and halophytic adaptations. —

The Morphology of Ruppia: Maritima. 127

2. The hydrophytic adaptations of the shoot are as follows: first,
in its external form it shows a weak, wide spreading branch system,
with slender stems and long grass-like leaves; second, in its internal
structure, it reveals a thin-walled epidermis, photosynthetic and
without stomata, in the leaves, a production of slime by the axillary
scales for protective purposes, a copious internal development of
air spaces, a complete lack of mechanical tissue and a reduction of
-the vascular system to a single main axial bundle and two small
lateral bundles in both stem and leat.

3. The hydrophytic adaptations of the root are as follows: first,
in its external form, a reduction of the root system to small, un-
branched, adventitious roots, borne singly at the nodes, and the
formation of a protective coleorrhiza ; second, in its internal structure,
the presence of numerous air spaces and the reduction of the
vascular system to a single, axial, concentrically arranged bundle
similar to that in the shoot.

4. The characteristic adaptations of land halophytes are wanting
here, for the reason that their cause, the need for reduction of
transpiration, is lacking.

5. Ruppia shows, however, a remarkably interesting halophytic
adaptation in its power to live in salt water, which, when applied
to submerged fresh water plants, causes instant plasmolysis.

6. This salt water is not equal in strength to that of the open
ocean, containing in New Haven Harbor, about 2.8 per cent of salt,
and may therefore be termed “ brackish ”.

7. My experiments show also that this power is confined to
a very slight margin, i. e., that slightly concentrated harbor water
causes plasmolysis in both root hairs and leaf cells of Ruppia prov-
ing that the plant, as now constituted, could not exist in ocean
water.

8. The tracheae and cortical bundles are evidently more or less
rudimentary and possibly represent useless structures handed down
by heredity.

THE REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS
MorPHOLOGY OF THE FLOWER

As a preliminary to the account of the development of the flower
and of the reproductive organs, it will perhaps be in the interests
of clearness to preface a short description of the mature flower.
In this connection I shall also take occasion to discuss briefly some
of the more important morphological aspects of the flower.

The flowers of Ruppia maritima are small, (3-5 mm. in diameter),
consisting of two stamens and generally four pistils, with no perianth,
and are borne in a pair at the apex of the peduncle, occurring
one above the other, on opposite sides of the rhachis (PI. IX, fig. 49).
The inflorescence is thus spadix-like, a type which is more pro-
nounced in Potamogeton and Zostera.

The mature stamen resembles two thick, rounded, semicircular
bands closely appressed to the rhachis (P].IX, fig. 49), and meeting
each other on opposite sides of it, each band being the half of an
anther. In the Bonn Textbook (1908, p. 422), these anther-halves
are called “ thecae,” and because this term is shorter and more specific,
it will be used in this paper. A comparison with figure 474 of
that textbook (1908, p. 422) demonstrates how a stamen of this
sort could easily be evolved by a gradual separation of the thecae.
In Ruppia their complete separation at maturity has led them to
be interpreted as single stamens with bilocular anthers, for
Roze (1894, p. 476) says: “Je n’ai pu y parvenir, car je n’ai
jamais trouvé, dans les antheres meme jeunes, une adherence,
une soudure quelconque qui le (i. e., cette diminution du nombre
des étamines) fit supposer. Et il est bien certain qu’a la maturite
des organes, il est impossible de ne pas reconnaitre que chaque
fleur présente quatre étamines parfaitement libres, ce qui est le point
essentiel.” Pl. IX, fig. 50, however, gives a correct idea of the
morphology of these thecae; for at this young stage the connective
shows clearly that the structures on each side of it are merely the
two thecae of the same stamen.

At this point, it is interesting to note in Pl. IX, fig. 50 the extension >}
of the connective out beyond the plane of its attachment to the ~

thecae, forming what is described by Irmisch (1851, p. 84) as “ein

ie 4

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 129

kurzer, abgestumpfter, zuweilen etwas ausgehohlter freier Fortsatz.”
This develops still further during the growth of the young flower,
and sections of it are shown in PI. 1X, fig. 51. Irmisch suggests that this
structure corresponds to the pseudoperianth-segment of Potamogeton,
which Ascherson (1889) describes as a perianth-like dorsal appendage
of the connective. A similar development appears in Posidonia
(Ascherson, 1889). That Ascherson agrees with Irmisch’s inter-
pretation, is shown by his generic characterization of Ruppia:
“Stb. 2, mit sehr kurzen, von den Antherenhdlften tberragten
Anhdngseln des Mittelbandes” (1889, p. 207). Eichler (1875, Pt. 1,
pp. 89—91) had also supported Irmisch’s view.

Celakovsky (1896, pp. 48, 49), on the other hand, believes that
these scaly outgrowths from the connective represent reduced floral
leaves (Perigonblatter), and deprecates the supposition that they
are morphologically portions of the anther connective. Eichler and
Ascherson get their strongest argument, of course, from Potamogeton,
which shows such a stronger development of this anther-connec-
tive structure. Even here, however, Celakovsky (1896, 1. c.) sees
only floral leaves which have become attached to the connective
at its base, mentioning Hegelmaier’s (1870) work as one foundation
for his opinions.

The development from the connective in Potamogeton resembles
strongly a floral leaf, although its connection with the anther-con-
nective is quite pronounced. In the mature flower of Ruppia, after
the stamens have fallen away, the same sort of structures may be
seen, two in number, at the base of the group of four pistils, and
opposite each other. These small structures show a very minute
projection, the outgrowth of the connective, as was noted in the
young flower (Pl. IX, fig. 50) and below, on opposite sides of it,
the scars showing the places where the thecae were formerly
attached.

Without going into detail, my own opinion is that the connective
outgrowths in Potamogeton represent morphologically perianth
segments; that is, I agree with Celakovsky, and if this interpret-
ation is true for Potamogeton, it must be true also for the evidently
closely related Ruppia, which, as Celakovsky (1896, p. 49 and 1900,
p- 49) emphasizes, is a reduced flower. The reduction is shown
not merely in the smaller number of floral whorls, but in this ru-
dimentary condition of the perianth segment.

It will be seen that the appearance of the thecae in the young
stage represented by PI. IX, fig. 50 is much different from that in
Pl. IX, fig. 49. As the rhachis elongates, the thecae grow ina

130 A. H. Graves,

horizontal direction, around the rhachis, closely following its sur-
face, until finally they nearly meet, as in PI. IX, fig. 49.

The pistils, occurring between the thecae in a group of four, form
a diamond-shaped pattern arranged in a transverse position on the
rhachis. Each pistil develops, in the mature flower, into a cyl-
indrical structure tipped with a sessile peltate stigma and con-
taining a single ovule.

As regards the number of the pistils, I have never found it to
vary; but Ascherson (1889), who divides Ruppia maritima, his only
species of the genus, into three subspecies, says in his generic
characterization, “4 (selten bis 10)”. Roze (1894, p. 479), indeed,
makes the number of pistils the main specific difference between
R. maritima and R. rostellata, alleging that the former has eight
pistils and the latter four. In this vicinity, however, Ruppia maritima
seems to have always four.

Eichler (1875, p. 89), Irmisch (1851), and other older authorities
do not hesitate to allude to the subfloral leaves of Ruppia (the pair
at the base of the inflorescence) as the spathe leaves. This homol-
ogy is not used, however, by more recent authorities. For reasons
already adduced, I have applied to them the name of subfloral
leaves. As to the spathe, however, it seems quite probable that
a rudiment of it is represented in the floral scale leaf. As has been
shown (pp. 99-102), its manner of origin, development orientation,
etc. all connect it ultimately with the flower, and although its mor-
phological origin is clearly identical with that of a vegetative scale
leaf, its relations to the spadix indicate a spathe-like nature. Since
the flower of Ruppia represents a much reduced type, we should
expect to find such reduced structures here.!

FroraL DEVELOPMENT

With these remarks on the general morphology of the mature
flowers, I shall describe briefly the developmental stages of the
young flower, from the time when it is first recognizable until about
the period when the archesporial cells first appear. From that

1 | have already indicated (p. 101) that Irmisch overlooked this spathe-
like floral scale leaf, and I had been unable to find any reference to it
in the literature. At the last moment, however, I find that Griffith (1851
I, pls. 257, 258 and 259; II, pp. 196 and 198) figured and described this
structure, considering it a true spathe, and explaining its origin and
development essentially as I have done.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 1314

point, however, the gross morphological development will be fol-
lowed duriny the history of micro- and megasporangia and male
and female gametophytes.

Very early the floral rudiment can be distinguished from the
vegetative cone by its greater lateral development, giving it a com-
parative thickness, and because even here the two protuberances,
each of which is to develop into a flower, are already apparent
(Pl. IX, fig. 52). In Pl. IX, fig. 53 these two floral primordia have
become more distinct. PI. IX, fig. 54 shows a more advanced stage
with the floral primordia acquiring the flattened disk form which
characterizes them at this period, and the floral scale leaf which,
as has been shown, corresponds to the spathe just appearing. In
Pl. IX, tig. 55 all of these parts are still more developed, and in
Pl. IX, fig. 56 one first sees evidence of a segmentation of the
several parts of the flower. At this point each flower is still disk-
shaped with the thecae of the young stamens—or their primordia
—as four swellings situated diametrically opposite one another—the
central part of the disk being elevated and representing the region
of the future pistils. The rhachis also first appears well developed
here, at least at its base.

Three points of interest will be noted in this early floral devel-
opment : —

1. The origin of the flowers is lateral, forming a type of in-
florescence which is not uncommon, and explained on the hypoth-
esis that the nourishment of the vegetative cone is appropriated
by the lateral members (Goebel, 1898, pp. 178, 179).

2. Both flowers in the spadix are of the same age. Their origin
in the periblem takes place almost simultaneously, and they remain
contemporaneous throughout their entire development. This occurs
also in Potamogeton, according to Hegelmaier (1870).

3. The development of the anthers precedes that of the pistils.

Subsequently, the pistils appear as four rounded prominences.
These develop by degrees, (but always much behind the staminal
development) into the mature, rather cylindrical ovaries surmounted
by sessile, peltate stigmas (Pl. X, figs. 58-66).

MiIcROSPORANGIUM

The initial cells of the archesporium are first clearly recognizable
at such a stage in the floral development as is represented in PI. XI,
fig. 68, where the length of a single young flower in section is

132 A. H. Graves,

about 0.2 mm. and is about midway between the stages re-
presented in Pl. IX, figs. 55, 56. This stage is signalized extern-
ally by the definite appearance of the primordia of pistils and
stamens.

Pl. XI, fig. 67 shows the region marked x in fig. 68, being the
same section at a higher magnification, and reveals the cells in
one of the thecae of the upper stamen. The initial cells, indicated
by shading, are distinct from the surrounding tissue by reason of
their large size, their large nuclei, their dense cytoplasm, and ~
especially their strong reaction to stain. In these respects, all are |
essentially alike.

As is apparent, not only the hypodermal layer, but also several
of the deeper-lying plerome cells contribute to this group, and
since they grade off imperceptibly into the sterile tissue below the
theca, it is well nigh impossible to draw a hard and fast line of
separation. Thus, it is quite probable that more of the interior cells
than I have designated are archesporial.

A point of interest in this connection, and, indeed, an additional
proof of the identity of these cells, is their previous history. Up
to about the stage represented in Pl. IX, tig. 55, the divisions of the
meristematic tissue comprising the flower rudiment follow one
another in rapid succession. From that period on, however, there
is a slight pause in karyokinesis, with the exception of the divisions
in the epidermal region, so that a count of the cells reveals
practically the same number in PI. Xl, fig. 67, as at the end of the
meristematic condition. But, in the meantime, a_ considerable
enlargement, cell for cell, has occurred. There is, then, previous
to the first unmistakable appearance of the archesporium initials
as shown in fig. 67, a brief cessation of cell division, more or less
complete, during which occurs a marked increase in their size.

In one of the Potamogetonaceae at least, namely, Zannichellia,
more or less uncertainty has always invested the origin of the
archesporium. Warming (1873, p. 28), long ago, in his study of
this plant, was of the opinion that the sporogenous cells did not —
arise from a single archesporial layer, but was unable to state just —
how they did originate. Recently, Campbell (1897, p. 41), in his
study of the same plant, says,—‘“ The origin of the sporogenous
tissue of the anther is not easy to trace, as the archesporial cells
are at first hardly distinguishable, either in form or contents from
the adjacent cells. As soon as they are recognizable, there is
already a group of them whose relation to each other is not
entirely clear.”

‘
F

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 133

In his work on Ruppia rostellata (1902, pp. 4 and 5) Murbeck,
indeed, locates a hypodermal archesporial initial layer, which is
quite in line with the vast majority of results so far obtained
among the Angiosperms. These hypodermal cells divide into
primary parietal and into primary sporogenous cells, which develop
in the usual way.

As is evident, Murbeck’s report does not correspond with what
I have seen in Ruppia maritima. But the statements of Warming
and Campbell are strong evidence that the state of affairs I have
described is quite possible. It is well known that Campbell has
found a plerome origin for the archesporial cells in Wazas (1897, p. 13)
and in Lil/aea subulata (1898, p. 8). A careful study of the history
of the archesporial initials in Ruppia maritima from the meristematic
stage, as outlined above, leaves no room for doubt that we are here
dealing with a comparatively large group of cells which originates
simultaneously both in plerome and periblem. Very probably, as
Warming’s and Campbell's studies indicate, Zannichellia develops in
a similar way. The archesporial initials of Lemna minor, as figured
by Caldwell (1899, figure 13), to whose paper I shall have occasion
to refer more at length later, closely resemble those of Ruppia
maritima. On the other hand, Wiegand (1899, p. 344) finds the
archesporium in Potamogeton traceable to a single hypodermal cell.

Pl. XI, fig. 69 shows a more advanced stage, the length of the
young flower (fig. 70), measured as in the preceding case, being about
0.25 mm. One or two divisions have occurred evidently in all the
cells. Although the cells representing the parts of the mature
microsporangium are as yet entirely undifferentiated as to their
contents, yet the manner of cell-division and the orientation of the
walls give evidence of a commencement of a differentiation. First,
the majority of the hypodermal cells have divided by a periclinal
wall, thus separating off the primary parietal layer. Second, at the
left of the top of the figure, there is the first indication, by character-
istic periclinal and anticlinal divisions, of the future septum dividing
the two sacs of the theca.

In Pl. XI, fig. 71, with a length of flower about 0.3 mm, this wall of
separation between the two sacs becomes quite distinct. Its cells
have a much less dense content than the archesporial cells, and
are thus clearly marked off from them, as well as by the orientation
of their walls.

A parallel case of a wall formed in an exactly similar way has
recently been found by Caldwell (1899, pp. 47, 48) in Lemna
minor. Coulter and Chamberlain (1903, pp. 39, 40) in commenting

134 A. H. Graves,

on this condition in Lemna, say, “To divide a large sporogenous
mass by sterile plates for better nutrition is too common to call
for special remark.” As mentioned by Caldwell and Goebel
(1898, p. 770), Isoetes presents a similar condition of formation of
sterile plates of tissue from a fairly large archesporial mass.!

The archesporial cells, therefore, now appear as two definite,
rounded, densely staining masses, composed of sporogenous cells,
surrounded by a primary parietal layer, which has undergone a
periclinal division in two or three places.

The first periclinal divisions in the primary parietal layer have
become more general in the next stage, PI. XI, fig. 73, which is from
a flower about 0.33 mm. in length. The septum between the two
sacs is also more conspicuous, and divisions continue in the sporo-
genous tissue.

At a considerably later period, with the length of the flower
about 0.5 mm. ‘Pi. XI, fig. 74), the parietal layers are still two or
occasionally three in number. Indications appear here that the ta-
petum is forming from the marginal sporogenous tissue. Nuclear
divisions continue among the sporogenous cells.

Soon after this stage, however, the sporogenous cells attain their
final number, and all division ceases, followed by an enlargement
to the mature pollen mother-cells, just as Murbeck (1902) has re-
corded for Ruppia rostellata.

Pl. XI, fig. 75 shows how the tapetal cells, now annigealeaeie in
form and structure, bound the sporogenous cells-—which may now
be termed the pollen, mother-cells—and are undoubtedly derived
from them. According to Rosenberg (1901, II), Zostera also forms
tapetum from the ends of its long sporogenous cells, and Coulter
and Chamberlain (1903. p. 37) have shown that this is not unusual
nor unnatural. In this respect, together with the number of chro-
mosomes in the dividing sporogenous cells, which I have found to
be 16, and also the three or four parietal layers between the epi-
dermis and tapetum, R. maritima corresponds exactly with R. ro-
stellata, as described by Murbeck (1902, p. 5). It is interesting to
note here that Wiegand (1899, pp. 344 and 345), finds in Potamogeton
foliosus that the tapetum is “differentiated from the wall rather
than from the archesporium.”

There remain to be mentioned the dissolution of the tapetal cel
(Pl. XI, fig. 76), the development of thickenings in the subepidermal
layer, and the final dehiscing of the anther by a longitudinal split.

)
,

1 A like situation has been car efully described by Bower (1897, pp. 41 ff.)
for Danaea and other Marattiaceae.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 135

MEGASPORANGIUM

The usual method of development of the megasporangium cor-
responds in every particular to that of Ruppia rostellata, as des-
cribed by Murbeck (1902, pp. 10, 11), so that it would be use-
less to duplicate his careful description here. Stated briefly, the
process is as follows: At a stage in the growth of the pistil represented
in Pl. X, fig. 62, or when it is about 0.25 mm. in length, a hypo-
dermal cell in the young nucellus, in the region marked x, becomes
considerably larger than its neighbors, with a larger nucleus, and
more densely staining contents. This then divides by a periclinal
wall, forming an outer, primary parietal cell, and an inner, megaspore
mother-cell. The primary parietal cell now divides twice succes-
sively by anticlinal walls, at right angles to each other, forming a
plate of four cells, or, through a third anticlinal division, sometimes
six cells. During this time the two integuments successively make
their appearance. Meanwhile, the megaspore mother-cell enlarges,
and with preparations for the first reduction division the history
of the female gametophyte begins.

In Zannichellia, Campbell (1897, pp. 45, 46) finds two parietal
layers formed at first, but these later divide into several layers.
A much greater development of parietal tissue has been observed
by Wiegand (1900, pp. 31, 32) in Potamogeton foliosus and by Holferty
(1901, p. 341) in Potamogeton natans. In the latter case it is def-
initely stated that sometimes eight layers lie between the embryo
sac and the epidermis. In other respects the development of the
megasporangium in both of these genera is essentially the same
as in Ruppia. In Lemna, according to Caldwell (1899, pp. 56,
57), there are not more than two parietal layers formed, and the
other details of the megasporangial development are practically
the same as in Ruppia.

Coulter and Chamberlain (1903, p. 65) state that the suppression
of the parietal tissue among the monocotyledons “is usually asso-
ciated also with the greater or less development of this tissue,” a
point which is illustrated here in the Potamogetonaceae by the
condition in Potamogeton. “The strongest argument,’ to quote
these writers further, ‘that suppression of the parietal tissue of the
megasporangium is a strong tendency among Angiosperms, is that
this condition is universal among the Sympetalae so far as investig-
ated.”

* Rarely two layers of parietal cells are formed (Fig. 78).

136 A. H. Graves,

Before I leave the account of the megasporangium, two cases in
which the archesporium was undoubtedly two-celled should be
recorded. Murbeck (1902, p. 11 and figure 35) has figured a double
megaspore mother-cell, which, however, according to his explanation,
is caused by the very oblique orientation of the wall between
primary parietal and primary sporogenous cells, making this wall
almost perpendicular to the epidermis and hence resulting in two
large cells, apparently both potential megaspore mother-cells, and
bounded exteriorly by the epidermis.

But my first illustration (Pl. XI, fig. 77) shows a clearly differ-
entiated, single, parietal layer and two large megaspore mother- —
cells with their common wall very distinct and quite perpendicular
to the epidermis. The second example has developed somewhat
further (Pl. XI, fig. 78), the two megaspore mother-cells having
passed through the first division, a cross wall being formed, which
divides each into two essentially equal daughter-cells. Here may
also be noted the rather uncommon occurrence of two parietal layers. —

On the analogy of the microsporangium of Angiosperms, it would
seem most natural that multicellular archesporia should occur also
in the megasporangium. Through the investigations of Strasburger
(1879), Fischer (1880), and among others, especially Péchoutre (1902), |
we have come to know that such a multice]lular archesporium is
quite general in the megasporangia of the Rosaceae; and that it
also occurs in many other dicotyledonous groups has been sufficiently
proven.

On the other hand, the reports of an archesporium of more than —
one cell in the megasporangium of monocotyledons are meagre,
and, as reviewed by Coulter and Chamberlain, may be embraced
in two cases, Ornithogalum pyrenaicum (Guignard, 1882), and
Lilium candidum (Bernard, 1900). In these instances the archesporium
is presumably always more than one-celled. There are, however,
many cases, such as some of the Ranunculaceae, when the archespo-
rial cells vary from one to many (Mottier, 1895, and Coulter, 1898).
To such as these last the condition in Ruppia maritima is similar.

FEMALE GAMETOPHYTE

As it is now regarded, the history of the female gametophyte
commences with the preparations for the first division in the mega-
spore mother-cell. As regards this preparatory stage, I find that
Ruppia maritina does not deviate essentially from R. roséel

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 137

and I have, therefore, no occasion to alter or add to Murbeck’s
excellent description.

In brief, the changes are very similar to those which lead up to
the first division in the pollen mother-cells. The megaspore mother-
cell and its nucleus enlarge, while the latter goes through the
synapsis and succeeding stages, the staining reactions being
essentially the same and even the fine kinoplasmic fibers appearing
in the cytoplasm the same as in the corresponding stages in the
pollen mother-cell.

In the spindle formed for the first reduction division, eight chromo-
somes appear (Pl. XII, fig. 80), as Murbeck also announces in
Ruppia rostellata. Although the chromosomes are here much thicker
than in the sporophytic karyokinesis, they are nevertheless still so
small that any definite declaration concerning their shapes and
method of splitting is well nigh impossible. Still, as Murbeck has
noted, the ring and Y-shaped forms characteristic of the heterotypic
division are occasionally apparent.

After the nucleus of the megaspore mother-cell has divided, we
find a wall laid down separating the two daughter-cells (cf. Mur-
beck, 1902, fig. 45). In this connection, reference might be made
to the case already noted under the megasporangium (p. 136), where
a double megaspore mother-cell was found. producing in each case
two such daughter-cells (PI. XI, fig. 78).

The second division follows closely on the first, with a very slight
pause, similarly as in the pollen mother-cells. The two walls re-
sulting from these divisions are, however, laid down at quite different
planes with respect to each other, that is, the wall dividing the
two inner cells is periclinal, while that separating the two outer is
anticlinal. Thus the two outer cells are both in contact with the
third cell, and are separated by it from the innermost cell. The
plane of the anticlinal wall is, however, obliquely situated with
regard to the plane of a horizontal or vertical median section of
the megasporangium; in other words, it is oblique to the plane of
the paper on which such a section is represented, so that an ob-
lique position of the two upper cells with respect to this plane
results.

This arrangement is shown by Murbeck (1902, pp. 13, 14,
fie. 51). But often, due partly to the manner of cutting the section
and partly to the orientation of the outer anticlinal wall, the pos-
ition and even the number of cells is not so apparent, since one
of the two upper cells then lies more or less completely over the
other. Such a case is represented in Pl. XI, fig. 79, which a hasty

138 A. H. Graves,

glance might have interpreted as three megaspores, the upper two
becoming resorbed. But careful focussing discloses another outer
cell at a somewhat lower plane. Murbeck (1902) figures a similar
case in Ruppia rostellata.

This departure from the usual method of division of the mega-
spore mother-cell, in which, in general, the resulting cells are
formed in a straight row, is fully commented upon by Murbeck
(1902, p. 13), who states that it has been found also in Alhonia
nyctaginea, Helleborus foetidus and Ceratophyllum demersum; and
to his work I refer for a fuller account of the whole matter and
for literature bearing upon the subject. A concise morphological
consideration of such a location of the potential megaspores is also
set forth by Coulter and Chamberlain (1903), who although they
do not mention the case of Ruppia rostellata, note a similar arrange-
ment of the outer two cells as occurring in Butomus (Ward, 1880),
Jeffersonia (Andrews, 1895), and Potamogeton (Holferty, 1904).

Moreover, that this position of megaspores is not an invariable
rule in Ruppia maritima, is shown by such a case as is illustrated
by Pl. XII, fig. 81, where the four cells appear in a row, the two
outer ones already much disorganized.

Before proceeding further, the condition shown in Pl. XII, fig. 82
should be noted, where the nucleus of the upper of the two daughter-
cells has divided, but no wall has been formed, and the whole cell,
along with its neighbor below, is undergoing resorption. Such a
happening seems natural when one reflects that the division in the
lower daughter-cell in general precedes that in the upper cell,
producing a tendency by the earlier development of the former,
to reduce activity in the upper daughter-cell. It will be seen later
that this omission of the wall in the upper daughter-cell is the
ordinary occurrence in Potamogeton foltosus.

In all cases the lowest of these four cells becomes the functional
megaspore, the upper three cells becoming resorbed, as in Ruppia
rostellata (Murbeck, 1902, pp. 14, 15).

In Potamogeton natans, Holferty (1901) describes cases of four
megaspores with the same arrangement as in Ruppia, the innermost —
functioning.

In Potamogeton foliosus, described by Wiegand (1900), the con-—
dition is quite different and yet exhibits points of similarity. The
first reduction division produces two daughter-cells, separated
by a wall. The second division then takes place in each of these
cells, and the resulting nuclei occupy practically the same positions ~
as they do in Ruppia. No walls are formed after this division,

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 139

however. If they were, it is evident that a tetrad similar to that
in Ruppia would have resulted. The upper daughter-cell with its
two nuclei now becomes disorganized, and the lower cell becomes
the embryo-sac, its nuclei producing directly the embryo-sac nuclei.

Zostera marina forms three megaspores, according to Rosenberg
(1901, I, p. 9), the lowest functioning. The uppermost, however, in
his Figure If looks much like Figure 51 of Murbeck (1902), and
like many of my own preparations, gives indications of two cells
obliquely arranged.

In Zannichellia the state of affairs is surprisingly different. Ac-
cording to Campbell (1897, pp. 45, 46), a row of three cells is
formed, of which the uppermost becomes the functioning megaspore.
Since this is so strikingly diverse from what takes place in Ruppia,
Zostera and Potamogeton, it would seem as if it needed confirmation.

The functional megaspore now proceeds to the formation of the
embryo-sac by a series of stages which are quite in line with
those which have been found to be so remarkably constant among
the Angiosperms. PI. XII, fig. 82 shows the megaspore nucleus
in process of division, while Fig. 83 discloses the resulting two
nuclei, one at each end. Fig. 84 shows the four nuclei coming
from these two. Fig. 85 represents a mature embryo-sac with
synergidae and egg of characteristic form and structure. The
antipodal cells are always three in number, their nuclei being sur-
rounded by a definite layer of cytoplasm and apparently by a thin,
membranous wall. Often they appear rounded in form (Pl. XI,
fig. 85) and again angular (Fig. 86), in the latter case showing
clearly their relations to each other. They resemble strongly those
figured by Murbeck (1902, fig. 53) in Ruppia rostellata and by
Campbell (1897, fig. 109) in Zannichellia palustris, and like them
are situated in a small pouch at the base of the embryo-sac.

A peculiarity of these antipodals is the conspicuous blue color
of their nuclei with the triple stain, showing an unusual tint of the
blue, and possibly indicating degeneration. Thus they are strongly
contrasted with adjacent nucellar nuclei and may be readily dis-
tinguished. They were not observed to divide, however, as in the
case of certain recently investigated monocotyledons. Apparently
their life is short, for they disappear in stages slightly older than
Pl. XII, fig. 85.

Mae GAMETOPHYTE

Since my studies of the male gametophyte of Ruppia maritima
agree closely with those of Murbeck (1902), it would be useless here

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 10 DecemBer, 1908.

140 A. H. Graves,

to go into a lengthy description. For the sake of completeness,
however, I will review the more important points, noting a few minor
differences from Murbeck’s results, and adding a few observations
of my own.

We may regard the history of the male gametophyte as beginning
with the appearance of the synapsis stage in the pollen mother-cells,
which precedes the first reduction division and signalizes the special
preparations for that process. Seven different flowers chanced to be
fixed during this stage, and the appearance of the pollen mother-
cells in all was typical (Pl. XII, fig. 87). The nuclei are very large,
but no knoblike processes are appended to them, such as Wiegand
(1899) figures for Potamogeton folhosus. Although some such appear-
ance was occasionally found, it was not sufficiently general to be
called typical of this stage.

In the first reduction division I succeeded in finding several cases
of multipolar spindles, as Murbeck (1902, p. 7) has also reported. The
two reduction divisions follow one another in rapid succession, form-
ing a tetrad, whose members are oriented to each other after the
manner of the four quadrants of a somewhat elongated sphere (see
Murbeck, fig. 16). A similar arrangement is figured by Bornet (1864)
in Cymodocea, and is not uncommon in the monocotyledons in general.
During the two reduction divisions I was able in several cases to
count eight chromosomes, which is, therefore, the reduction number,
as Murbeck (1902) also found in Ruppia rostellata.

In the study of the development of the pollen-grain, as in other
structures, I found it of advantage to use a certain definite method
of external measurement as an index to the stage of internal develop-
ment. Thus, in the case of the pollen-grain, I chose the length of
the grain, which, from its first formation in the tetrad to the mature |
condition, increases from about 175 w to about 550 w. Although
these dimensions are subject to some variation, even in the same
pollen-sac, yet they are fairly constant for the same period of growth.

At the time of the formation of the tetrads the nucleus is in an
approximately central position. Very soon after, or while the grain
is still not much more than 175 w in length, the nucleus shows a
position nearer to one end of the grain (PI. XI], fig. 88), and a central
zone of small starch grains has appeared. Almost immediately there-
after one finds the nucleus at the end of the grain, the starch grains
having become considerably larger and uniformly distributed (Pl. XI,
fig. 89). A nuclear division now ensues (Fig. 90), and as a result,
the small lenticular cell at the end of the grain, the generative cell,
is formed (Fig. 92).

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 144

As to the number of chromosomes distributed to the daughter-
nuclei in this division, it is impossible to state it exactly, after a care-
ful study. Murbeck, however, succeeded in finding a very clear
case where eight appeared in the nuclear plate, and judging from
the count in the two preceding mitoses, and also from general
appearances in the division, it appeared to me as if eight was the
most probable number in Ruppia maritima. The chromosomes in this
division, as in the much later one when two male cells are formed
(p. 142), are extremely small—much smaller than in the first and
second divisions in the pollen mother-cell—so that even with the
highest powers of the microscope they are very difficult to identify.

A few words should be added regarding the generative cell at
this period. As Murbeck has noted, its nucleus is smaller than
the tube-nucleus, but, judging from the staining reactions of the two,
it contains a comparatively larger amount of chromatin. Moreover,
a definite aggregation of cytoplasm surrounds the generative nucleus.
As Murbeck has announced in Ruppia rostellata, so here no membrane
separates this cell from the rest of the microspore, and it is evident
that one sees here a naked cell, such as occurs in the case
of the egg or synergidae of the embryo-sac. On the other hand,
Wiegand (1899, pp. 352, 353, figs. 41, 42) finds the generative
cell in Potamogeton—which, by the way, is not formed until the
“spores reach their full size ”—enclosed in a definite membrane.
A distinct wall is also found in Typha by Schaffner (1897. I.) and in
Naias and Sparganium by Campbell (1897, 1899). Rosenberg (1901. I.)
in Zostera mentions only a very indistinct wall at a later stage,
when the two male cells are formed, separating them from the
surrounding pollen-plasm.

In most cases, though by no means always, a narrow space separ-
ates this cell from the rest of the microspore, which a study of a
large number of sections shows is undoubtedly due to a contraction.
(Pl. XII, fig. 92).

The microspore now enters upon a long period of growth, during
which it increases in length from the 175—225 w of the above des-
cribed stages to the 500—550 w of the mature condition. During
this period it gradually assumes its curious bow-shaped form, with
the characteristic dumbbell-like expansions at the ends, and also a
considerable dilatation centrally at the convex side of the bow

(Pl. XII, fig. 95).

' A pollen-grain so remarkable in shape is not unique among the
Potamogetonaceae; for the pollen-grain of Cymodocea is also un-
usual, being a long filamentous grain measuring, according to Bornet

142 A. H. Graves,

(1864), ten by about two thousand w, while the microspores of Zostera
(Rosenberg 1901, Il) are three by about two thousand w when mature.
Moreover, in Phyllospadix, grouped by Ascherson (1889) with Zostera
in the subfamily Zostereae of the Potamogetonaceae, Dudley (1893)
has found the pollen grains to measure about four or five by one
thousand w. Dudley (1893, p. 412) states that “They are slightly
flattened at the extremity and some are enlarged toward the middle.”

During this long period of development to the mature form,
several noteworthy internal changes occur. The tube-nucleus (PI. XII,
figs. 92, 93 tz) gradually undergoes degeneration, until in the mature
grain it often appears fragmentary or angular. The starch grains,
so prominent in the early stages, become for the most part smaller
and fewer, and one seems warranted in concluding that a part of
their substance has been utilized in the formation of the grain.

It is not until the mature condition, or when the pollen is about
ready to be discharged, that the generative cell divides. When
this is to take place, the latter assumes a position in which its long
axis is more or less parallel with the long axis of the microspore.
The two resulting male cells remain united as in Potamogeton foliosus
(Wiegand, 1899), each surrounded by a considerable layer of cytoplasm
(Pl. XII, fig. 94).

Moreover, even at this stage, no wall separates the male cells from
the cytoplasm of the pollen-grain, but there is a fine cell-plate —
formed between the two cells. As a slight variation from Murbeck’s
figure, I tind that for the most part in Ruppia maritima a moderate con-
striction occurs between the two male cells, in the region of the |
cell-plate. i,

One feature which has not been thoroughly worked out in the
pollen-grain of Ruppia and indeed has been much neglected in the ©
study of the male gametophyte in general, is the origin and growth
of the microspore wall.

Murbeck (1902) has described the peculiar thickenings of the
mature wall, the latter consisting of a single thin layer.

Since I was fortunate enough to have a large number of sectio
of all stages of the growth of the pollen-grain, the development of
the wall from the pollen mother-cell stage to the mature microspore
was comparatively easy to trace.

The wall of the pollen mother-cell, after it has separated from
its neighbors, is very thin. After formation of the tetrads, this wall
thickens and becomes the free or outer wall of the tetrads, while
the interior walls of the tetrad are laid down immediately after
the two reduction divisions, Pl. XII, fig. 88. These tetrad cells do

a

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 143

not separate: the protoplasts forming the future pollen grains may
be said to simply occupy the four quadrant-like compartments in
the spherical structure comprising the tetrad. The walls at this
stage are of noteworthy appearance by reason of their considerable
thickness—being thicker than the wall of the pollen-grain at any
future time—and also from their transparency, refracting the light
in such a way that they appear gelatinous.

The tetrad walls appear now to expand, leaving the pollen proto-
plasts naked within them. Such a condition is shown in Pl. XII,
fig. 97. Finally the walls entirely dissolve.

Judging from Murbeck’s account, these conditions escaped his
notice, for he speaks of the membrane of the tetrads as showing
“noch keine Spur von Oberflachenstruktur ” (1902, p. 8).

The process is, however, essentially the same as that described
by Strasburger (1882, pp. 87 ff.; 1889, pp. 36 ff.) for the pollen-
grain of Malva crispa and other plants. Only one marked difference
occurs, namely, that in Malva crispa, &c. the old pollen mother-
cell wall is apparently cast off and does not take part in the wall
formation of the tetrads.

From now on a wall develops around the young pollen-grain,
but, as in the cases of Naias and Zannichellia, remains a single
thin membrane (Pl. XI, fig. 94).

Very early (Pl. XII, fig. 97) the local thickenings begin to be
formed on the outer surface of the wall. These in this early stage
are difficult to see clearly on account of their transparence. They
seemed, however, to be the result of depositions on the wall and
not do develop from radial bands in its interior. Ultimately these
thickenings appear in the shape of low ridges arranged to form
irregular polygons, at whose intersection are short spines, with a
slight knob at the end (Pl. XII, fig. 96, @ and 6). At the ends of
the grain and at its expanded center, these spines become shorter,
or are absent altogether (Pl. XII, fig. 94). It is probable that at
these localities the pollen tube commences its formation.

POLLINATION

Ruppia is one of the few of the higher plants to which, in
respect of the process of pollination, the term hydrophilous may be
applied. In other words, water is the transporting agent for the
pollen, instead of the commoner methods by insects or the wind.

144 A. H. Graves,

According to my own observations, which agree in the main
with those of Roze (1894), the process of pollination takes place
about as follows. Soon after the extension of the peduncle above
the surface of the water, the anther sacs split open by a longitudinal
cleft, and the pollen, shed in large yellowish masses, may be seen
floating on the surface of the water.

Immediately subsequent to the shedding of the pollen, the rhachis,
which up to this time has been erect, commences to incline toward
the surface of the water. It becomes more and more horizontal
until eventually, after two or three hours, it comes to lie on the
surface of the water.

In this position, the stigmas are of course so situated that the
floating pollen grains, with which, in the height of the flowering
season, the water is fairly well covered, have easy access to them.
The final step occurs when the currents of water, always moving
in one direction or another in a tidal ditch—or sometimes set in
motion by gusts of wind—bring the pollen grains into contact with
the stigmas. |

Wylie (1904), has described a similar mode of pollination in
Elodea. He attributes the floating of the pollen-grains to the air
imprisoned between the spines of the pollen-grain and the surface
of the water, this being sufficient to keep the grain afloat. Pol-
lination on the surface of the water also takes place in Vallisneria,
as is well known. In Zostera, however (Strasburger, 1908, p. 258),
pollination is performed below the surface of the water.

<

FERTILIZATION

No investigator has yet been able to demonstrate the process of
fertilization in Ruppia. Murbeck (1902, p. 15) has, indeed, found
the pollen tubes in the ovary; but has been unable to distinguish
either of the sperm-nuclei in the embryo-sac. For various reasons,
he concludes that the act of fertilization takes place very rapidly.
If this is true, it may account for the fact that in my own prep-
arations I also have been unable to find any unmistakable evidence
of the sperm-nuclei.

As is shown in Pl. X, figs. 62-66, a definite stylar canal exists
from the stigma to the cavity of the ovary, but Murbeck (1902, 1. c.)
claims that the pollen tubes, however, penetrate through the cellular
structure of the style to the cavity of the ovary.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 145

ENDOSPERM

The endosperm nucleus is large, and located near the antipodal
end of the embryo-sac, or sometimes near the center. Just what

nuclei enter into its formation was
not ascertained, nor could I deter-
mine whether or not in the matter
of commencing division it has a
slight advantage over the fertilized
egg, as Murbeck (1902) declares is
the case in Ruppia rostellata.

The endosperm in its most fully
developed stage (Text-fig. 27), is
never more than a thin layer lining
the embryo-sac and containing free
nuclei. In the mature seed, traces
of it may still be seen as a thin
protoplasmic lining, with the nuclei
now much reduced in size. Thus
it is clear that the endosperm is
here only temporary. The function
of more lasting nourishing tissue is
assumed by the enlarged hypocotyl.
A similar development of endosperm

Figure 27.— Portion of endosperm

which lines embryo-sac, this par-

ticular example being taken from

the embryo-sac which contains

the embryo shown in Pl. XIII,
fig. 106. >< 575,

appears in other Potamogetonaceae (Coulter and Chamberlain, 1903,

pr 171).

EMBRYO

The fertilized egg divides transversely, producing al arge lower
cell and small upper cell. As in Naias (Campbell, 1897, p. 26),
Zannichellia (Campbell, |. c., pp. 27, 28), Zostera (Rosenberg, 1901, I;
Hofmeister, 1852), and Potamogeton (Wiegand, 1900), the former
divides no further, but subsequently increases vastly in size, develop-
ing large vacuoles, and becomes the suspensor, which is thus in
this case restricted to a single large, basal cell.

I was unable to discover any stages between the two-celled pro-
embryo and the twelve-celled stage—the latter represented in
Pl. XII, fig. 100. Murbeck, however, figures a three-celled stage
in Ruppia rostellata, which I reproduce (Pl. XII, fig. 98), showing
two small cells, which may be called the “ embryo-cells,” arisen from —
the transverse division of the small upper cell; and also the basal
large cell, namely, the suspensor-cell. Wille (1883) figures and
also describes a similar stage in his work on the embryo of Ruppia
rostellata.

Wille has carefully followed the development of the proembryo
in these early stages, and his observations and figures accord well
with my slightly older embryos. His report of the succeeding
divisions is briefly as follows: The lower of the two embryo-cells
divides longitudinally, followed by a similar division in the same
plane in the upper cell, making four cells in all; next, by longitudinal
divisions in both segments, in a plane at right angles to the last,
an eight-celled structure is formed. The embryo now consists,
therefore, of two four-celled segments lying one over the other,
and borne on a single large suspensor-cell (Pl. XIII, fig. 99.)

It should be borne in mind that this suspensor cell is the basal
segment resulting from the first division of the fertilized egg, and
never again divides. In this connection it may be well to follow
out the subsequent history of this peculiar suspensor before going
into an account of the embryo proper.

After the first unequal division in the fertilized egg-cell, the
suspensor-cell becomes rapidly larger, and at the time when the
two four-celled segments appear, as described above, it is much
larger than these combined (PI. XIII, fig. 99). At the period sho
in Fig. 100, when the embryo contains twelve cells, the suspensor:

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 147

cell nucleus, with the majority of the cytoplasm, occupies a pos-
ition at the base of the cell, the upper part containing one or
more large vacuoles. This appearance, although not invariable (cf.
fig. 101), seems a quite general one in the disposition of the cell-
contents at all stages except the very earliest. The same has been
noted in Zostera (Rosenberg, 1901, I, pp. 11, 12) and Potamogeton
(Wiegand, 1900, p. 37).

Although the suspensor-cell is now (Pl. XII, fig. 100) enormous
in size, this is in fact only a stage in its enlargement. Fig. 101
testifies to what proportions it eventually attains. At the same time
its nucleus attains a large size. In somewhat later stages the sus-
pensor-cell commences a gradual disintegration, until, at a period
of embryo development, such as in fig. 106, the outlines of the cell
can be no longer distinguished, although its nucleus is still apparent
in a condition of disorganization.

During its development, the suspensor-cell is in contact with the
micropylar end of the embryo-sac for some time, but may eventually
become free, as Wiegand (1900, pp. 37, 38) has also noted in
Potamogeton.

In connection with this remarkable growth, the statements of Rosen-
berg (1904, I, p. 12), who describes a similar suspensor in Zostera,
may be quoted. In writing of the nucleus of this cell he says: “Der
Kern des Embryotragers .... macht eher den Eindruck, als ob in
demselben eine rege Stoffbildung vor sich ginge; etwa eine Auf-
nahme von Stoffen, die in dem Kern weiter umgebildet werden,
um spater in das Embryo zu gelangen.” It might be added that
not only the nucleus, but also the whole cell, judging from its ap-
pearance and time and manner of development, has obviously the
function of reception and preparation of nourishment for the embryo.
It is significant also to note that at the time of the degeneration
of this large suspensor-cell, the endosperm nuclei are relatively
abundant.

Although a similar large basal cell occurs in Naias (Campbell, 1897,
p. 26), Zannichellia (Campbell, 1897, pp. 27, 48), Zostera (Rosen-
berg, 1901, I, pp. 11, 12) and Potamogeton (Wiegand, 1900, p. 37),
only in Zostera does it represent the entire suspensor as in Ruppia.
In the remaining genera other small secondary suspensor-cells are
formed above the large basal cell.

It will be seen that the three-celled stage of the proembryo
(Pl. XIII, fig. 98) is essentially similar to that of Sagittaria (Schaffner,
1897, II, p. 262 and Pl. XXIV figures 46, 47) and Alisma (Schaffner,
1896, pp. 129, 130), which has been regarded as typical of the

148 A. H. Graves,

monocotyledonous embryo (Coulter and Chamberlain, 1903, pp. 188,
190 ff.).

Instead of the increase of this row of cells from three to four,
or, in other words, to a row of three embryo-cells, as is the case
in the above-mentioned genera, Wille, as already stated, finds that
two plates of four cells each are formed from the two embryo-cells.
These two resulting four-celled segments are, nevertheless, still the
representatives of the two small embryo-cells, which are formed
first, in Ruppia as well as in Sagittaria and Alisma.

That this condition is the usual one in Ruppia is shown not only
by Wille’s (1883) observations, which may be correlated so well
with my own, but also by the figures and description of Hofmeister
(1852, p. 143 and figures 41-46, and 1861, figures 1—7, pl. ID).

My twelve-celled embryo (Pl. XIII, fig. 100), composed of three
four-celled plates, has obviously arisen by a transverse wall through
one of these four-celled segments—which one, it is not possible to
state. In the typical embryo of Sagittaria, indeed, it is the lower
of the two segments that undergoes a transverse division (Schaffner,
1897. II, p. 262 and Pl. XXIV, figures 46, 48, 49), and this may be
the case here.

What has occurred then is simply the formation of three seg-
ments, one above the other, comparable to the three upper cells in
Sagittaria (Schaffner, 1897, II, Pl. XXIV, figures 48, 49), with the
difference that in Ruppia longitudinal divisions precede the trans-
verse ones. :

A comparison of this stage with those embryos of related genera
which have been worked out, brings to light the following points.
The embryos of Zannichellia (Campbell, 1897, p. 48 and cf. fig. 63
Pl. IL; Hofmeister, 1861, Pl. I, fig. 18) and Potamogeton (Wiegand,
1900, pp. 37, 38, and Pl. VII, figures 25, &c.) are essentially like
that of the typical Sagittaria, consisting of a row of three cells
above the suspensor-cell, the terminal one being the first to undergo
longitudinal divisions.

As to the embryo of Zostera, it was investigated at a very early
period by Hofmeister (1852), and quite recently by Rosenberg
* (1901, I). Their results are not complete in the early stages, but
enough has been shown to indicate that Zostera is more like Ruppia
in the early development of its embryo than any of the Potamo-
getonaceae so far investigated. Hofmeister (1852, p. 139) states that

‘ Practically the same figures are presented in each of these articles:
in the former, the species is given as rostedlata, in the latter, as maritima.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 149

a four-celled embryo is formed from the first embryo-cell by two
longitudinal divisions occurring at right angles to each other, and
these quadrant-like cells are next each divided by a transverse wall.
So that, although the divisions here occur in different sequence,
the two four-celled segments nevertheless result.

Although these first stages were not followed out by Rosenberg,
he presents a figure (1901, I, Pl. I, fig. 20, and P. 12) of an eight-
celled embryo similar to that of Wille’s (Pl. XII, fig. 99). It is
perhaps possible that later investigation will show that the first wall
in Zostera is transverse instead of longitudinal, as Hofmeister has
described it.

The task of tracing out the lines of demarcation of the primary
segments during the later stages, after the manner of recent embryo-
logical investigations, is very difficult, probably from two principal
causes. First, the remarkable number of early longitudinal divisions
which have already been indicated to a certain extent obscure the
segment limits. Second, the form of the mature embryo differs so
widely from that of a typical monocotyledon that even in the early
developmental stages this influence makes itself felt, and renders
comparison with type forms rather unsatisfactory. Wille, indeed
(1883, pp. 2, 3), describes his eight-celled stage as forming a
‘sixteen celled structure by transverse divisions in all of the eight
cells. But of the subsequent divisions he says (1. c., p. 3), “ Herefter
gaa Delingerne uregelmessigt, saa man ikke lengere med Be-
stemthed kan felee de enkelte Cellers Delinger.”

Of stages older than the eight-celled embryo of Wille and Hof-
meister, I was fortunate in having a fairly large number, and in
the following description I shall attempt to show to what extent
the segment boundaries may be traced during the embryo develop-
ment, and how they may be correlated to such a type as Sagit-
taria.

I have already suggested that such an embryo as is represented
in Pl. XIII, fig. 100, composed of twelve cells, or three four-celled
segments, arises from Wille’s younger form by a transverse wall
through one of the segments, and that this is parallel to the case in
Sagittaria, where a three-celled row arises by a transverse division
in the lower embryo-cell.

Fig. 101 is a slightly older embryo, in which the divisions are
ssomewhat irregular, but still admit of an interpretation which reveals
the outlines of the cells and segments in the preceding stage. It
is evident that a transverse division has occurred in the terminal
segment.

150 A. H. Graves,

In fig. 102 appears evidently the beginning of the formation of
the dermatogen, at least in the terminal segment at the left. Fig.
103 shows the segment lines more irregular, the dermatogen has
became more pronounced, and in fig. 104 shows a distinct differ-
entiation. A point of interest at this stage is the considerable in-
crease in size of all the cells, which are, however, only slightly
greater in number than in fig. 103. The embryo here measures
about 0.075 mm. in diameter, as against the 0.05 mm. of the pre-
ceding one.

Up to this point the embryo has exhibited a globular form, but
in fig. 105, where it measures about 0.085 mm. it has commenced
to elongate. It is at this period that the divisions are initiated in
the terminal segment, appearing here at the left, which signalize
the approach of cotyledonary development.

It has been shown by Schaffner (1897, Il, pp. 263-265) in Sagit-
taria that of the proembryo of three cells, the uppermost develops
the cotyledon. the middle divides transversely, and of the two result-
ing segments the upper develops the stem apex and the lower the
hypocotyl, root, and secondary suspensor. The lowest cell of the
three-celled proembryo remains undivided, forming the basal sus-

|

pensor-cell. |

Obviously the primary segments in Ruppia do not all have des- —
tinies similar to those of Sagittaria. For, to begin with, no second-
ary suspensor is here found, and only a minute rudimentary root, —
as will be shown later. Again, it seems quite probable, although
for the reasoris stated above no conclusions can be certainly drawn,
that the terminal segment produces the stem-apex as well as the
cotyledon. Campbell (1897, p. 49) finds such a condition in Zanni- —
chellia, and the appearances shown in fig. 106 point to such a
situation here. Solms-Laubach (1878), as noted by Campbell, has
also reported a terminal origin of the stem-apex in some of the
Commelinaceae and Dioscoreaceae. This leaves the second segment
(which, as has already been indicated, probably divides transversely
to form the second and third segments, as in Sagittaria) for the
development of the hypocotyl, extraordinarily large in Ruppia, and
the small rudimentary root adjacent to the suspensor-cell.

Pl. XIII, fig. 105, however, represents the oldest embryo in which
the primary segments can be determined with accuracy. In the
next figure (fig. 106), it is quite impossible to make out definitely —
the line separating the terminal segment from the rest of the
embryo, to say nothing of any other segment-lines. Nevertheless,
in this embryo, cell divisions are active in the terminal region

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 151

and one can easily see a small prominence (fig. 106, cot), accompanied
interiorly by a number of cell-divisions, which is obviously the be-
ginning of the cotyledon. Moreover, at its right is another markedly
meristematic region, the future stem apex or epicotyl (fig. 106, s?).

Wille’s description of the subsequent development up to the
mature embryo agrees essentially with my slides, so that I confirm
his observations in the main, adding a few details. For the sake
of clearness, each member will be described separately.

The Cotyledon. Originating as described above, the cotyledon elon-
gates and the epicotyl develops at its base. Inthe course ofits growth,
the cotyledon develops basal sheaths similar to those characteristic of
the leaves of a mature plant, which then surround the epicotyl.
Concerning this condition Wille (1883, pp. 3, 4) says, “Hos den
modne Frugt er Plumulaen ganske omgiven af Cotyledonet (Tavl.
I, fig. 25), kun en trang Spalte ferer ind til Hulen,” but figures an
embryo with a large open hollow at the base of the cotyledon,
where the epicotyl may be seen. As a matter of fact, in Ruppia
maritima at least, the cotyledonary sheaths overlap one another
for almost the whole of their length, essentially as do the sheaths
of the foliage leaves (Pl. XV, fig. 118). Only at the upper end of
these sheaths is there a small cleft remaining (Fig. 118, «) which
may be the “trang Spalte’”” mentioned by Wille. Thus the sheaths
enclose the epicotyl so that it is quite shut off from view. In
Pl. XIV, fig. 112, and Pl. XV, fig. 116 these sheaths appear in
section in not quite mature embryos, and figures 117 and 118 show
them in a cotyledon dissected from a mature embryo. It is inter-
esting to note that the axillary scales may be seen within the sheaths,
at their base, as in the mature plant.

Wille (1883, Pl. I, fig. 25) figures the cotyledon as elevated a
considerable distance above the hypocotyl, although still extend-
ing more or less horizontally, and one might conclude that pos-
sibly herein is a specific difference between /uppia rostellata and
R. maritima, were it not for the fact that Irmisch (1858, fig. 37,
pl. I) figures the cotyledon closely appressed to the hypocotyl as
I find it in R. maritima (Pl. XV, fig. 119). In Text-fig. 28, p. 152,
this horizontal position has been slightly disturbed through manip-
ulation.

The Epicotyl. Pl. XIV, fig. 112 shows the epicotyl in a nearly
mature embryo. It consists always of a second leaf and the growing
point, the latter not appearing as prominently here as in other sections.
Wille (1883, p. 3, figs. 25 and 26) is in doubt whether this smaller pro-

152 A. H. Graves,

tuberance is really the growing point or the third leaf, but a com-
parison with the growing point of the mature stem (Pl. I, fig. 1;
Text-fig. 2, p. 75) conclusively proves its nature.

The Hypocotyl. The great bulk of the embryo is taken up by the
hypocotyl (Pl. XV, fig. 119, Text-fig. 28), which is nothing but a
mass of storage tissue, its cells being gorged with large starch grains.
Even in such a young stage as in Pl. XIII, fig. 105, the cells in
this region are distinctly larger than in the remainder of the embryo.
They continue their enlargement and acquire an ever richer content
of starch as development proceeds (cf. Pl. XIII, figs. 105, 106; Pl. XIV,
figs; 440-142, 114 Ply, -fis. 445).
cgt

XN

ep c
Ny

== hye

Figure 28.—Mature embryo dissected from ripe seed, the cotyledon slightly
elevated during manipulation. cot, cotyledon; efc, region of epicotyl; adr,

~

adventitious root; “yf, hypocotyl. >< 35.

The Primary Root. At a fairly early period (Pl. XII, fig. 106 ; Pl. XIV,
fig. 110) a certain group of cells becomes differentiated at the base of
the embryo, by acquiring denser contents and lacking the starch grains
of the storage cells above them. Each of these cells later develops
(at least those on the periphery of the embryo) into unicellular
papilla-like projections, essentially as figured and described by
Wille (1883, p. 4 and PI. I, fig. 19) and Murbeck (1902, pp. 17, 18
and figs. 60b, 61b). Like Murbeck, I find also often more than
a single layer, but whether arising from periclinal divisions in the

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 153
dermatogen, as he asserts, | was not able to determine. The whole
group is supposed to represent the vestiges of the primary root
(Murbeck, 1902, p. 18; Wille, 1883, p. 4), which develops only to
this rudimentary degree, and never functions.

The First Adventitious Root. At about the period when the coty-
ledon and epicotyl have become quite distinct in outline, the form-
ation of an adventitious root occurs near the base of the epicotyl.
This grows rapidly, forming a noticeable protuberance (Pl. XIV,
figs. 112, 113), and in the mature embryo (Text-fig. 28) may be
seen pointing almost directly upward, or nearly at right angles to
the position of the cotyledon.

The distribution of the meristematic regions at the tip of this
adventitious root is not as clearly marked as in the roots of the
mature plant. It will be recalled that the roots of the mature plant,
as in Zannichellia, contain at their tip four distinct meristematic
regions, representing the initial areas of calyptrogen, dermatogen,
periblem and plerome.

In the young adventitious root of the embryo an interesting point
is the division of the epidermis of the hypocotyl, immediately over
the young developing root, by
periclinal walls, apparently to
form root cap. These divisions
continue, and anticlinal as well
as periclinal occur. This isa very
different condition from that in
the roots of the mature plant.

Whether the dermatogen and
periblem are each also here re-
presented by a single layer at the
apex of the growing-point would
be impossible to assert definitely,
on account of the irregularity of
the cells, but such seems to be

Figure 29.— Longitudinal section

often the case (Text-fig. 29). How-
ever, some embryos show only
one layer for both dermatogen
and plerome. as Campbell finds
most usual in the primary root

of Zannichellia (Campbell, 1897, p. 51).

through apex of adventitious root of
nearly mature embryo; showing p/,
plerome, d, dermatogen, and periclinal
divisions initiating development of

calyptrogen, cal. >< 530.

The plerome is pretty

clearly marked (Text-fig. 29), but also does not have as definite a
point of origin as in the roots of the mature plant.

154 A. H. Graves,

The mature embryos of Ruppia maritima measure 1.5—2 mm. in
length, by a little more than 1 mm. in width. Although I find no
measurements recorded of the embryos of R. rostellata, Irmisch’s
figure (1858, fig. 37, Taf. I) is somewhat longer in proportion to
its width.

Murbeck (1902, p. 18 and PI. III, figs. 62, 64, and 65) has called
attention to the resemblance of this curious embryo of Ruppia to
those of the related genera, Zannichellia, Halophila and Zostera.
The embryo of Phyllospadix is similar, but characterized by a
peculiar lobing of the hypocotyl around the base of the cotyledon
(Dudley 1893, p. 413 and PI. II, fig. H).

To the well known controversy regarding the real nature of the
adventitious root and of the primary root, I will briefly allude and
record my own views here.

In writing of the Potamogetonaceae, Ascherson (1889, p. 200)
says, “Meist entwickelt sich eine kraftige Hauptwurzel an dem
unteren Ende des Embryos; nur bei Ruppia befindet sich dieselbe
seitlich neben der Plumula.”

Thus Ascherson, whose view has been adopted by Goebel (1898,
pp. 464-466), rejects the conclusions of Wille, who found the
peculiar cell-group developed in R#. rostellata, which I have also
reported for FR. maritima, at the base of the hypocotyl and im-
mediately over the large suspensor-cell. This basal region is, as
Wille says, the place for the primary root of the embryo. Wille,
therefore, considers this the rudiment of the primary root, and the
structure near-the base of the plumule. which Ascherson calls the
primary root, he terms an adventitious root.

Murbeck agrees with Wille and in further investigations finds
that the primary root rudiment “sich eben am Festpunkte des_
Embryos, mit anderen Worten, eben am Platze der Radicula be-
findet. Dass dieselbe wirklich die Anlage der Radicula reprasentiert,
kann wohl schwerlich bezweifelt werden” (1902, p. 17).

That the adventitious root is of exogenous origin is explained
by Wille (1883, p. 5) and defended by Murbeck (I. c. p. 18) by the
fact that practically all of the cells of the young embryo are mer-
istematic, so that an adventitious root developing at this period may —
easily have an exogenous origin.

My own slides testify to the correctness of the interpretations and —
figures of Wille and Murbeck. Nowhere is there the least evidence
that the hypocotyl is the “seitliche Auftreibung” described by
Ascherson, and there seems no doubt but that the root near the
base of the epicotyl is properly the first adventitious root, which —

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 155

has assumed the function of the primary root of the embryo. Such
an adventitious root, we have seen, may occur in a similar way at
any node in the mature plant, just below the point of leaf-insertion.

Just what the group of cells at the base of the hypocotyl
does represent is difficult to say definitely. Murbeck thinks that
they may represent calyptrogen and calyptra (1902, p. 18). This
is, of course, possible, but it would be difficult to prove. We may
be sure of this much, however, that from their position, appearance,
and development, they bear some relation to the now functionless
primary root.

Another interpretation of this whole thickened hypocotyl with
its curious basal cells seems plausible, namely, that practically the
whole swollen area itself represents the primary root or radicle
which has been by degrees metamorphosed into a storage-organ.
That this is actually what has happened would be difficult to prove,
for it is dangerous to lay much stress on the form and position of
the storage organs. The strongest grounds for such an opinion are
drawn from a comparative morphological study. The embryo of
Zannichellia, e. g., is very similar to that of Ruppia. Although
Wille considers (1883, p. 7) that the small caplike body at the base
of the hypocotyl comprises the entire root, Campbell's figures and
description (1897, pp. 50, 51 and PI V, figures 120, 122, 123) go
to show that practically the whole ‘hypocotyl is a root structure
and the small body at its base is the root cap,

In Zannichellia the primary root functions for a time during ger-
mination (Wille, 1883, p. 8). The absence of a distinct plerome
and periblem in what has been called the hypocotyl of Ruppia may
be accounted for by the degeneration of this tissue, its assumption
of the function of storage, and the transfer of its] functioning power
as a root to the adventitious root.

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. it Decemper, 1908.

FRUIT AND SEED

Pl. IV, fig. 13 shows a cluster of mature fruits, and, as may be
seen, the form varies somewhat, but is always bluntly pointed at
the apex, with a one-sided base, the whole being slightly oblique
with respect to the axis of the stipe. At the maturity of the fruit,
the stigma generally drops off, leaving the blunt apex shown in the

figure.

Figure 30.—Section through ovary wall Figure 31.—Two ripe achenes,

of ripe fruit, showing the three inner- after disintegration of the outer

most hardened layers, which form the soft parts of the fruit covering ;

covering of the seed, and the outer showing the pronounced beaks.
soft parts. >< 210. < 35

During the development of the seed, changes occur in the wall
of the ovary, the most important of which is the thickening of the cell-
walls of portions contiguous to the seed, with the result that this —
inner layer of the ovary-wall becomes quite hard. This hardened
portion is limited to about three layers of cells. Outside of this
hard layer are about five or six layers of thin-walled cells, copiously
supplied with starch, and these, in turn, are bounded by the epi-
dermis, also rich in starch (Text-fig. 30).

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 157

The ripened fruit has a greater specific gravity than water, which
one can easily demonstrate by breaking off the fruit from the stipe.
It then sinks immediately to the bottom, and, in most cases, probably
passes the winter embedded in the mud. Under such conditions,
the outer soft parts of the fruit-covering soon decay, leaving the
inner thickened portion of the ovary-wall which surrounds the seed.
Since this area extends up into the stylar canal, the result is an
appearance as in Text-fig. 31. At the end is a long beak, derived
from the stylar region. Such a structure is accordingly an achene,
its outer layer being hard, dry and indehiscent, and derived from
the ovary.

A prominent beak is supposed to be a specific character of Ruppia
rostellata. But a comparison with the figures of Irmisch (4858) of
FR. rostellata demonstrates that the beak represented there is not
any longer than that of my specimens, although of a slightly
different shape.

A similar development of fruit and seed is indicated by Campbell
(1897) in Zannichellia, where a seed is formed surrounded by, a
pericarp from the ovary-wall. Such achenes are also well known
to occur in the grasses.

SEEDLING

Germination. A considerable number of seeds were germinated
in the laboratory. Seeds gathered in October, at the end of the
flowering season, first began to germinate in December, and from
that time on seedlings appeared intermittently. It is evident, there-
fore, that the seed requires a short period of rest before the new
growth begins.

Seedlings were grown either in mud from their native habitat,
or in clean-washed sand, the latter being preferable, on account
of the numerous algae, bacteria, &c. which soon develop in the
former. The salt water used was taken from New Haven Harbor.

Irmisch (1858) noticed in the achene of Ruppia rostellata a small,
slightly swollen, elongated area which he claimed was the place of
exit for the cotyledon and root on germination. Such a spot occurs
also in Ruppia maritima, but I have been unable to ascertain def-
initely if this is the region which is ruptured at germination. In
most cases a more or less triangular area of the hard, dark-brown
covering is pushed off and the cotyledon and adventitious root
make their appearance (Pl. XV, fig. 120). In figure 121 the whole
pericarp has been purposely removed to show the enormous hypo-
cotyl.

Figure 120 shows a seedling about three days old. Here the
three vegetative organs are disclosed: the first foliage leaf is devel-
oped from the cotyledon, which becomes green; the stem is formed
by the elongation of the hypocotyl; and the root grows rapidly
downward, becoming abundantly furnished with root-hairs.

In the case of the root, it is interesting to note that it exhibits
a general tendency to first grow upwards for a short time, only
later turning downward. The proportional growth of roots and
leaves seems to vary considerably (Pl. XV, figs. 120, 121).

Formation of Rootstock. Text-figs. 32 and 33 are drawings— ~
natural size—of seedlings grown in the laboratory in washed sand
and harbor water. The seeds were collected in January, being
extracted from mud taken from the bottom of a ditch where Ruppia
maritima grows and fruits abundantly, many of the parent plants
being even at that time in a green, flourishing condition. On
being placed in a warm room, germination occurred in a few days.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 159

During their growth the young plants showed very clearly the
manner in which the horizontal rootstock is developed. At first
the seedling is erect, but soon, as it increases in length, reclines

Figure 32.— Young seedling, show- Figure 33.—Young seedling, older
ing development of horizontal root- than preceding one, showing more
stock. 71, /2, 23, &c., successively advanced development of horizontal
older leaves; r7, 72, 73, &c., suc- rootstock. Abbreviations as in pre-
cessively older adventitious roots. vious figure. 4 natural size.

$ natural size

somewhat, and at the same time an adventitious root (Text-tig. 32, 1)
appears at the first node and grows downward, fixing itself in the
soil or sand. This is repeated at successive nodes, the shoot re-
clining more and more, and Text-fig. 32 shows an advanced stage
where five adventitious roots have been developed, and a sixth (7%)
is just appearing. Three days after the drawing was made, this
sixth root had reached the surface of the sand. In this figure the
roots have almost the appearance of drawing down the stem to a
horizontal position. Whether or not this is actually the case, a
horizontal location is ultimately attained, as in Text-fig. 33. Here,
indeed, the first roots have apparently drawn the oldest part of the
seedling well down into the sand.

From this time on the seedling assumes the habit of the mature
plant. From the nodes upright shoots may arise, which may also
develop later in the same way into root stocks, thus forming a
branched rootstock; or it is conceivable that these upright shoots
may continue in an erect position, ultimately reaching the surface
of the water and flowering.

160 A. H. Graves,

The anatomy of the seedling corresponds in the main to that of
the mature plant. The central vascular area in the stem is thus
essentially the same as in the older plant, so that no ancestral
characters were detected in the vascular system in this young stage.

SUMMARY OF PARTS
ON REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS, EMBRYO, &c.

Flower. The inflorescence is spadix-like, and even a small spathe
is present, the latter structure having almost entirely escaped the
notice of investigators.

The small scaly outgrowths from! the anther-connective probably
represent reduced floral leaves, judging from the analogy of Pota-
mogeton, and from the fact that the flower of Ruppia is evidently
a reduced one.

The two flowers of the spadix arise laterally from the vegetative
cone; they develop practically together in point of time, and the
anthers precede the pistils in development.

Microsporangium. Appearances indicate that the archesporial
initials in the microsporangium are a comparatively large group of
cells which originate simultaneously both in plerome and periblem.

A plate of sporogenous cells becomes differentiated to form the
future septum dividing the two sacs of the theca.

The tapetum.is evidently derived from the sporogenous cells.

The sporophytic number of chromosomes was definitely ascer-
tained to be sixteen.

Megasporangium. The megasporangium arises from a hypo-
dermal cell in the usual way. Generally one layer of parietal cells
is formed.

An interesting case was found of two megaspore mother-cells in
one megasporangium, a condition little known among monocotyle-
dons.

Female Gametophyte. Eight chromosomes appear in the first
reduction division, and probably in the succeeding ones.

A double megaspore mother-cell was found, which had in each
case divided into two daughter-cells.

The four potential megaspores are oriented in such a way that
the two outer cells are in contact with the third cell, but separated
by it from the innermost cell.

The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima. 161

The embryo-sac develops in the usual way and always from the
innermost potential megaspore, the outer ones becoming resorbed.
The antipodal cells are surrounded by cytoplasm and a thin mem-
brane, and are always three in number. No further divisions among
them were observed.

Male Gametophyte. The tetrads are oriented to each other like
the four quadrants of a sphere.

Eight chromosomes appear in the reduction-division.

The generative cell is formed very early. in the development, at
the end of the young pollen-grain. No membrane now or later
separates it from the rest of the grain.

When the grain has nearly reached maturity, the generative cell
divides, the two resulting male cells remaining united.

The mature pollen-grain is of peculiar shape, but similar forms
occur in other Potamogetonaceae.

The wall of the pollen-grain is formed inside of the walls of the
tetrads, these latter walls becoming apparently dissolved.

The wall is never of more than a single layer. The thickenings
on its exterior appear to be the result of depositions. At certain
regions these depositions are omitted, and these spots are probably
the places where the pollen-tube may commence its formation.

Pollination. Pollination is accomplished by means of water, an
unusual method,

Endosperm. The endosperm is scanty, never more than a thin
layer lining the embryo-sac, and containing free nuclei.

Embryo. The suspensor is limited to a single large cell, which
later develops to an enormous size.

The embryo evidently develops from two or three primary seg-
ments as in the typical monocotyledonous embryo.

An unusual state of affairs exists, however, in the large number
of early longitudinal divisions.

Apparently both cotyledon and stem-apex arise from the terminal
segment as in Zannichellia, but this cannot be definitely proved, on
account of the obscurity of the segment boundaries.

The two lower segments form hypocotyl, adventitious root, and
primary root.

I agree with Murbeck in locating the vestiges of the primary root
at the base of the enlarged hypocotyl.

Another possible interpretation is that practically the whole
swollen area is a root, metamorphosed into a storage organ.

162 A. H. Graves,

Seed and Fruit. Vhe fruit is an achene, the hard coat being
derived from the inner portion of the ovary wall.

Seeding. At germination the cotyledon develops chlorophyll,
and the adventitious root of the embryo is the first functioning
root.

At first the young seedling is upright, but very soon a horizontal
root-stock is developed.

SUMMARY OF RELATIONSHIPS TO OTHER
POTAMOGETONACEAE.

On account of the incomplete knowledge we have at present of
the members of the Potamogetonaceae, a thorough comparison with
them in all points of gross morphology and of anatomy is of
course impossible. In the course of this paper I have from time
to time alluded to the points of likeness and difference with re-
spect to the remaining Potamogetonaceae, as far as I have been
able to glean such from the various articles cited. It is my pur-
pose now to briefly review these here, touching upon the various
characters in the order pursued in my paper.

As regards the methods of branching, Cymodocea, Phyllospadix,
and Zostera most resemble Ruppia, with a monopodial system in
the rootstock and its branches, and a sympodial inflorescent system.

In stem anatomy, perhaps Potamogeton pectinatus and Zostera
marina resemble Ruppia most closely, while Zannichellia and Althenia
are also very similar in all respects except that they lack the cor-
tical bundles. The evidence here seems to point to the conclu-
sion that Zostera and Potamogeton are more primitive genera,
while, on the other hand, Zannichellia and Althenia are more re-
duced, with Ruppia somewhere between.

The leaf of Ruppia shows a great similarity in external form
to certain species of Potamogeton and to Zannichellia and Althenia.
I do not find the secretion cells of the leaf—or indeed of any
part of the plant—reported for any but Cymodocea. Posidonia, and
Halodule, besides Ruppia. In other points of anatomy, however,
the leaf of Potamogeton pectinatus is very similar, while the leaves
of Zannichellia and Althenia show a strong resemblance, but with
absence of the lateral bundles. The natural conclusion based on
this evidence is, as stated before, that Ruppia is descended from
some form similar to the present submerged Potamogetons, and
also that Zannichellia and Althenia are still further reduced.

The Morphology of Ruppia Marituma. 163

In the root system, although Ruppia has usually only one root
at each node, Zannichellia and Althenia have two, and the Pota-
mogetons several, even Potamogeton pectinatus developing four
or more (Irmisch, 1858). In Zostera and Phyllospadix a cluster of
roots occurs at the nodes. The coleorrhiza has been reported in
Potamogeton, Zannichellia, and Cymodocea, and probably occurs
also in Althenia and Zostera. In the root anatomy, Potamogeton
pectinatus, Zannichellia and Althenia correspond closely with Rup-
pia, as is the case in the other vegetative organs, Zannichellia
showing the four distinct meristematic regions at the growing-point
as in Ruppia.

Passing to the reproductive organs, where, owing to our lack of
information, the comparison is most unsatisfactory, we have seen
that the inflorescence is spadix-like, resembling Potamogeton and
Zostera, and that the flowers themselves are apparently reduced
from some form lke Potamogeton.

The archesporium of the microsporangium probably arises in
Zannichellia in much the same way as in Ruppia, 1. e., originating
simultaneously from a large group of cells. Only one species of
Potamogeton has been investigated on this point, and here the
archesporium is traceable to a single hypodermal cell. Like Ruppia,
Zostera also derives tapetum from the outer sporogenous cells, but
Potamogeton foliosus differentiates it from the wall.

Parietal tissue exhibits a much greater development in the mega-
sporangium of Potamogeton than in Ruppia, and in this respect
Zannichellia probably more closely resembles Ruppia. This con-
sideration again points to Potamogeton as the more primitive form.
-In Potamogeton natans (p. 138) an arrangement of the potential
megaspores has been found such as occurs in Ruppia.

The pollen-grains of Zannichellia and Potamogeton are more or
less globular, those of Ruppia somewhat elongated, while those of
Zostera and Phyllospadix have attained extreme length so that
they might be termed filamentous. These differences depend pre-
sumably on the different modes of pollination prevailing among
these genera.

More than any other member of the Potamogetonacez so far in-
vestigated, the embryo of Zostera has points in common with Ruppia
in the manner of its development, and, as is the case with the
mature embryo of Zannichellia, resembles it in its mature form.
The primary root of Zostera, however, functions for a time during
germination.

It will be seen from these considerations that, on the whole,

164 <A. H. Graves, The Morphology of Ruppia Maritima.

Ruppia is closer to Potamogeton, Zannichellia, and Althenia than to
any others of the Potamogetonaceae, especially with regard to the
vegetative organs; and yet, in its embryo, it most strongly resem-
bles Zostera. Similarities in the vascular structure of the vegetative
organs are looked upon generally as comparatively fixed indications
of relationship; so that in this case the evidence points to Ruppia
as being derived from some form similar to the present submerged
Potamogetons, with Zannichellia and Althenia serving as examples
of still further reduction.

bo

Oo

15.

16.

18.

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EXPLANATION OF PLATES

Abbreviations. 4 & B, primary segments of embryo; adr, adven-
titious root; ant, antipodal cells; a@s, axillary scale; ax, axillary
member; ax, axial bundle; ax6r, axillary branch; C, third segment
of embryo; c, cortex; cal, calyptrogen; cd, cortical bundle; cc, com-
panion cell; co/, coleorrhiza; con, connective; cot, cotyledon; d, der-
matogen; di, diaphragm; e, egg; ems, embryo-sac ; end, endodermis ;
ep, epidermis; epfc. epicotyl; //, flower; fs/, floral scale leaf; gen
generative cell; GP or gp, growing point; hyp, hypocotyl; 2, inter-
cellular space ; 7c, inner cortex; /a, lacuna; LZ or /, leaf; /6, lateral
bundle; /ow. sf/, lower subfloral leaf; /pn, lower polar nucleus; ma,
male cells; mc, middle cortex ; oc, outer cortex ; pa, parietal layer or
layers; pb, periblem; fed, peduncle; pst, pistil; p/, plerome; pm,
pollen mother-cells; pv, primary root cells; 7, root; rh, root hairs;
rha, rhachis; rs, root stock; s, sieve tube; se, secretion cells; sf/,
subfloral leaf; sg, starch-grains; sh, sheath; spo, sporogenous cells;
spi, septum; sz, ‘stem or stem apex; sta, stamen; stc, stylar canal;
stg, stigma; sti, stipe; sus, suspensor; syn, synergidae, fa, tapetum;
th, theca; ¢n, tube nucleus; tra, tracheae; ¢r7, trichoblasts; u, un-
dulations; “pm, upper polar nucleus; up. sf/, upper subfioral leaf;
ust, upright stem; vs/, vegetative scale leaf.

PEATE, |

Figure 1.—Longitudinal section of stem-apex, showing growing-point
and manner of development of leaves and axillary buds; £1,
£M £1, &c., primary leaves; 4), 40, &c., 40", 40D, &c.,
leaves of axillary buds of L1, LU, &c.; G P, main growing-
point of stem; gf(Y), ef), &c., growing-points of axillary
buds; ad, line where such a cross section as is represented in
Plate VII, figure 43, might be cut perpendicular to plane of
paper >< 30:

Figure 2.—Sketch from living specimen, showing vegetative branch
system in a young stage; /, //, I/II, IV, &c., primary leaves.
4 natural size.

Figure 3.—-Cross section of axial bundle of stem, showing endo-
dermis, sieve tubes, central cavity formed by disorganization
of tracheae, &c. >< 300.

Figure 4.—Cross section of stem. > 60.

Figure 5.—Cross section of epidermis, cortex and endodermis of
stem. > 212.

~O
>mc
5

aaXD

4 XN / ~
/ \ > ‘N /

‘
\
\
\

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Ae Oe 30 _ Ge 6.

/

LL /

(a

Plate I

-L va

a
TESA
\
LD

shs. of LI<<.

esd tiay al

Figure 6.—Sketch from living specimen, showing vegetative branch
system in a mature stage, just previous to the appearance of
flowers. Abbreviations as in figure 1. 4 natural size.

Plate IT

lei Dye desl Gl

Figure 7.—Photomicrograph of cross section of stem, showing axial
bundle, endodermis, cortex, lacunae, and epidermis. >< 30.

Figure 8.—Photomicrograph of cross section of stem, axillary bud
and subtending leaf; showing axillary scales, vegetative scale
leaf surrounding axillary bud, secretion cells, &c. >< 26.

Figure 9.—Photomicrograph of cross section of rootstock; showing
axial bundle, endodermis, cortex, lacunae, cortical bundles, epi-
dermis, and starch-grains in cortex. >< _ 50.

Figure 10.—Photomicrograph of cross section through node of root-
stock; showing two roots developing, and epidermis of root-
stock over each root becoming meristematic. >< 35.

Figure 11.— Photomicrograph of cross section through rhachis; show-
ing axial bundle with lacunae, &c., and surrounding stamen,
with its two thecae, connective, &c. > 30d.

Figure 12.—Photomicrograph of longitudinal section through end
of rhachis; showing its blunt apex and various sections of pistils
and anthers. >< 35.

Plate III

IGA I

Figure 13.—Drawing of cluster of fruit about mature. > 5.
Figure 14.—Surface view of epidermis of stipe (young stage): show-
ing secretion cells. >< 212.

Figure 15.—Cross section of mature stipe ; showing epidermis, cortex,
and axial bundle; intercellular spaces and lacunae stippled;
X = apparently halved epidermal cells. >< 185.

Figure 16.—Part of cross section of stipe, showing strengthened
epidermis, part of cortex, lacunae and small intercellular spaces.
S< PAD,

Plate IV

000
JO?

pG0080

©
Q

Se

Jee. WE

Figure 17.—Diagrammatic representation of median longitudinal sec-
tion through stem and axillary branch; Z, subtending leaf;
vascular portions stippled. >< 212.

Figure 18.—Diagrammatic representation of median longitudinal
section through stem at base of inflorescent branch system,
showing the course of the vascular bundles. Vascular portions
stippled. >< 242.

Figures 19-24.--A series of cross sections through stem beginning
just below point of leaf insertion and extending up into leaf,
showing course of cortical bundles from stem to leaf and in-
dependent origin of new cortical bundles in the stem. >< 35.

Plate V

PAGE Val

Figure 25.—Photomicrograph of longitudinal section through stem
apex; showing growing point and leaves in successive stages
of development, similarly as in Pl. I, fig. 1. >< 40.

Figure 26.—Photomicrograph of apical portion of leaf, not quite mat-
ure; showing marginal teeth. >< 35.

Figure 27.—Photomicrograph of cross section of root; showing
epidermis. exodermis, cortex, endodermis and axial vascular
bundle. >< 60.

Figure 28.—Photomicrograph of young leaves surrounding growing-

point, dissected from living specimen. >< _ 35.
Figure 29.—Photomicrograph of portion of epidermis near apex of
root; showing trichoblasts (the darkly stained cells). >< 40.

Figure 30.—Photomicrograph of surface of leaf treated with a five
per cent solution of potassium hydroxide; showing epidermal
secretion cells and central vascular bundle. The marginal teeth
have been worn off. >< _ 30.

Figure 31.—Photomicrograph of a cross section through a node of
the stem showing the origin of a single root—the typical con-
dition. In this figure the meristematic layers at the growing
point of the root are clearly defined. > 35.

Figures 32 and 33.—-Photomicrographs of adjoining portions of a
nearly median longitudinal section through the root apex, show-
ing trichoblasts. (The root cap was slightly separated from the
growing-point in preparation.) >< 50.

Figure 34.—Photomicrograph of cross section of young peduncle,
showing axial bundle, lacunae in cortex, &c. >< 35.

Plate VI

P EAM sven

Figure 35.—Sketch of flower bud; showing basal sheaths of sub-
floral leaves enclosing young flower. >< 4.

Figure 36.—Sketch of portion of plant; showing horizontal root-
stock and arrangement of roots and upright shoots. 4 natural
size.

Figure 37.—Group of cells from vegetative scale leaf. >< 162.

Figure 38.—Coleorrhiza from which young root has been forced
outs >< 10:

Figure 39.—Young leaf; showing teeth limited to extreme apex
and comparatively large basal sheath. >< 212.

Figure 40.—The vegetative scale leaf, detached, and flattened
OUts- 2 >< .5.

Figure 41.—Longitudinal section through young inflorescence,
showing floral scale leaf developing in connection with the
flowers. >< 380.

Figure 42.—Floral scale leaf 77 situ, close to young flowers. >< 4.

Figure 48.—Cross section through vegetative bud, a little below
the region of the growing point, cut at about the level shown
by the line aé in figure 1. Abbreviations as in figure 1. The
line aé in this figure represents the plane perpendicular to the
paper, in which a longitudinal section such as is shown in
figure 1 would lie. >< 68.

Plate VII

==~—L ™ shs

Ty

low. sfl--=

PICA Vat

Figure 44.—Longitudinal section of young root still enclosed in the
stem; showing its origin in the stem, the meristematic epider-
mis and subepidermis in the stem above root apex and the
four meristematic layers in the root. >< 210.

Figure 45.—Portion of rootstock and root; the latter showing cole-
orrhiza. >< 6.

Figure 46.—Cross section of vascular bundle of root with endoder-
mis; showing tracheae and sieve tubes. >< 400.

Figure 47.—Longitudinal section of vascular bundle of root, also
with endodermis and, to the left, three layers of cortical par-
enchyma; showing tracheae, sieve tube, companion cell and
undulations in walls of cortical parenchyma. >< 400.

2
e A

i] ! 1

! {
| \

SH
ester

Plate VIII

Es

oS
sty

si
x

Lf /
©:
ch
ee

zeactnes
Ler
Sree ca Mee
SS ASS eee,
5 WOES iS
Os © IX Cees ae Eye zh
SSS Le
SSN Ec eb ei
= NSS Zsreeeestuaiaeeeres eoria sae raes
=e eee Caer
= tia Necciaeaea
SUNOS
=e 6 Oe Gtr ae
=~ SSS SET
= EET
oa 1otiemann
io OUT
SEN TS oe
oe) We cane

aja
Cae

at en

RES RN

PEAChE ix

Figure 48.—Surface view of cells from epidermis of root, showing
root hairs developing from the trichoblasts. >< 210.

Figure 49.—Khachis with the two flowers; showing arrangement
in the adult condition. >< 12.

Figure 50.—Rhachis and young flowers; showing arrangement in
young stage. >< 30.

Figure 51.—Longitudinal section through nearly mature rhachis and
flowers. >< 20.

Figure 52.—Very young floral primordia. Stippled portions repres-
ent regions which will develop the flowers. >< 210.

Figure 53.—Slightly older floral primordia. Stippled portions rep-
resent regions which will develop the flowers. >< 210.

Figure 54.—Older floral primordia. Floral scale leaf appearing.
>< 210.

Figures 55 and 56.—Successively older stages in floral develop-
ment. In figure 56 the primordia of pistils and stamens appear
well defined. >< 60.

Plate [IX

ox conan

see Sn 52

\
a \

5

|

jel nie Belo

Figure 57, a and b.—Two views of a mature theca, the dotted
triangular region representing the region of attachment to the
connective. >< 30.

Figures 58-66.—Median longitudinal sections illustrating develop-
ment of the pistils.

Figure 58.—Section through flower rudiment; showing primordia

of two pistils, an anther-connective at each side. >< 75.

Figure 59.—Section of older stage; showing the beginning of the
development of the stylar canal. >< 75.

Figure 60.—Older stage. >< 75.

Figure 61.—Older stage. One-sided development of the pistils com-
menees, >< 7d:

Figures 62 and 63.—Stigma commences to form. Stylar canal well
developed. > 75.

Figure 64.—Stigma assumes peltate form. Ovule and embryo-sac
well developed. >< 78.

Figures 65 and 66.—Development to approximately the mature
form of pistil; showing the gradual oblique orientation of ovule.
Figure 65, < 75; figure 66, >< 37.

Plate X

BEA al

Figure 67.—Cross section through young theca of a flower 0.2 mm.
long, the measurement being taken in the direction of the dotted
line shown in figure 68. Stippled cells represent the arch-
esporial initials. >< 600.

Figure 68.—Section of young flowers from which figure 67 is drawn,
the actual length of each flower being about 0.2 mm. x marks
the region represented in figure 67. Dotted line shows direction
for measurement of the length of the flower. >< 60.

Figure 69.—Cross section through slightly older theca of a flower
0.25 mm. long; showing division initiating development of
septum, and also formation of the primary parietal layer. >< 600.

Figure 70.—Section of flowers from which figure 69 is taken.
x marks the region in figure 69. >< 60.

Figure 71.—Cross section through theca of flower measuring about
0.3 mm. in length; showing sporogenous cells in the two sacs
of the theca, two parietal layers, in places, and septum. >< 600.

Figure 72.—Section of flowers from which figure 71 is taken.
x marks the region shown in figure 71. >< 60.

Figure 73.—Cross section through theca of a flower measuring
0.33 mm. in length; showing sporogenous cells in two sacs of
theca, two parietal layers, and septum. >< 400.

Figure 74.—Cross section through one of the sacs of a theca of
a flower measuring about 0.56 mm. in length. Parietal layers
often three in number. >< 400.

Figure 75.—Group of cells from cross section of pollen-sac; show-
ing pollen mother-cells surrounded by the still intact tapetum.
>< 600.

Figure 76.—Portion of section through older pollen-sac; showing
pollen mother-cells and dissolution of tapetal cells. >< 600.

Figure 77.—Section of megasporangium showing two megaspore
mother-cells and one parietal layer. >< 3785.

Figure 78.—Section of megasporangium showing four daughter-
cells resulting from a double mother-cell, and also two parietal
layers. >< 400.

Figure 79.—Section of megasporangium ; showing the four poten-
tial megaspores, the wall separating the two upper ones being
approximately parallel to the plane of the paper. The three
upper cells are all being resorbed. >< 375.

Plate XI

Rizal

Figure 80.—Section of megaspore mother-cell with surrounding
cells, showing spindle of first reduction-division. Eight chro-
mosomes were enti in this spindle, four of which are shown
in the figure. >< 800.

Figure 81.—Portion of section of megasporangium, showing the
unusual condition of the four potential megaspores in a row,
the two upper already being resorbed. Or, judging from the
very indistinct wall separating the two lower cells and from
their size, this may be a case where only three megaspores
were formed, and the lowest has undergone the first division.
O())()3

Figure 82.—Portion of section of megasporangium, showing omission
of formation of wall between the two outer potential megaspores,
these and the next lower becoming resorbed. >< 800.

Figure 83.—Portion of section of megasporangium showing young
embryo-sac with two nuclei; upper potential megaspores and
part of surrounding tissue becoming resorbed. >< 800.

Figure 84.--Young embryo-sac with four nuclei; showing also
remnant of upper potential megaspores. >< 800.

Figure 85.—Mature ee. sac, showing synergidae, upper polar

nucleus, egg, lower polar nucleus, and antipodals. < 800.

Figure 86.—The three antipodal cells lying in pouch at base of
nature embryo-sac. >< 800.

Figure 87.—Pollen mother-cell, synapsis stage. >< 800.

Figure 88.—Young pollen-grain in tetrad before the dissolution of
the tetrad wall. >< 800.
generative cell,

Figure 89.—-Pollen-grain just before formation of ¢
showing enclosed starch grains and beginning of wall thicken-
ings. >< 800.

Figure 90.—Pollen-grain showing spindle preparatory to formation
of generative cell. >< 800.

Figure 91.—Cross section through middle of pollen-grain at stage
shown in figure 90. >< 800.

Figure 92.—Pollen-grain just after formation of generative cell.
>< 800.

Figure 93.—Longitudinal section through almost mature pollen-grain,
showing tube-nucleus and fey enerative cell just previous to form-
ation of male cells. >< 400.

Figure 94.—Longitudinal section of mature pollen-grain showing
the two male cells still united, and the degenerating tube-

nucleus. >< 375.

Figure 95.—Longitudinal section of mature pollen-grain, showing
characteristic dumbbell shape. >< 175.

Figure 96, a and b.—Surface and profile views, respectively, of the
pollen-grain wall thickenings, at mature stage. >< 800. |

Figure 97.—Pollen-grains, during the dissolution of the tetrad walls
and formation of the pollen-grain wall. >< 800.

g

Plate XII

PEATE Xht

Figure 98.—Three-celled proembryo of Ruppia rostellata, showing
basal suspensor-cell and two smaller embryo-cells. After Mur-
beck. >< 446.

Figure 99.—Nine-celled embryo of Auppia rostellata, showing basal
suspensor-cell and eight small embryo-cells. After Wille. >< 340.

Figure 100.—Thirteen-celled embryo, showing divisionzinto three
transverse segments of four cells each, and a large suspensor-
cell with nucleus and cytoplasm in the characteristic position.
>< 800.

Figure 101.—Longitudinal section through older embryo, the heavy
lines marking the outlines of the ceils shown in figure 100.
>< 800.

Figure 102.—Longitudinal section of older embryo, showing the
outlines of the original segments and the beginning of the
formation of dermatogen, at least in the terminal segment, at
left. >< 800.

Figure 103.—Longitudinal section of embryo with a diameter of
about 0.05 mm.; showing rather irregular segment lines, and
globular form of embryo. >< 800.

Figure 104.—Longitudinal section of embryo of a diameter of about
0.075 mm.; showing increase in size of all cells, but only a
slightly greater number than in figure 103. >< 800.

Figure 105.—Longitudinal section of embryo measuring about
0.085 mm. in length; showing commencement of elongation,
and divisions in the terminal segment, at the left, indicating
approach of cotyledonary development. >< 300.

Figure 106.—Longitudinal section of embryo measuring about
0.135 mm. in length; segment limits obscure; apparently the
terminal segment is commencing the formation of stem as well
as cotyledon. Basal portion shows cells which go to form the
rudimentary primary root. >< 375.

Plate Xit

me

Pe Avila. Xe

Figure 107.—Part of longitudinal section through older embryo,
showing origins of cotyledon and stem apex. >< 375.

Figure 108.—Section of embryo from which figure 107 is taken.
x marks the region figured. >< 75.

Figure 109.—Longitudinal section of embryo measuring about
0.35 mm. in length; showing development of cotyledon and
stem-apex or epicotyl. >< 50.

Figure 110.—Basal region of embryo shown in previous figure,
illustrating the group of cells which forms the rudimentary
primary root. >< 300.

Figure 111.—Single storage cell from hypocotyl of embryo shown
in figure 109, showing enclosed starch grains. >< 600.

Figure 112.—Upper part of longitudinal section of nearly mature
embryo shown in figure 113; showing stem-apex with growing-
point and second leaf rudiment, part of cotyledon with section
of basal sheath, and adventitious root. >< 212.

Figure 113.—Longitudinal section of nearly mature embryo from
which figure 112 is drawn; showing hypocotyl, epicotyl, cotyl-
edon, and adventitious root. >< 39.

Figure 114.-—One of storage-cells from hypocotyl of embryo shown
in figure 113. >< 600.

Plate XIV

4 iS
ESS ainda

SERPS

oh.

XN

Teale eee,

Figure 115.—One of the storage cells from hypocotyl of embryo
represented in figure 116, showing increased size of all parts.
>< 800.

Figure 116.—Nearly mature embryo, older than that shown in figure
113, and showing the parts represented in the latter. >< 35.

Figures 117 and 118.—Two views of a cotyledon, dissected from a
mature embryo, showing position of epicotyl and the overlying
cotyledonary sheaths. Figure 118, represents the narrow cleft
between the sheaths. >< 35.

Figure 119.—Mature embryo dissected from ripe seed. >< 35.

Figure 120.—Seedling about three days old; showing cotyledon and
young stem with the first node, adventitious root with root
hairs, and the thick, storage part of the hypocotyl still within
the hard shell. > 6.

Figure 121.—Two views of young seedling; showing long adven-
titious root with root hairs, cotyledon, epicotyl, &c. The hard
shell has been purposely removed from the hypocotyl. > 6.

Plate Xv:

TRANSACTIONS OF THE

CONNECTICUT ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES

INCORPORATED A. D. 1799

VOLUME 14, PAGES 171-236 JANUARY, 1909

Supplement to the
New England Spiders

BY

J. H. EMERTON

PUBLISHED UNDER THE AUSPICES OF

YALE UNIVERSITY

NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT
1909

WEIMAR: PRINTED BY R. WAGNER SOHN

III.— SuppLEMENT TO THE NEW ENGLAND SPIDERS

BY J. H. EMerTON.

From 1882 to 1892 the writer published in the Transactions of
the Connecticut Academy a series of papers containing descriptions
and figures of New England Spiders known to him at that time.
The present paper contains additional notes, descriptions, and figures
of 48 of these species, partial descriptions, figures and references
to descriptions of 38 species described by other persons since 1882,
and descriptions and figures of 35 apparently new species.

The portion of New England explored is still chiefly eastern
Massachusetts and New Hampshire as far north as the White Moun-
tains. In Maine there have been collections on the coast at Port-
land and Monhegan, and in the north at Bangor and around Moose-
head Lake. Explorations in Canada show the extension. northward
and westward of many Maine and White Mountain species, as
Theridium zelotypum to Manitoba, and Epeira patagiata and an-
gulata to the Pacific coast, and Epeira carbonaria and Lycosa green-
landica in the Rocky Mountains and Labrador. In the south there
have been large collections in Connecticut at Simsbury near Hart-
ford, and at New Haven on the coast, and in Rhode Island near
Providence.

The distribution of several species has been made clear by col-
lections on Long Island, N. Y., which is the northern limit of Oxy-
opes salticus, Pellenes cacatus, and Epeira verrucosa, and where
the following species are found in abundance, that extend northward
only as far as Connecticut; Lycosa scutulata, Acrosoma rugosa
and Argyrodes cancellatus. In the western part of Massachusetts,
Connecticut, and Vermont but little has been done, but small col-
lections in the Adirondacks and the observations of Mr. Banks
around Ithaca, N. Y., show only slight differences from the spider
fauna of New England.

The writer has depended chiefly on his own collections, but gives
his thanks to G. W. Peckham, Nathan Banks and Miss E. B. Bryant
for the use of their specimens and constant help of all kinds.

For references to publications of New England Spiders, the reader
is referred to Miss Bryant’s list of New England Spiders lately
published by the Boston Society of Natural History.

174 Jj. H. Emerton,

Among the Lfeiride, Zilla atrica is the only additional species
found since the publication of New England Epeiride in 1884, but
the males of the following species are described: E. corticarta
E. Nordmann, E. junipert, E. thaddeus.

The separation of the 7heridide and Linyphiade as two distinct
families seems to me an improvement, and I have adopted it in
this paper, but not the union of the Linyphiade and Epeiride
into one family, which obscures the marked differences between
these two groups. Between certain genera of these families the
family differences are hard to define, but the same is true of the
differences between genera of the Theridide and Linyphiade.

The Linyphiade are divided naturally into two subfamilies—
Linyphiee and Erigonee, the former containing the larger long-
legged forms, and the latter the smaller forms with short legs and
short spines. The genus Microneta in the Linyphiee resembles in
its form the ELvigonee, and its species are hard to distinguish from
those of 7meticus. The most typical species are viaria, cornupalpis
and discolor. Muicroneta (Bathyphantes) d:hamatus belongs to this
genus rather than Bathyphantes. Two new species are described
and new specimens have been examined of all the old species
except crassimanus, furcata, longibulbus and olivacea.

In the Linyphiee the principal additions are Linyphia maculata,
which has been found sparingly in many different localities and
described by Banks as L. conferta Hentz, and Tapinopa bilineata
Banks, which has been found singly in several localities.

In the Evigonee more than in any other group, new species are
frequently found, and our descriptions are often made from one or
a few individuals. They live for the most part near the ground,
hidden in moss and leaves, only small quantities of which can be
closely examined, and so little is known about their species and
distribution. In their classification they offer many difficulties. Their
small size makes their comparison inconvenient, and their uniformity
in form and color makes it hard to define their differences. The
only characters easy to see and describe are those of the adult
males—the organs on the ends of the palpi and the modifications
of the head. In-consequence of these difficulties, the published
classifications consist of a number of ill-defined genera, which have
been formed from time to time, as new species were discovered,
and the relations of which among themselves have never been
satisfactorily explained. In the New England Theridide I used a
classification based upon the genera of Menge in the Spiders of
Prussia, and in the present paper follow substantially the same, be-

.
OE ——

aa pee ta aa i a a

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 175

cause it seems to me to show as well as any other the natural
relations of the species which I have been studying.

At the beginning of the series come two species which I have
described in N. E. Therididae under the name of Pholcomma at
the end of the Theridide. P. hirsuta belongs to a genus near Phol-
comma, which Simon in Hist. Nat. Araignees has named An-
cyllorhanis. It has small mandibles and the pointed maxille and
the simple male palpi of the Theridide. P. rostrata belongs to
quite a different genus, which Simon has called H/7stagonia, and
I have adopted without having seen H.. deserticola, the type species
Another species of the same genus is the Exechophysts palustris
Banks. Hitstagonia seems to me most nearly related to Diplo-
cephalus rather than to Pholcomma. The mandibles and maxille
are like the A71gonee rather than the Therididw, and the modi-
fications of the head and complicated form of the tibia of the male
palpi resemble those of Diplocephalus. The tarsal hook is present,
though small, as it is in Diplocephalus.

The new genus Caseola with two species herbicola and alticeps
resembles in form and habits Ceratinella, but does nof have hard
pieces on the back and at the base of the abdomen, nor any of
the orange color of Ceratinella. The male palpi are simple in both
species, with a peculiar club-shaped process of the palpal organ
directed toward the inner side.

Ceratinella consists of small round spiders, orange-colored or
orange brown, with a hard plate on the back of the abdomen in
one sex or both. The palpi of the males vary in length, but are
all on the same plan, with the palpal organ furnished with a long
slender tube turned backward from the distal end of the tarsus
toward the base. I consider this genus to include the European
C. brevis and the American species which Simon separates as the
genus Ceraticelus, the principal difference being in the sinuous claw
of the mandible of C. brevis. Ceratinopsis consists also of small
and brightly colored spiders with usually distinct black markings
on the head and sometimes on the palpi and feet. The palpi
resemble those of Ceratinella, with large and more variable tibie.
There are no hard plates on the abdomen.

Cornicularia includes species resembling Ceratinopsis, but with
usually more elongated cephalothorax, and in the males a horn on
the front of the head between the upper and lower middle eyes.
The male palpi have the tibia enlarged and extended over the back
of the tarsus in a long flat process, partly divided into two branches.
I include those species which have a double horn on the head,

176 J. H. Emerton,

which Simon refers to Prosopotheca, and also, as suggested by
Simon, Spiropalpus spiralis which, though its male has no horns,
resembles this genus.

Grammonata includes, besides the three species before described,
Erigonoplus gigas Banks, which has lately been found in Massa-
chusetts. All the species resemble Amaurobius in form and mark-
ings, having an indistinct pattern of light spots on the abdomen.
In the males the head is a little elevated behind the eyes, and in
picts and gigas there is a conspicuous hump. The males of gigas
have the first metatarsus white and much thicker than the other
joints. The male palpi resemble those of Ceratinella, having a long
tube turned abruptly backward from the end of the tarsus. In
pictths the tube is very long and coiled in a double spiral.

Diplocephalus Bertkau, 1883, is Lophomma Em. of N. E. Theri-
didae, in which the males have two humps on the head, each
carrying one pair of the middle eyes. The male palpi have the
tibia very large, covering the back of the tarsus nearly its whole
length.

Lophocarenum consists of those spiders, the males of which,
except rugosum, have holes in the head behind the eyes, and the
middle of the head elevated, sometimes into large humps. The
male palpi have the patella longer than the tibia, and the latter
usually longer than wide, with small hooks and processes of various
shapes. Where the enlargement of the head of the male is extreme,
the female has a slight elevation of the head as in montiferum and
alpinum. The unusually large size of the front lateral eyes in
quadricristatum occurs in a less degree in the female.

There is no better example of the difficulty of classifying the
Erigonee than the attempt of Simon to distribute the American
species of this genus, without seeing the spiders themselves, among
eight different genera. For florens he makes a new genus Hyp-
selistes, while decemoculatum, the females of which cannot be dis-
tinguished from those of florens, is placed in Neriene, which cor-
responds in part to my 7meticus. L. pallidum and L. longitubus,
which resemble each other as closely as any other two species,
are placed one in 7yphocrestes and the other inPocodicnemis. L. sco-
puliferum is placed in Minyriolus, L. quadricristatum in Pana-
momops, L. longitarsus in Lophomma, L. rostratum in Trachelo-
camptus and L. decemoculatum, montiferum and spiniferum in
Neriene. see no reason to follow any of these changes; they
only obscure the relations of the spiders.

Tmeticus is still a heterogeneous group. The more typical species,

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 177

such as probatus and trilobatus, approach Erigone by their wide
maxillz and long palpi and the tibia widened toward the tarsus,
and the males have a strong single spine on the front of the man-
dibles. Maximus, tibialis and brunneus resemble each other in size
and proportions, but differ in their mandibles and palpi. The other
species have little in common except their general size and color,
arrangement of eyes and form of mandibles and maxille.

Evrigone now includes four species; longipalpis, dentigera, autum-
nalis and the new brevidentatus with wide maxille, large mandibles
and long male palpi with widened tibia, and a spur directed down-
ward on the patella.

In the Theridide there are but few additions. Theridium ken-
tuckyense has been found in a few places. The male of 7. zelo-
typum is described and the species found to be common in Maine
and New Hampshire. Latrodectus mactans has been found in several
localities, but is nowhere common. The new Lunoplognatha rugosa
has been found rarely. but in localities far apart. The same is true
of the new Pedanostethus pumilus, and P. spiniferus.

In the Agalenide, Hahnia brunnea is described from a single
specimen, but there is a second one in the collection of Mr. Banks.
Crypheca montana appears to be common in northern New Hamp-
shire, and from description is very near the C. peckhamii Simon of
-the Pacific coast.

The larger Clubionas have been better defined and new figures
are given of the epigynum of several species. The two new species
are one from a single specimen C. spiralis and the other C. pre-
matura a common species from the summit of Mt. Washington, the
female of which has long been known as a variety of C. ornata Em.

The North American Lycoside and Pisauride have been described
and their classification much improved by T. H. Montgomery in
Proceedings of Philadelphia Acad., 1902-3 and 4. Lycosa relucens
Monte. is a common species in New England. Dolomedes tdoneus
Montg. and D. fontanus Em. have both been described as D. fene-
brosus Hentz, which agrees equally well with either. The new
D. vernalis appears to be common in Maine and New Hampshire.
Pirata remains a difficult group and each author has his own species.
P. minuta is the most distinct, montana and insularis have been
again identified and three new species are described. In N. E. Ly-
cosidae 1885 I have described under the name of L. nidifex what
I now consider as two species named by Marx in the Am. Naturalist,
1881. L. midifex and L. Piker. Nidifex is the inland species which
ordinarily makes a ring or turret at the mouth of its burrow: Prker

178 J. H. Emerton,

is the seashore and sand dune species described by Scudder as
L. arenicola in Psyche 1877. L.avara Keys, L. baltimoriana Keys,
and Pardosa littoralis Banks been have found in New England and
new figures and descriptions of them are given.

Since the publication of N. E. Attidae in 1891 the number of
species of that family known in New England has been largely
increased, but nearly all the species have been described from other
parts of the country and appear to have very wide distribution.
Some of the most common species are so variable and their dif-
ferences so hard to define that they are still very imperfectly known,
especially in Phidippus and Dendryphantes. The Icius which I
described as a dark variety of e/egans now appears to be a distinct
species, /czus similis, Bks.

Dendryphantes flavipes Pkm. has been found in small numbers
through Maine and New Hampshire. The male is fairly distinct
from that of capitatus but I cannot distinguish the females. A new
species D. Jefferson is described from very few specimens found
on the Mt. Washington range at an elevation of 5,000 feet living
in the moss and lichens.

List of New Species.

Enoplognatha rugosa.
Pedanostethus pumilus.
‘a spiniferus.
Ceratinopsis auriculatus.
53 alternatus.
Caseola herbicola.
s! alticeps.
Lophocarenum cuneatum.

pe abruptum.

i, muinutum.

Pe rugosum.
Erigone brevidentatus.
Linyphia maculata.
Bathyphantes calcaratus.
Microneta denticulata.

FS serrata.

Lycosa crassipalpis.
Pardosa diffusa.

Pirata arenicola.

» maculata.

» sylvestris.
Dolomedes vernalts.
Amaurobius borealis.
Micaria laticeps.

» quinquenotata.
Castanetra lineata.
Drassus hiemats.

5 bicornis.
Clubiona spirals.
53 prematura.

Apostenus acutus.
Crypheca montana.
Hahnia brunnea.
Phidippus Whitmani.
Dendryphantes Jeffersont.

Supplement to the New England Spiders.

179

List of described species found in
New England since 1882-1892.

Latrodectus mactans.
Theridium kentuckyense Keys.
Pedanostethus riparius Keys.
Ceratinella formosa Banks.
Grammonota gigas Banks.
flistagonia (Exechophysis) palus-
tris Banks.
Lophocarenum (Dismodicus) _ al-
pinum Banks.
(Dicyphus) trilo-
batus Banks.
Tmeticus flaveolus Banks.

zs debilis Banks.

Tapinopa bilineata Banks.
Zilla atrica Koch.
Pachygnatha tristriata Keys.
Lycosa avara Keys.

. Lycosa baltimoreana Keys.
Piket Marx.

» velucens Montgomery.
Pardosa littoralis Banks.
Dolomedes tdoneus Montgomery.
Dolomedes urinator (Hentz) Mont-

gomery.

a2)

»

(Ecobius (Thalamia) partetalis
(Hentz).

Scotolathys (neophanes) pallidus
Marx.

Orchestina saltitans Banks.
Micaria gentilis Banks.
Prosthesima rufula Banks.
Gnaphosa parvula Banks.
Cicurina pallida Keys.
Phidippus insignarius Koch.
Dendryphantes flavipes Pkm.
Icius similis Banks.

Hyctia Ptket Pkm.

Mevia tibialis Koch.

Pellenes (attus) viridipes Hentz.
(attus) roseus Hentz.
agilis Banks.

: borealis Banks.
Homalattus cyaneus Pkm.
Peckhamia (Synemosyna) scorpt-

onea Fentz.

I)

”

Theridium differens, Em. Trans. Conn. Acad. 1892. (Plate I,
figure 7.)
The epigynum of this species is wrongly described and figured
in N. E. Therididae. The openings are really on the outer side,
as they are in Theridium spirale, and differ only in being a little
smaller and farther apart. See fig. 7.

Theridium zelotypum, Em. Trans. Conn. Acad. 1892. (Plate I,
figure 5.)

This species has been found in the White Mountains and all over
Maine, as far north as Moosehead Lake, but not south of Portland,
Me., and westward as far as Winnipeg, Manitoba. At Monhegan,
Me., July 1, 1901 adult males were abundant in webs with the
females under spruce branches. The males are as large as the
females, and have the abdomen similarly marked. The cephalo-
thorax, legs and palpi are bright orange color, and the legs only
slightly darker at the ends of the joints. The dark middle stripe
of the cephalothorax is usually shorter than in the female, and does
not extend forward to the eyes. The male palpus resembles that
of murarium with all the appendages more elongated, Pl. 4, fig. 5.
At pairing time the webs do not contain the characteristic tents
covered with spruce leaves and scales; these are made later and
in the last of July and first of August are found in nearly all the
webs, hiding the females and eggs. The females remain in the
nests with the young as late as September.

Theridium kentuckyense, Keys. Spinnen Amerikas, 1884. (Plate I,
figures 6, 6a.)

The same size and general form as differens and murarium. The
colors are less bright than in those species and more like 7. tepi-
dariorum. The legs are pale, with light yellowbrown, wide rings
at the ends of the joints, and less distinctly in the middle. The
cephalothorax is brown, darker at the sides, and lightest between
the eyes and the dorsal groove, without any stripes. The sternum
is brown, without markings, and the coxz and base of the fe-
mora pale.

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 184

The markings of the abdomen are distinct at the anterior end
and also over the spinnerets, while in the middle they consist of
small and indistinct spots in irregular transverse rows extending
down the sides. At the anterior end is a bright white spot with
a larger black spot on each side sharply defined toward the middle
line, and irregular and indistinct at the sides. At the hinder end
over the spinnerets is a white spot with short black stripes at the
sides. On each side of the abdomen is a short, dark, vertical stripe
that in some individuals is deep black.

In the male the markings of the abdomen unite into a more
distinct middle light stripe, bordered by two dark ones, but the
white spots at the ends are distinct as in the female.

The epigynum is small and rounded behind with two openings
twice their diameter apart. The skin is so transparent that the
tubes of the epigynum are seen through it and obscure the openings.

At the end of the palpal organ is a long thin appendage, widened
and twisted at the end, partly enclosing and supporting the tube.
Piet, tie, Ga.

Found at New Haven, Conn., Jaffrey, N. H., and by Dr. Fox at
Hollis, N. H.

Latrodectus mactans, Fabr.
Theridion verecundum, Hentz.

This is the largest and most conspicuous species of the family.
The abdomen is round, sometimes a centimeter in diameter, and the
whole body is deep black except a bright red spot under the ab-
domen and one or a row of red spots on the upper side. In alcohol
the spots fade to white or yellow. In young individuals there is
a white line around the front of the abdomen and three rows of
spots partly white and partly red along the back, and the legs are
brown in the middle of the joints and black at the ends. The
adult males are marked much like the young with the lateral spots
elongated and with a red line in the middle of each. The males
are much smaller than the females, some of them only three or
four millimeters long but with long legs. The lateral eyes, which
in most Therididae are close together, are in Latrodectus as far
apart as they are from the middle eyes. The epigynum is of the
usual Theridion pattern with a single, wide, oval opening partly
divided on the front edge. The palpal organ has a very large and
long tube coiled in two flat turns across the end of the bulb. In
alcohol this tube often becomes displaced and coils around the bulb
in any direction.

182 J. H. Emerton,

The nest is usually near the ground under a stone or in a hole
in the sod. The web extends among surrounding objects sometimes
for a foot from the nest in all directions. It consists mainly of large
irregular meshes, but includes usually a distinct flat or curved sheet
of smaller meshes like the webs of Steatoda or Pholcus. The cocoons
are half on inch in diameter brownish white in color.

This species is found all over the country as far west as the Rocky
Mountains and north to southern New Hampshire. In the South it
is common, but in New England occurs only occasionally in scattered
localities.

Enoplognatha rugosa, new. (Plate I, figures 8 to 8c.)

Two males sifted from leaves in a swamp in the Blue Hills, May 6,
1905, are about half as large as marmorata, measuring 3.5 mm. in
length. The cephalothorax is flat and the head wide and low as
it is in marmorata, but the legs are longer and more slender. The
sternum is widest in front, and less indented around the coxe than
in marmorata. The mandibles are more slender than in marmorata,
and the claw is slender and nearly as long as the basal joint. The
process on the under side is near the middle, and has a single
pointed tip and below it two small teeth, Pl. I, fig. 8c. The legs
and mandibles are slightly roughened by little elevations at the
bases of the hairs, which are shorter and fewer than in marmorata.
There are similar elevations on the middle of the cephalothorax
and around the edges of maxille and sternum. The palpi resemble
those of marmorata. The color in the specimens examined is pale
and less yellow than in marmorata, in alcohol inclining to red as
in Steatoda triangulosa. The abdomen has an indistinct pattern
consisting of a broken middle line and two rows of spots.

The female found May 30, 1906, under leaves at Three-mile Island,
Lake Winnipesaukee, N. H., resembles the males in color and mark-
ings and in size. The abdomen is larger, and the legs and man-
dibles short as in females of related species. The head, sternum
and mouth parts are less roughened, but have longer hairs than in
the male. The epigynum has a transverse narrow opening behind,
covered by a short brown plate.

Pedanostethus riparius, Keysl. Spinnen Amerikas, Therididae, 1886.
(Plate I, figures 1 to 1d.)

This species described by Keyserling from Lake Superior, is one

of the most common spiders under leaves all over New England.

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 183

The length is about 4 mm., the sexes differing little in size. The
cephalothorax and abdomen are about equal in length. The cephalo-
thorax is wide in front ; about two-thirds as wide as it is at the widest
part, and the rows of eyes are almost straight, the upper row only
slightly longer than the lower. The palpi of the female are as long as
the cephalothorax, and those of the male longer. The maxillez have
the ends straight and nearly parallel, as in Exoplognatha marmorata,
not oblique as in Steatoda borealis. The sternum is as wide as long,
widest between the first and second legs and slightly pointed behind.
The colors are dull brown and gray, without any markings. The ce-
phalothorax is smooth andshining and darkened a little toward the head.
The legs are brown like the cephalothorax, darkened toward the tips
and covered with fine hairs. The abdomen is gray, generally lighter
than the cephalothorax, and covered with dark gray hairs. The
epigynum has a characteristic pear-shaped piece in front, PI. 1,
fig. 1c, but in some individuals this piece is oblong, Pl. 4, fig. 1d.

The male palpi are stout and three-fourths as long as the rest
of the spider. The tibia and patella are both short and together
equal in length to the tarsus. The tibia is a little narrowed at the
base and widened at the end around the base of the tarsus on the
outer side. The tarsus is narrow, only partly covering the palpal
organ. Near the tip it has a notch on the upper side, and two
curved stiff hairs, Pl. I, fig. 4a.

Pedanostethus pumilus, new. (Plate I, figures 2, 2a.)

In the maple swamp at Clarendon Hills, south of Boston, three
males have been found of this small species. It is 2.6 mm. long,
colored like very light individuals of r7parius, and resembling it in
every respect except in the palpi. These are proportionally shorter
than in +#parius, beimg not much longer than the cephalothorax. The
tibia is more contracted at the base than in v7parius, and the tarsus
is shorter, rounder and thicker. The notch near the tip is wider
and there are no special hairs. The female is the same size and
color as the male. The epigynum is short like that of »7parius but
has the front piece wider than long instead of pear shaped fig. 2a.

One male also found near the Carter notch, White Mountains,
Aug., 1906, and another at Three-mile Island, Lake Winnipesaukee.

Pedanostethus spiniferus, new. (Plate I, figures 3, 3a.)

The male is 2.5 mm. long, and pale like pum/us, and resembles
it except that the lateral eyes of the upper row are a little farther
back. The palpi have the tibia shaped much as in riparius, not

184 J. H. Emerton,

as narrow at the base as in P. pumilus. The tarsus is oval and
less pointed than in rtpfarius, with the notch smaller and not as
near the tip. At the base of the palpal organ is a long hook turn-
ing out at right angle to the tarsus, Pl. I, fig. 13. The female is
of the same size as the male. The epigynum is elongated, a third
as long as the abdomen. At the front end close behind the fourth
coxe is a small, dark colored, sharp point directed forward a little
behind which the round spermathecee show through the skin, and
behind these two parallel dark lines extend backward and meet at
the base of a short, pale, blunt appendage directed backward.

This species is found under leaves in company with r7parius and
pumilus. Clarendon Hills and Waltham, Mass.

Argyrodes cancellatus. (Plate I, figures 10 to 10c.)

Theridion cancellatum, Hentz.

Laszola cancellata, Emerton, N. E. Therididae. Trans. Conn. Acad.
1882.

Argyrodes larvatus, Keyserling. Spinnen Amerikas.

This species, found in Connecticut, is abundant on Long Island
and farther south. It is sometimes found in webs of its own and
often in webs of larger spiders, especially in those of Epezra strix.
The colors are light gray and brown, with silvery spots on the
abdomen, and when it is motionless with the feet drawn up, it is
hard to distinguish from a piece of leaf or bark dropped by accident
into the web. §

The female is 2.6 mm. long, with the cephalothorax 1 mm. long.
The head is higher, and more vertical in front than in tigonum
and the front middle eyes project slightly on the front of the head.
The lower part of the head is rounded and extends forward a little
beyond the mandibles. The abdomen is as high as wide, rounded
above and narrowed toward the spinnerets, which are in the middle
of the under side. At the end of the abdomen is a double tubercle
with the lower half largest, and on each side of the abdomen a
little farther forward another tubercle. The epigynum has a wide
oval opening, partly covered and divided by a projection of the
front edge.

The male is 3 mm. long and the cephalothorax 1.5 mm. The
lower part of the front of the head extends forward and downward
in front of the mandibles in a nose-shaped process, above which
there is a round pit on each side of the head. The abdomen is
smaller and narrower than that of the female, and covered above
with silvery spots mixed with gray and black. The male palpi are

r

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 185

shorter and have the tarsus larger and rounder than in ¢rigonum,
Pl. I, fig. 10e. The descriptions and figures are from specimens
taken at Cold Spring Harbor on the north side of Long Island, N. Y.

Ceratinella formosa, Banks. Ithaca, 1892. (Plate I, figures 5 to 5d.)

This species was found by Miss E. B. Bryant at Long Island in
Portland Harbor, Me., Sept. 11, 1904. It was in great numbers on
the stones on the beach and flying by threads in the air. In size
and color it resembles C. /eta. The males have the whole upper
surface of the abdomen hard, while the females have only a hard
spot across the anterior end. The cephalothorax and abdomen are
both longer and less rounded than in /efa, and the sternum is
narrower behind, measuring between the fourth legs one-third its
length, while the sternum of /efa measures half its length. The
epigynum has a triangular opening somewhat like that of eta. The
male palpus resembles that of C. brunnea; the process of the tibia
is long and hooked, and the tube of the palpal organ is simple,
with no tooth at the bend. This species lives among the small
stones above high water on the beach, and runs much faster than
the other Ceratinellas. Found at Gloucester, Mass. on beaches and
one specimen in the Carter notch, White Mountains, N. H.

Ceratinopsis auriculatus, new. (Plate II, figures 9, 9a, 9b.)

1.5 mm. long and much like C. /aticeps. The colors are yellow
and orange like the other species, with a little black on the head
and ends of the palpi. The upper middle eyes are more than their
diameter apart, and the lateral eyes are farther from them than
they are from each other. Each pair of lateral eyes is raised on
a little horn turned forward and projecting in a point beyond the
eyes. The tibia of the male palpus projects upward and hooks
forward. Seen from above it has three indistinct teeth in place of
the two long ones of C. /aticeps.

One male from Three-mile Island, Lake Winninesanleee, N._ He
May 29, 1906, Miss E. B. Bryant; one from Fitzwilliam, July 1907.

Ceratinopsis alternatus, new. (Plate II, figures 6, 6a.)

In general appearance this resembles the female C. interpres.
The length is 2.6 mm. and the color is light orange brown with
black between the eyes, but no other markings. The arrangement
of the eyes is the same as in interpres, but the head is not quite
as high and the back not as straight. The sternum is convex and
large, and as wide as long, extending between the fourth coxe
as wide as the coxe are long.

186 J. H. Emerton,

The epigynum is simple, with a middle lobe a little longer than
wide.

The male palpi have the patella long and widened at the end,
with a large tooth on the under sider. The tibia is very short and
has ‘a tooth on the upper side as long as that on the patella but
more slender. The palpal organ has a slender pointed process at
the end, and a short and flat basal hook, Pl. U, fig. 6.

Three-mile Island and Jaffrey, N. H., Mt. Tom, Mass., Simsbury,
Conn., Balsam, North Carolina.

Caseola, new genus.

General appearance like Ceratinella, but without any hard plate

on the abdomen. The cephalothorax is as wide as long, in the male
alticeps, elevated in front. The two rows of eyes are of equal
length the upper middle pair as far from the front middle pair as
they are from each other. The abdomen is oval, not much larger
than the cephalothorax and covered with scattered hairs. The
legs are short and differ little in length. The mandibles have
three very small teeth on the inner side of the claw groove and
two or three larger ones on the front. The maxillz are longer
than wide and a little pointed at the inner corners. The sternum
is as wide as long, widest between the first and second legs and
extends backward between the fourth legs, where it is as wide as
the coxe. The male palpi have the patella and tibia both short
and the palpal organ simple with a slender curved tube, at the base
of which is a flat process widened and oval at the end directed
outward.

Caseola herbicola, new. (Plate IJ, figures 1 to 1d.)

1.5 mm. long and resembling Ceratinella, but without any hard
spots on the abdomen, which is covered with scattered stiff hairs.
The color is pale and whitish, without the orange which is usual
in Ceratinella. The cephalothorax is darkened a little toward the
head, and in the male is browner than in the female. The cephalo-
thorax is nearly as wide as long, very little narrowed or raised
toward the head in either sex. There is nothing peculiar in the
arrangement of the eyes. The front middle pair are as usual smallest
and about two-thirds the diameter of the upper middle eyes, with
which they make a quadrangle slightly higher than wide. The
front row of eyes is almost as long as the upper row, with the
lateral eyes a little raised above the head. The mandibles have
four or five very small teeth each side of the claw. The sternum

2 i ee

a en ee

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 187

is as wide as long, and extends backward between the fourth coxe,
as wide as the coxe themselves. The epigynum has a wide trans-
parent lobe in the middle, at each side of which the brown sperma-
thecze show through the skin, and from which two dark bands curve
in half circles toward the middle.

The male palpi are simple with a slender tube curving forward
toward a small terminal process with two teeth. Near the base of
the tube there is a small dark tooth, and under it, directed toward
the inner side, is a pale club-shaped process. The tarsal hook is
very small and hard to see. The tibia is widened at the end with
no processes or branches, except a slight raised and straight edge
on the upper side.

The females have been found in small numbers at several places
near Boston under leaves in early spring. Adult males and several
females were swept from low plants on Mt. Holyoke, Mass., on
June 20th.

Caseola alticeps, new. (Plate II, figures 2 to 2e.)

1.5 mm. long with the general appearance of Lophocarenum rather
than Ceratinella. The males only are known, and they have the
head narrow and elevated, somewhat as in Ceratinopsis interpres.
The eyes are all on the elevation and so are closer together than
in herbicola. The front middle eyes are only a little smaller than
the upper middle pair. The cephalothorax is nearly as wide as
long. The abdomen is oval and covered with scattered hairs, which
are finer and more numerous than in herbicola.

The male palpi have the tibia widened up and down with a tooth
on the outer side. The palpal organ is simple, having on the inner
side a club-shaped appendage like herbicola. The tube ends between
two processes at the tip of the organ, one flat and transparent, and
the other short and fine, with a peculiar curve at the end. The
tarsal hook is very small and easily concealed.

One from Three-mile Island in May, dark colored, and one from
Waltham, Mass. in November, which is pale.

Grammonota gigas. (Plate Il, figures 8 to 8b.)
Erigonoplus gigas, Banks. Canadian Entomologist, 1896.

Two males of this species were found under a board at Ipswich
Bluff, Plum Island, Mass. by Miss Mary T. Palmer, June, 1906. They
are 2.6 mm. long and resemble in size and color G. pictilis. There
are markings on the back of the abdomen as in frcttlis, but the
front half is stained with yellow over the other markings. The

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 13 January, 1909.

188 J. H. Emerton,

front legs have the metatarsus white and twice as thick as the
other joints. The end of the tibia is also slightly thickened. The
two middle pairs of eyes are nearly as far apart as the lateral pairs,
and the head is slightly elevated between them, and covered with
hairs directed backward and upward as in the other species. Behind
the eyes is a large hump rising abruptly in front and divided into
five lobes. The male palpi resemble closely those of G. tmornata.
The tibia has, on the upper side, a large, simple hook turned forward,
and the tube of the palpal organ is short and stiff and turned back-
ward at the tip. This was first found by Banks at Ithaca, N. Y.
and described by him in 1896.

Another male was found at Fitzwilliam, N. H., July, 1807, in the
rhododendron woods.

Histagonia palustris,
Exechophysis palustris, Banks. Ent. Soc., Wash., 1905. (Plate II,
figures 4 to 4f.)

This is another species resembling the Pholcomma rostrata des-
cribed in 1882. It is a little over 1 mm. long, short and rounded
like rostrata, with the abdomen of the male hard on the back and
covered with scattered stiff hairs. The head is elevated and extends
forward below the eyes in a blunt protuberance, covered on the
end with stiff hairs directed upward and backward. .

The male palpi have the tube of the palpal organ coiled once
around the end of the bulb. The tibia is flattened and, seen from
the side, as wide as long, with a recurved black spine on the distal
corner, and a smaller black spine near the basal end, the edge
between the two spines irregular and cut into several notches.
Seen from above with the palpi in their usual position, the tibia is
wedge-shaped with the point directed forward. On the outer side
of the tibia near the upper edge are two long hairs, which appear
to correspond to the two hairs on the tibia of rostrata.

Three-mile Island, Lake Winnipesaukee, N. H., May 25, 1905.
Sifted from leaves. Ithaca, N. Y., N. Banks.

Lophocarenum cuneatum, new. (Plate III, figures 6 to 6c.)

2 mm. long, the cephalothorax dark brown, the abdomen as
dark but grayer in color, and the legs distinctly lighter, pale when
freshly molted, and light yellow when mature. The cephalothorax
is nearly as wide as long, extended in front under the eyes in a
blunt point. The head is elevated into a distinct hump, with long
oval grooves at the sides, in the front ends of which, close to the

Oe

_—

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 189

eyes are the lateral pits. The upper middle eyes are on the front
and nearly at the top of the hump, the lower middle eyes half way
between them and the mandibles. The lateral eyes are wide apart,
just outside the lateral grooves, each pair on a slight elevation.
The hairs between the eyes are long and pointed outward. The
male palpi have the patella nearly twice as long as wide. The
tibia is very.-much widened toward the tarsus and partly covers it
on the upper side, where it has a large sickle-shaped hook turned
outward. The tarsal hook is flat and broad, with a small notch.
The tarsus is short and rounded and the parts of the palpal organ
small, with a short tube curved around the end.

A single freshly molted female has the head slightly elevated
behind the eyes, and the middle eyes as far from the front pair as
they are from each other. The epigynum is very far forward, and
has two pointed lobes directed backward and close together with
only a narrow groove between them.

Fitzwilliam, N. H. under leaves near the rhododendrons, May 235,
1907.

Lophocarenum abruptum, new. (Plate Ill, figures 5 to 5c.)

A male a little over 2 mm. long from under leaves on Mt. Holy-
oke, Mass., June 20. The cephalothorax is depressed in the middle,
and the head rises abruptly, carrying the upper middle eyes on the
front and upper side. Just above the lateral eyes are wide grooves,
with a small round pit a little farther back than the lateral eyes.
Between the upper and lower middle eyes are a few fine hairs
turned toward the sides. Below the front middle eyes the head
projects forward over the mandibles. The tarsus of the male palpus
is about half as long as the patella and widened toward the tarsus,
and has on the upper side two processes directed forward, the inner
one twice as long as the outer and as long as the body of the
tibia. The tarsus is rounded and the palpal organ large and thick
from above downward. The tube is small and coiled in one turn
on the outer side. The colors in this individual are pale, the ab-
domen darkest.

Lophocarenum quadricristatum. (Plate III, figures 4, 4a.)

This has been found again on the summit of Mt. Washington in
August, 1906. The female has in a less degree the same peculiar
arrangement of the eyes as the male. The middle pairs are un-
usually far apart, and the lateral pairs have the front eye one and

190 J. H. Emerton,

a half times as large as the other. The head is a little elevated,
highest just behind the upper middle eyes. The epigynum is very
simple, showing a straight edge behind, with a wide middle lobe
separated only by slight grooves. The sternum in both sexes extends
backward between the fourth coxe, where it is wider than the dia-
meter of the coxe.

Lophocarenum alpinum, Banks.
Dismodicus alpinus, Banks. Can. Ent., 1896. (Plate III, figures 3
to 3f.)

An adult male and female were found in a thin web under a
stone near the summit of Mt. Washington, N. H., and another female
and a male not yet molted for the last time under other stones in
the same neighborhood. The male is 2 mm. long. The cephalo-
thorax is half longer than wide, narrow in front and extended a
little beyond the mandibles. The hump is rounded above and rises
between the eyes and the middle of the cephalothorax; it is nearly
as wide as the front of the head, and inclines forward a little over
the eyes. The front of the hump is covered with short hairs, longest
below and turned outward toward each side. On each side of the
hump at the level of the eyes is a groove with a round pit at the
front end. The eyes are spread over the whole width of the head,
the lateral pairs largest, the front middle pair very small and near
together. The eyes of the upper row are equal distances apart.
The palpi are longer than the cephalothorax. The tibia is shorter
than the patella, and extended only a little over the upper side of
the tarsus, where it is divided into two teeth, the inner one longest
but slender and hooked inward at the end. The palpal organ
resembles that of the last species and of L. montiferum.

A young male almost ready for the final moult, shows a small
hump behind the eyes and a slight extension of the front of the
head. The palpi are much enlarged, and show the form of the .
male tibia and palpal organ indistinctly through the skin.

In the female which is about the same size as the male, the front
of the head is not extended forward, but there is a slight hump
one-fourth as high as that of the male, in the same place between
the eyes and the middle of the cephalothorax. The epigynum has
a wide middle lobe curved on the edge and shows through the
skin the spermathecz and two irregularly coiled tubes at the sides
of the middle lobe.

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 191

Lophocarenum trilobatum. (Plate III, figures 1, 1a.)
Dicyphus trilobatus, Banks. Canadian Entomologist, 1896.

One male only from the maple swamp at Clarendon Hills, about
the same size as L. montiferum, with a hump as high as that species,
but differently shaped. The cephalothorax is not quite as wide as
long, and a little narrower in front. The eyes are grouped together
as in most species, the hinder middle pair a little farther apart than
they are from the lateral and the lateral pairs almost horizontal.
Thé*hump is half as wide as the cephalothorax and nearly of the
same height. It is rounded behind and in front divided into three
lobes, the middle one extending forward nearly to the eyes. The
palpi are longer than the cephalothorax, the tibia a little shorter
than the patella, but elongated over the tarsus on the upper side,
so that it appears longer. This process of the tibia is divided into
two teeth, the outer one longer and larger than the inner. The
palpal organ has some resemblance to that of montiferum, with a
small tarsal hook and the tube curled once around the end.

Lophocarenum minutum, new. (Plate III, figures 8, 8a, 8b.)

1mm. long and light yellow brown. The cephalothorax is one-
fourth longer than wide and rounded in front. The head is only
shghtly elevated, and the lateral grooves are behind the eyes, with
the pits showing from above through the skin one-third the length
of the cephalothorax from the front. The sternum is as broad as
long, extending backward between the fourth legs, where it is as
wide as one of the coxe. The palpi have the patella and tibia
both short, about as wide as long. The tibia is a little widened
toward the tarsus and has on the upper and outer side a short,
fine and slightly curved tooth. The tarsal hook is long and slender,
and in my specimens turns outward so that it shows from above.
The palpal organ is small and simple, and there is a short and
blunt black process that extends beyond the end of the tarsus.
The tarsus is slightly angular on the outer side. The female has
the head slightly lower, with the upper and lower middle eyes
closer together. The epigynum resembles that of several other
species of the genus having a distinct middle lobe, widened at the
end in front of which are two openings.

Fitzwilliam, N. H. under leaves near the rhododendrons, May 25, 1907.

Lophocarenum rugosum, new. (Plate I, figures 3 to 3¢.)
2 mm. long. The cephalothorax is oval, widest across the middle
and highest behind the eyes. The surface is slightly roughened all

192 J. A. Emerton,

over. The sternum is also rough. It extends backward between
the fourth legs, where it is wider than the coxe. It extends also
between the first and second, and between the second and third
legs. The maxille are wider than long, and the mandibles stout,
with four teeth on the front of the claw, and three small and one
large one on the inner side. The eyes spread across the whole
front of the head. The front row is straight, with the middle pair
smallest, and the middle quadrangle is higher than wide. The ab-
domen is round and a little pointed at the spinnerets as in Erigone.
The abdomen is covered with short and fine scattered hairs. The
coxe are long, extending beyond the border of cephalothorax, so
that all are visible from above, and the legs are long and _ stout
and covered with coarse hairs.

The epigynum is very far forward and has a light colored middle
lobe, longer than wide, at the sides of which the spermathece show
through the skin.

The palpal organs are very simple; the tube and two short ap-
pendages showing only at the distal end. The tarsal hook is small
and the tarsus short and round. The tibia is widened a little across
the middle, and has a flat extension with a straight edge against
the upper side of the tarsus.

The relations of this species are doubtful as the male does not
have the grooves and pits in the sides of the head which are char-
acteristic of the males of most species of this genus. In other
respects, however, its resemblance is close to L. /atum and L. cre-
natum and still more to an undescribed species from Long Island,
N. Y., for which the females are easily mistaken. The sternum in
all of these is wide and convex and roughened all over the sur-
face. The extension between the legs occurs in the same way in
L. crenatum. The form of the epigynum is the same in all four
species. The resemblance of the male palpi is equally close, all
the species having the tarsus nearly of the same shape and the
parts of the palpal organ small and with only slight variations
among the species.

Grafton, Mass. Three-mile Island, Lake Winnipesaukee, N. H.
under leaves.

Tmeticus longisetosus, Emerton. Trans. Conn. Acad. 1892. (Plate IV,
figure 9.) :
This species has been found again in March, 1907, under leaves
in Allston, near Boston. The male and female are of the same size
and much alike. They are pale in color, the legs and cephalo-

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 193

thorax light yellow tinged, when fresh, with light red on the head
and mandibles. There is a row of four or five hairs directed forward
on the middle line of the head. The abdomen is covered above
and below with scattered hairs about their length apart. The
mandibles of the male have a strong tooth in front. The sternum
extends backward between the fourth coxe and is truncated at the
hinder end, where it is about half as wide as the fourth coxa. The
epigynum appears very simple externally, showing two small sper-
mathece through the skin, over which the short scattered hairs are
arranged in two clusters. The male palpi have been sufficiently
figured in N. E. Theridide.

Tmeticus flaveolus, Banks. Proc. Acad. Nat. Sci. Phila., 1892.
(Plate IV, figures 8, 8a, 8b.)

This species resembles 7. /ongisetosus in size and color. It is
1.5 mm, long. When fresh the cephalothorax is light orange color
and the rest of the body pale. The sternum extends backward
beyond the fourth coxe, where it is as wide as one of the coxae.
The mandibles of the male have a small spine on the front near
the end. The epigynum is much like that of /ongisetosus, with a
transverse slit with the spermathece showing through the skin. The
male palpus resembles that of /ongisetosus, but the tibia and tarsus
are both slightly shorter. The tibia is widened at the end as it is
in /ongitarsus, with several projections and shallow curves on the
edge. The tarsus has two large spines near the base, one much
thicker than the other and both about half as long as the corres-
ponding spines in /ongisetosus.

Coffin’s beach, Gloucester, Mass., in straw on the shore. Hanover,
N. H. and Ithaca, N. Y. in Mr. Banks’ collection.

imeticus. debilis, Banks. Proc. Acad. Nat. Sci. Phila., 1902:
(Plate IV, figures 3, 3a, 3b.)

2 mm. long, and pale yellow, brown and gray, with some individ-
uals almost white. The group of eyes is rather narrow, not more
than half the width of the thorax. The sternum is widest at the
second legs, and extends between the fourth coxe in a narrow
piece not more than half the diameter of one of the coxe. The
male palpi are large and the palpal organs of a very distinct form.
The tibia is small, but widened at the end, where it is about twice
as wide as at the base. The tarsus is long and oval, with a smooth
strip without hairs near the outer edge. The tarsal hook is slender
and has a short rounded process near the base on the outer side.

194 J. H. Emerton,

All the appendages of the palpal organ are long and slender. The
tube itself starts at the base under the tarsal hook and extends
more than half around the tarsus, and is supported through nearly
its whole length by a stouter process with a long hook at the end,
usually dark-colored and having a short tooth near its base on the
inner side of its curve. At the base of this stout process is another
about half as long; which is soft and white and ends in a blunt
point near the tip of the tube.
Hammond’s Pond woods, Brookline, Carlisle Pines.

Tmeticus corticarius, new. (Plate VI, figures 4, 4a, 4b.)

This species had only been found singly in Cambridge and in
New Haven, Conn., until trees around Boston and Providence were
banded with cloths to trap the Gypsy moth caterpillars in 1905.
It then appeared in considerable numbers under these cloths in both
places from July until October.

The length is 2.6 mm., the males and females being of the same
size, the males having only slightly longer legs and smaller abdomen.
The color is dull gray, the legs and cephalothorax yellowish, and
the abdomen almost black. The front of the head is narrow and
rounded, and the eyes not far apart. The epigynum is three-lobed,
the outer lobes forming part of a semicircular plate a third as wide
as the abdomen. The male palpus has the tibia very short and
extended upward and downward. The upper process is very cons-
picuous when the palpus is seen from the side. It is half as long
as the tarsus, and curves slightly forward so as to fit the tarsus
if both are brought together.

Tmeticus brunneus, Em. Trans. Conn. Acad. 1882. (Plate IV,
figures 7, 7a, 7b.)

This has been found again on Mt. Washington by Mrs. Slosson,
and is in Mr. Banks’s collection. It is closely related to TJ. tarsalis
and 7. maximus, especially the latter; the upper projection of the
tibia, however, is distinctly more pointed and larger than in maximus,
and the tarsal hook is longer. The epigynum is also longer and
projects more from the surface of the abdomen than in maximus.

Erigone brevidentatus, new. (Plate II, figures 10b, 10c.)

A small species not much over 1 mm. in length. The colors are’
the usual brown and gray, rather pale in all three specimens. The
cephalothorax is only a little elevated behind the eyes, and there
are no spines around the edge. The mandibles have one long

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 195

spine on the inner side and seven on the outer side, the longest
one being opposite the one on the inner side. The male palpi
have the patella and tibia of nearly the same length. The: usual
tooth on the under side of the patella is very small and short.

Mt. Holyoke, sifted from leaves June 20, 1906; Fitzwilliam, N. H.,
July 20, 1907.

Linyphia maculata, new.
Linyphia conferta (Hentz) Banks, 1892. (Plate IV, figures 10 to, 10 g.)

This species is related to clathrata and mandibulaia. The ab-
domen is high behind as in those species, and sometimes extends
backward beyond the spinnerets. The cephalothorax of the female
is somewhat shorter and the legs longer than in c/athrata and
mandibulata. The hinder middle eyes are farther apart than they
are from the lateral eyes. The front middle eyes are small and.
less than their diameter apart.

The cephalothorax and legs are light orange yellow, the cephalo-
thorax a little darker, and the eyes are surrounded by black.
The abdomen is pale in front and marked with several dark spots,
the front ones in pairs, which toward the hinder end are some-
times almost black. Around the sides of the abdomen are gray
spots and a row of irregular opaque white spots. In the male all
the colors are darker, and the abdomen sometimes almost black.
The sternum and under side of the abdomen are brown without any
markings.

The epigynum is widened toward the hinder end, PI. IV, fig. 109.
The palpi of the males have the tarsi and palpal organs black, the
palpal organs large and complicated and resembling those of L.
marginata.

At the time of publication of the N. E. Theridide I had seen
only the young of this species at New Haven, Conn. In 1883 an
adult male was found at the same place, and one near Boston in
1890. More lately they have been found to be common near Boston,
at Ipswich, in the Blue Hills, and at Sharon, living in webs near
the ground like L. mandibulata but preferring more shady situations
under the trees and bushes along paths through the woods rather
than open meadows. The webs are large and nearly flat, but the
part on which the spider usually stands is sometimes a little raised
by tighter threads from above.

196 J. H. Emerton,

Tapinopa bilineata, Banks. Journal New York Entomological Soc.,
1893, p. 128. (Plate XII, figures 8 to 8f.)

This species has been found twice, at Woods Hole in 1883, and
at Clarendon Hills, south of Boston, in 1904, under leaves in winter
in a maple swamp, both specimens females. The male was found
in 1906 at Portland, Me.

The length is 5 mm. and the length of the cephalothorax 2.5 mm.
The cephalothorax is one half longer than wide, and the projecting
middle eyes and the black bands narrowing toward the front make
it appear longer and more pointed at the head than in the nearly
related species. The middle eyes of the front row are as large as
those of the upper row, which is unusual in this family, and the
four middle eyes form a quadrangle longer than wide and nearly
as wide in front as behind. The front middle eyes project forward
over the mandibles. The mandibles are wide in front, with long
claws and have seven teeth in front, the middle one-half the
diameter of the mandible in length. On the under side of the
mandibles are five or six shorter teeth, Pl. XII, fig. 8d.

The abdomen is shaped as in Linyphia phrygiana and Bathyphantes
nebulosa, high in front and low and pointed behind.

The colors are translucent, white and black or dark gray, all
becoming yellow in alcohol. The cephalothorax has two wide black
bands at the side that cover more than half its surface, leaving a
middle light band narrowing behind and toward the front. The
dark bands do not quite extend to the sides of the head or much
below the eyes in front. The back of the abdomen is marked with
a series of pairs of dark spots, in one specimen united on the
posterior half, so that half of the back is entirely black. The legs
have wide dark bands around the ends and middle of the longer
joints. The sternum is gray, darkest at the sides and the coxe are
gray at the outer ends.

The epigynum is curved downward in a half circle and widened
at the end, Pl. XII, fig. 8f. At the base it is as wide as long, with an
opening at each side and a thin partition in the middle, PI. XI, fig. 8e.

The markings are more distinct, and darker than in the European
longidens, of which there are specimens from Germany sent by
A. Menge of Danzig in the Museum of Zoology at Cambridge.

The male resembles the female, except that the legs are longer,
and the top of the head above the eyes more hairy. The male
palpus resembles that of 7. /ongidens: the tarsus has a long tooth
near the base on the upper and inner side which is curved back-

ward, but is not divided at the end into two teeth as it is in ongidens.

OO

lh ee ae ee

a

Prick e

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 197

Bathyphantes calcaratus, new. (Plate IV, figures 13, 13a.)

This species has been found at Portland, Maine, Moosehead Lake,
and the lower part of Mt. Washington. The largest measures 3 mm.
long. All the specimens are distinctly marked with gray, the darker
one resembling Drapetisca socialis. The legs are long and slender,
the femur darker toward the tip, and the tibia and metatarsus dark
at the end and in the middle. The cephalothorax has a dark spot
in the middle, wide in front and tapering to a line behind. The
abdomen is white and gray, the markings of the front half united
into a middle stripe with broken edges and two narrow lateral
stripes. On the hinder half the markings are in pairs, slightly con-
nected in the middle. The male palpi are as long as the cephalo-
thorax. The patella and tibia are both short, but the tarsus is
elongated with a short and sharp spur at the base. The tarsal
hook is very large, recurved and widened at the end, where it has
a short point above, and a longer one below, as shown in the figure.
The tarsal hook resembles that of Microneta crassimanus, a larger
and shorter legged spider.

Microneta persoluta. (Plate IV, figures 11, 11a.)

The old figures in N. E. Therididze do not give a correct idea
of the form of the tarsal hook, though they do show its character-
istic sinuous lower edge. The tarsal hook is turned outward and
thickened at the end, where it has several blunt irregular teeth as
shown in the figure. It has been found at several new localities
and seems to be a common species.

Microneta denticulata, new. (Plate IV, figure 14.)
This species resembles closely MW. perso/uta in size and color, and
is found in company with it, but is easily distinguished by the palpi,
Pl. IV, fig. 14. The tarsal hook is nearly horseshoe shaped and has
a thick edge on which are six or moreprominent teeth, those near
the base partly united. The parts of the palpal organ are longer
and more separate than in fersoluta. The mandibles aré without a

prominent tooth on the front.

Microneta latidens, Emerton. Trans. Conn. Acad., 1892. (Plate IV,
fipures 12 to 12c.)

The male of this species was described in 1882 from New Haven,
Connecticut. Since that time both sexes have been found at several
places and in large numbers. It is 2 mm. to 2.5 mm. in length,
the females being usually a little smaller than the males. The

198 J. H. Emerton,

general color is gray, paler on the legs, and there is great differ-
ence in the depth of color in different individuals. In alcohol the
wetting of the hairs makes them paler and more translucent, and
they soon become yellow. The abdomen is marked with four
longitudinal lighter lines partly broken into spots. There are no
markings on the cephalothorax, except a little black around the eyes.

The epigynum is not folded, but extends backward half way to
the spinnerets, curved slightly inward toward the body and out-
ward again at the tip, Pl. IV, fig. 12d.

The male palpi have the tibial hook large and wide, turning
outward with three teeth on the thickened edge. The base of the
tarsus has a slight horn, shorter than in varia. The end of the
palpal organ has two small black processes, one twice as long as
the other, Pl. IV, fig. 12a, which show from below when the palpi
are held in the usual position.

Microneta serrata. (Plate IV, figures 15, 15a, 15b.)

One male from a fence in Boston, Nov. 20, 1900, during the
autumn flight. Length 1.5mm. The cephalothorax is a third longer
than wide, and narrowed toward the front. The eyes cover the
whole front of the head and are Jarge for the size of the spider. The
front middle eyes are only slightly smaller and closer than the
upper middle pair. The cephalothorax is highest in the middle
where it is more than half as high as wide. The sternum is large
and convex, widest in front, and ending in a blunt point between
the fourth coxe.

The male palpi are very peculiar. The patella is as long as wide;
the tibia is twice as long as the patella and a little widened at the
end, with a thin projection on the outer upper corner, extending
forward and turned a little inward. There is a little ridge on the
back of the tarsus parallel to this process. The tarsus has a slight
spur at the base. The tarsal hook is slender as in several small
Bathyphantes. The middle appendage of the palpal organ is larger
than in Microneta viaria and has on the outer side a line of short
black spines, Pl. IV, fig. 15a.

Epeira angulata, Clerck.

E. silvatica, Em. N. E. Epeiride. Trans. Conn. Acad., 1884.

E. solitaria. N. E. Epeiride. Trans. Conn. Acad., 1884.

E. nigra. Canadian Spiders. Trans. Conn. Acad., 1894.
Comparison of several specimens from western Canada leads me

to think that s¢/vatica, solitaria and nigra are all varieties of angu-

|
|

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 199

lata. In New England this species continues to be rare, but in the
Rocky Mountains and in Oregon and California it is common on
fences and outside of houses. On the piazza of hotels through the
Canadian Rocky Mountains, the males vary in size from that of
solitaria with the cephalothorax 5 mm. in length, to the smallest
stlvatica only 3.5mm. The length of the first femur varies in these
specimens from 5.5 to 4mm. Four males from the hotel at Glacier
varied among themselves nearly as much. The palpi of the larger
specimens resemble so/taria and nigra, with the tube curved up-
ward at the base and strongly curved toward the end, while in
smaller, light-colored individuals, the tube is less curved, lies closer
to the bulb and tapers more regularly toward the point, as in the
smaller s¢/vatica. The shape of the second tibia is the same in all
the varieties, the spines being somewhat longer and stouter in larger
individuals.

The females vary but little, except in color, most of the western
specimens being darker than those from New England. The shape
of the epigynum is very uniform, with the finger very long and
slender.

In August, 1906, Mrs. Annie Trumbull Slosson found a male on
the hotel at the summit of Mt. Washington that resembles very
closely the original E. soltaria from Massachusetts.

Epeira corticaria, Em. New Engl.. Epeiride, 1884. (Plate V,
figures 3, 3a.)

Mature males and females are found on the lower part of Mt.
Washington, N. H., in the early part of August. The females have
the finger of the epigynum broken off or shrivelled. The males
are marked and colored like the females, except that in the males
the dark stripes at the sides of the cephalothorax are wider, and
the dark rings of the legs more distinct. The second tibiz are
slightly thickened and curved, and five spines on the upper side
and two on the inner side are thickened and dark-colored. There
are no spines on the coxe.

Epeira Nordmanni, Thorell.

A male from The Glen at the base of Mt. Washington, N. H. is
9mm. long, the cephalothorax 5mm. The dark stripes at the
sides of the cephalothorax are wider and more definite than in the
female. The markings of the abdomen are like those of the female,

but are less distinct. The second tibiz are slightly thickened and

200 J. H. Emerton,

curved, and the spines on the upper and inner sides stout and dark-
colored. There are no spines on the coxe.

Epeira thaddeus, Hentz. (Plate V, figures 2, 2a.)

The males I have seen, from Sharon and Waltham, Mass., are a
little smaller than females from the same places. The front leg is
much elongated, the patella and tibia together being as long as the
spider from eyes to spinnerets. The usual little process on the
anterior end of the first coxa is lengthened into a spine directed
forward about half the diameter of the coxa in length. The second
leg is slightly thicker than the first; the tibia is a little curved,
and the four spines on the inner side are stouter but not shorter
than the others on this joint. The color is pale, without any bright
orange on the legs or dark brown around the abdomen common
in females. The first and second legs have brown rings at the ends
of the joints, while the third and fourth have the dark ends of the
joints less strongly marked than in females. The cephalothorax is
pale, with a pale gray stripe in the middle. The abdomen does
not have the brown band around the sides which is so character-
istic of females, and on the back it is marked with pairs of bright
yellow spots, the two anterior pairs larger than the others, some-
what as in £. globosa. Some females have similar markings on
the back of the abdomen.

Epeira juniperi, Em. (Plate V, figures 1, 1a.)

Two males swept from bushes at Ponemah, N. H., were slightly
greenish on the abdomen, which is striped with white at the sides
and across the front. The rest of the body was pale and yellowish.
The ends of the tibiz of first and second legs were light orange,
covering nearly half the joint, but not forming a definite ring. The
cephalothorax is nearly as wide as long and 2 mm. in length. The
legs are long and slender, the tibia and patella of the first pair
measuring 3 mm. The spines of the legs are dark colored and
very long, especially on the tibial joints; those on the first tibize
being half as long as the whole tibia. There are no modifications
of the second tibia.

Epeira labyrinthea, Hentz.
Hentz, in his description of this species, says that a tube, similar
to that of Agalena, leads from the web to the nest. I have never

seen such a tube; but often there are several threads, as in Zi/la .

atrica, leading from the center of the round web to the nest, and

et ee Pe

=
_

PIR as nse:

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 201

the center is drawn tight by them, giving the appearance of a
funnel-shaped opening to a tube. There is, however, no hole in the
center of the web, and the cluster of threads may be flat or slightly
depressed in the form of a gutter.

Zilla montana. (Plate V, figure 4b.)

This is a common house spider at Deer Island and at northern
end of Moosehead Lake, Maine, making its nests like Z. atrica under
the edges of clapboards. In North Carolina it lives on houses and
in bushes at the summit of Roan Mountain, and in houses and barns
at the base of the mountain, near the railroad.

Zilla atrica, Koch.
Eucharia atrica, Koch. 1845. (Plate V, figures 4 to 4d.)

In size and color this resembles the other species. The markings
of the back of the abdomen resemble closely those of «-nofata, but
the middle of the back is usually lighter, and the two diverging
dark marks near the anterior end are longer and narrower than in
x-notata. The cephalothorax has a more distinct dark middle stripe
than in the other species. In the males the palpi (fig. 4a) are twice
as long as the cephalothorax, and about twice as long as those of
x-notata. The front legs of the male are, however, one-eighth shorter
than those of .x-vofata, the front tibia and patella measuring a little
less than twice the length of the cephalothorax. The form of the
epigynum is shown in fig. 4b in comparison with those of «-vofata
and montana.

The webs are like those of other species with a large central
spiral from which a strong thread extends to the nest. A large
segment opposite this thread is usually left open, but is often partly
or entirely closed. Adults are found from August until winter.

First noticed by McCook at Annisquam, Mass., about 1885, and
now found abundantly at Ipswich, Gloucester, Salem, and Lynn,
where it lives in hedges and on the outside of houses, making
tubular nests open at both ends under the edges of the clapboards.
At Ipswich, I first noticed them on a new cottage near the shore
far from any other house, in 1900. At that time there were none
of them on other cottages in the neighborhood or on the old farm-
house at Lakeman’s beach. In 1904 they were on all the neigh-
boring houses and barns and in the liliac bushes around them.

Tetragnatha vermiformis, Em. N. E. Epeiridae.
Positions of male and female while pairing. Fresh Pond marshes

202 J. H. Emerton,

Cambride, Mass. Sept. 3. 1901, 8 a. m. in irregular net on marsh-
grass (Pl. V, fig. 5.) Position of mandibles while pairing (fig. 5a.).

Pachygnatha tristriata, Keysl. 1882. (Plate V, figures 6 to 6d.)

This species is not the same as brevis. The size is about the
same as brevis, but both the cephalothorax and abdomen are slightly
longer and narrower. The cephalothorax has three stripes in both
species, but the abdomen of ¢ristriata has the dorsal marking with
straight black edges instead of scolloped as in brevis. The four
middle eyes are raised above the head with the upper pair higher
than the top of the cephalothorax, while in brevis the eyes are
lower than the highest part of the cephalothorax. The cluster of
middle eyes is as far above the mandibles as it is high. In aw-
tumnalis the upper middle eyes are larger than the others and
farther apart, and the cluster of middle eyes is much higher than
it is distant from the mandibles. In males the differences are more
distinct than in females. The male palpi of ¢ristriata have the
tarsus and palpal organ longer and more slender than in drevis,
the bulb is narrower, and the tube and narrow end of the tarsus
are twice as long as they are in brevis. The tarsal hook of ¢71-
striata is straighter and more slender than in brevis.

Orono, Me., Salem, and Gloucester, Mass.

Lycosa avara, Keys. Zool. bot. Ges. Wien, 1876.
L. rufiventris, Banks. (Plate VII, figures 2, 2a.)

This spider resembles very closely L. pratensis. The light stripe
on the cephalothorax widens behind the eyes, and has a middle dark
line and a broken dark line each side of it as in pratensis. The
front row of eyes, which in pratensis is straight, has in avara the lateral
eyes a little lower than the middle pair. The eyes of the second
row are a little larger than in pratensis, so that it appears slightly
longer than the first row, while in fratensis it is slightly shorter;
the difference is, however, too small to measure and cannot be
seen in all specimens of pratensis. The two specimens of avara
examined vary in size as does pratensis. The most distinctive
character of avara is the form of the epigynum as shown in fig. 2.
At first sight it shows a pair of round holes, and it is only by
rubbing away the hairs that the shape of the middle lobe can be
seen. This is anchor-shaped with the pointed ends curved around
so that they point directly forward. There is a slight projection in
the middle. At the front end the middle lobe widens, and its edges
are continuous with the anterior borders of the two large holes.

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 203

Two females were found by Miss E. B. Bryant, one in Allston,
Mass., and the other at Long Island, Portland, Maine.

Lycosa frondicola, Em. N. E. Lycoside.
L. nigroventris, Em. is the male of this species.

This species and ZL. Kochit are often found in the same localities.
They both mature late in autumn and carry their cocoons of eggs
in May. Fyrondicola is darker brown and less mottled than Kochit.
The middle stripe of the cephalothorax is straight in frondico/a and
notched at the sides in Kochiz. The young of frondicola are more
mottled on the legs than the adult and resemble the young of L. cinerea.
The L. migroventris described in N. E. Spiders is an unusually large
male frondicola. The male is usually two thirds the size of the
female with the under side darker. The legs are lighter and the
markings on back of abdomen more distinct.

Lycosa carolinensis, Hentz.

Mr. W. L. W. Field of Milton, Mass., has watched for many seasons
a large number of these spiders in a pasture on a gravelly hillside,
where they make holes six or eight inches deep, sometimes straight
and sometimes curved irregularly, to avoid large stones. Sometimes
the mouth of the hole is funnel-shaped, spreading to twice the
diameter of the lower part of the tube. The males appear only in
the late summer, and the fertilized females winter in the tubes which
are closed partly by the wheather, and lay their eggs in the last
of May or June. In the summer the half-grown spiders are some-
times found without holes, and they have been known to abandon
_ their holes and make new ones.

Lycosa baltimoriana, Keys. Zool. bot. Ges. Wien, 1876. (Plate VU,
foures 1, 1a,' 1b.)

This is a large and distinctly marked species, the female 15 mm.
long, the cephalothorax 8 mm. long, and 5.5 mm. wide. The eye
area is small, occupying one-third the width of the head and
one-sixth the length of the cephalothorax. The front and second
rows of eyes are of the same length. The legs are of moderate
length, as in carolinensis and tigrina. The general color is gray
like carolinensis with black markings. The cephalothorax has in-
distinct dark radiating lines. The back of the abdomen has a dark
spot following the shape of the heart, and behind it two or three
irregular triangular spots, and along the sides are other irregular
markings. On the under side of the abdomen is a square black

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 14 January, 1909.

204 J. H. Emerton,

spot extending from the lung openings back nearly to the spinnerets.
The sternum is black. The legs are marked with broken dark
rings.

The epigynum is narrow in front with two small openings; it is
widened in the middle and has a small T-shaped end behind,
PL. Vil fiie.. fib:

The male palpus is much like that of L. midicola fig. 1e, which
is from a specimen from Providence, R. I. belonging to Mr. Banks.

From Woods Hole, Mass., and Simsbury, Conn.

Lycosa Pikei, Marx. American Naturalist, 1881.
L. nidifex, Em. N. E. Lycosidae.
L. arenicola, Scudder. Psyche, Vol. I, 1877, name preoccupied by
Cambridge in Spiders of Dorset. (Plate VU, figures 3d, 3e.)
The burrows of this species do not usually have a tube of straw
or other rubbish around the mouth. The edge of the tube is thickly
covered with silk, which extends out sometimes an inch around it
on the surface of the sand. In digging, the surface of the sand is
first covered thinly with silk. A ball of sand held together by the
silk is then gathered up and carried to the mouth of the burrow
in the mandibles; there, without the spider coming out of the hole,
it is placed on the ends of the front legs, and thrown as far away
as possible. In full grown spiders this is about two inches, and
the balls of sand may sometimes be seen in a circle of this radius
around the hole. When looking for prey, the spider sits with the
cephalothorax and front of the abdomen out of the hole and the
feet turned under the body as if dead. A step on the sand within
ten feet will alarm them and they disappear down the burrow, but
by creeping slowly without jarring the ground or throwing a shadow
over the hole, one may get within two feet of the spider without
disturbing it. The spider will notice an insect moving six or eight
inches away and will rush out and catch one at that distance,
returning quickly with it to the burrow. The adult males live part
of the time in holes like females. and lie out at the top and wait
for insects in the same way, but in August and September they
are often found wandering. A male confined over night and then
turned loose near the burrow of a female at once looked into it,
reaching down its whole body except the tip of the abdomen and
the fourth legs. It quickly came out, followed to the mouth of the
burrow by the female who at once went down again, and returning
in a few seconds, seated herself in the usual position over the edge
of the hole. The male then approached slowly with the front of

ony,

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 205

the body raised, alternately reaching forward the front legs and
jerking them quickly back until almost near enough to touch the
female. She then came toward him and struck at him weakly
with her front legs, but he turned them aside, jumped on her back
and tried to place his palpus under her. She then attacked him
in earnest and drove him away, afterward going down in her burrow
and remaining there, and the male soon wandered away.

Young an eighth of an inch in length are found in small burrows
of their own from June to August, and in holes with adult females
as late as Aug. 10.

Lycosa nidifex, Marx. American Naturalist, 1881. (Plate VII,
figures 3 to 3e.)

In N. E. Lycosidae I have contounded this species with L. prker,
under the name of mdifex.

This inland species differs distinctly from Prker and approaches
L. missourtensis Banks of the South and West. The epigynum and
palpal organs of these three species are so much alike that they
cannot be used to distinguish them. In sdifex the black color of
the under side of the first leg does not extend inward beyond the
patella, and the coxe are all light-colored, while in Prkez the whole
of the first leg, including the coxa, is black, and in some individuals
the whole of the second leg. In wzdifex the whole upper surface
of the body is a nearly uniform gray color with indistinct stripes
on the abdomen, while in Prker the color of both upper and under
sides is darkest at the head, and gradually lighter backward with
a distinct pattern on the abdomen. In wmdifex the pads on the tbra
and metatarsus are composed of shorter hairs, so that these legs
look but two thirds as thick as they do in Prket.

L. nidifex usually makes a turret at the opening of its burrow,
sometimes only a slight ring, but often a tube of sticks or grass
rising more “than its diameter above the surface of the ground.
Like Pikez the spider sits at the mouth of its burrow with the feet
turned under and the head high enough to see the surrounding
country. The burrows are often not more than eight or ten inches
deep, sometimes curved to avoid stones. The turrets are most
conspicuous in October and November, after the surrounding grass
has withered. The burrows remain open all winter, the immature
spiders lying partly torpid at the bottom. Freshly matured males
and females are found in May.

206 J. H. Emerton,

Lycosa punctulata, Hentz. (Plate VII, figures 4, 4a.)

The legs of both sexes are shorter than in scutulata. In the male
the first and second legs are not as much elongated as in scutulata,
and the first legs are not darker than the others. The stripe on
the abdomen is straight in both sexes, without light spots along
the edges as in scuiulata. The under side of the abdomen has
irregular black spots which are wanting in scutulata. The palpal
organs are shaped much as in scutulata, but the tarsi and all the
joints of the palpi are a little shorter and stouter than in that species.

Framingham, Mass., Sept. 29, 1906.

Lycosa relucens, Montgomery. Proc. Phil. Acad. Nat. Sci., 1902.
(Plate VI, figures 1, 1a, 1b.)

This species matures early in the season and is common around
Boston in April in open woods. Its general color is that of dried
leaves, and it resembles small individuals of L. frondicola. The length
is 8 mm., the cephalothorax 4 mm. or a little less. The cephalo-
thorax has a straight white middle stripe, the width of the middle
eyes extending from them backward and slightly narrowed behind.
There is a narrower white stripe near the edge each side, some-
times broken and indistinct in females, and straighter and more
distinct in males. The legs are pale yellowish brown, with the
femora faintly marked with gray rings that are sometimes absent,
especially in males. The abdomen is indistinctly marked with pairs
of gray spots and oblique lines. The epigynum has the common
T-shape as wide as long, and a single arched opening in front,
Fig. 1b. The male palpus has the tibia thickened so that it is
nearly as wide as the tarsus. The tube of the palpal organ is
abruptly curved forward, and a thin supporting appendage lies along
the side of the tarsal cavity without extending beyond its edge.
At the base of the tube is a large thick ae extending
forward, Fig. 1a.

New Haven, Conn., Mass., Lake Champlain, Vt.

Lycosa crassipalpis, new (Plate VI, figures 3, 3a.)

Three small males from Ipswich, Mass., and one from Portland,
Me., are only 6 mm. long and the cephalothorax 3mm. The male
palpi have the tibia thickened as in re/ucens, but the tarsus and
palpal organ are proportionally smaller and not wider than the tibia.
The legs are pale without any gray rings on the femora. The
lateral white lines on the cephalothorax are well defined and re-
moved more than their width from the edge as they are in dihine-

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 207

ata. The sternum has a light middle line for half its length, which
shows indistinctly in the darker specimens.

Lycosa bilineata.

Pardosa bilineata, Em. N. E. Lycoside.

Lycosa ocreata, pulchra, Montgomery. Proc. Phil. Acad. Nat. Sci.,
1902. (Plate VI, figures 4, 4a, 4b.)

The female of this species was described in N. E. Lycoside, from
New Haven, Conn., without the male being known. This was later
found at Cold Spring Harbor on Long Island. The female resembles
in color and markings Pardosa pallida more than it does its nearest
relative, Lycosa ocreata. It is 6 mm. long, with the cephalothorax
3.5 mm. The colors are light yellow and brown, with gray hairs
on the legs and abdomen. The cephalothorax has three pale stripes,
the middle one as wide as second row of eyes, the lateral half as
wide and a little above the edge. The legs are pale yellow without
any markings except faint traces of rings on the femora. The
markings on the abdomen are like those of ocreata: a dark pointed
stripe in the middle bordered by light stripes, outside of which are
rows of dark spots. The colors of the male are the same except the
tibia and end of the metatarsus of the first leg, which are deep black
and surrounded by stiff black hairs, Fig. 4a. The epigynum is
much like that of velucens, T-shaped, and as wide as long. The
male palpi have the tibia slightly enlarged, but not as much as
in velucens or ocreata. The palpal organ is like that of re/ucens,
with the appendage supporting the end of the tube longer, so
that it projects out over the edge of the tarsus, and the large thick
terminal appendage is wanting.

Pardosa littoralis, Banks. (Plate VI, figures 5, 5a, 5b.)

This species described by Banks from Long Island, N. Y., where
it is common, has now been found at Ipswich and Plum Island,
Mass. The females are 7 mm. long, with the cephalothorax 3 mm.
It is not as slender as pallida and nigropalpis, but has the proportions
of glacialis, the young of which it much resembles, Fig. 5.

The color is pale yellow with gray markings. The legs are yellow
without markings. The cephalothorax has a narrow black line each
side and two wide dark stripes leaving a light stripe on each side
and a less defined one in the middle. The abdomen has a middle
light stripe with indented edges, and the sides are marked with
light mixed with gray. In the male all the dark markings are
darker than in the female.

208 J. H. Emerton,

The epigynum resembles that of mgropalpis but is shorter and
stouter, Fig. 5b.

The male palpus also resembles that of xigropalpis, Fig. 5a, which
I have figured from a Long Island specimen belonging to Mr. Banks.

Pardosa diffusa, new. (Plate VI, figures 6, 6a, 6b.)

Two males from Ipswich and Hyde Park, Mass. are distinguished
from the ordinary male mzigropa/pis, even when running on the ground,
by the darker color of the cephalothorax. The middle light band
is narrow, and hardly shows in front of the dorsal groove. The
light bands at the sides are very narrow and close to the edge. The
legs are marked on the femora with broken rings darker and closer
together from behind forward, the first femora being almost black.
In the palpal organs the basal process is shorter and does not have
the long curved hook which crosses the tube in mgropalpis,
Fig. 6a. No mature females have been found in company with
this, but females found in August without males in Massachusetts
and Maine are supposed to belong to the same species.

The epigynum differs plainly from that of xigropalpis and albo-
patella. The anterior pit is rounder and wider, and the transverse
posterior end is much wider than in the other species. The females
differ in markings from mgropa/pis and albopatella in the same way
as the males.

Males from Ipswich, Hyde Park, and Sharon, Mass.

Females from Medford, Mass., Northern Maine, and Long Is-
land, N. Y. ;

Pirata insularis, Em. N. E. Lycosidae (Plate VI, fig. 7).
A new figure is given of the markings of this species from a
specimen from Danvers, Mass.

Pirata arenicola, new. (Plate VI, figures 9 to 9c.)

Female 6 mm. and male 4mm. long. In the female the lateral
light stripes are wide and extend over the edge of the cephalo-
thorax, but in the male the edge of the cephalothorax is marked
with a broken dark band. The legs are pale and faintly ringed
with gray. On the under side the female is entirely pale, and the
male has three gray lines on the abdomen.

The epigynum has two oblique lobes behind slightly pointed on
the inner ends.

The male palpi have the tarsi shorter than in P. sy/vestris more as
in piraticus. The appendages of the palpal organ are all small,

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 209

the terminal process as usual divided into two branches, the outer
straight and opaque, the inner thin and transparent and turned
across the tarsus.

Ipswich, Mass., June 6, 1903.

Pirata maculatus, new. (Plate VI, figures 10, 10a, 10b.)

6 mm. long, the same size and much like P. montanus. The
markings are the same as in montanus, but the dark portions are
much darker, and the rings on the legs more distinct than in any
other species. The dark markings of the under side are also more
prominent than usual; there is a distinct light middle stripe on the
sternum, and a light area in the middle of the abdomen, bordered
at the sides with black and partly divided by a middle dark stripe,
narrow in front and widened behind. The hinder part of the epigynum
is divided into two lobes, slightly pointed in the middle, and showing
no opening on the outer side.

Moosehead Lake, Me., Aug. 7. Females with eggs.

Pirata sylvestris, new. (Plate VI, figures 8 to 8c.)

Female 8 mm. long; male 5mm. long. In the female the usual
three light marks behind the eyes are very narrow, but the light
marks at the sides are wide and extend to the edge of the cephalo-
thorax. In the male the edges of the cephalothorax are dark and
the lateral light markings narrow. The abdomen has the usual gray
color with a light middle stripe in the anterior half, and four pairs
of bright white spots covered with white hairs and indistinct white
lines on the sides and along the sides of the middle stripe. The
sternum is pale without stripes. The under side of the abdomen is -
in some individuals pale, while in others there are traces of three
dark stripes. The legs are pale without rings. The epigynum has
the usual two lobes behind bluntly pointed on the inner corners
where they are partly covered by a middle bunch of fine white
- hairs. In some light colored females the spermathece show through
the skin near the outer corners of the lobes.

The tarsus of the male palpus is slender. The palpal organ has
the usual two small appendages in the middle, one slender and the
other a short and stout tooth. The terminal process is long and
curved in quarter of a circle, with the transparent inner branch
showing beyond the outer which is thicker and darker.

210 J. H. Emerton,

Dolomedes sexpunctatus, Hentz. (Plate VII, figures 6, 6a, 6b.)

A male from Wellesley, Mass. has the cephalothorax 5 mm. long
and the same in width. The hind leg 23 mm. The spider had been
put in alcohol very soon after moulting and the legs and palpi are
probably not fully extended. The markings are like those of the
female and the colors like a young and pale female preserved in
the same way.

The male palpus has a long process on the outside of the tibia
nearly as long as the joint itself. It is thin and flat, widened and
rounded at the end, and has a small tooth on the under side near
the base. The end of the tibia is shrunken and should no doubt
be wider at the end than at the base, as it is in a Tennessee spe-
cimen apparently of the same species. The palpal organ is like
that of D. fontanus.

A nest of this species was fcund at Amherst, Mass., Sept. 5, 1805
on golden rod two feet above the ground. The nest was about
three inches in diameter, and the young spiders, early in the mor-
ning, were gathered in the lower part of it. The female was on
the plants a short distance below the nest.

Dolomedes fontanus, Em. New Eng. Lycoside.

The male of this species was described and figured in New Eng-
land Lycosidz in 1885. The female was described in the same
paper under the name of D. tenebrosus.

Marx in a note in his catalogue of N. American Spiders in 1890
gave his opinion that these were male and female of the same
species, which a study of more specimens has shown to be correct.

The female has the cephalothorax 9 mm. long and 8 mm. wide,
and the abdomen varies from 10 mm. to 15mm. The eyes of the
front row are small and the middle pair only slightly larger than
the lateral, while in zdoneus the middle pair are twice as large.
The epigynum, which is correctly figured in N. E. Lycosidez, has a
narrow middle lobe bluntly pointed behind. The color in alcohol
inclines to be olive, while in zdoneus it is reddish brown. The
marginal white stripes on the cephalothorax in life connect together
in front of the head. The light. middle stripe, which is distinct on
the cephalothorax of fotanus, is less so in tdoneus. The sternum
of fontanus has a distinct light middle stripe which is absent or
very indistinct in zdoneus.

The male is smaller than the female, with the legs more slender
but as long as those of the female. The cephalothorax is as wide
as long, measuring 7 mm. The first and fourth legs are of the same

4

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Supplement to the New England Spiders. 241

length, 836 mm. The palpi are 9 mm. long with the tibia straight
and with a forked process in the middle of the outer side. The
tarsus and palpal organ have been correctly figured in N. E. Lycoside.

This species seems to be common as far south as the mountains
of North Carolina. On Lake Champlain, Vt, and Lake Winnipesaukee,
N. H., it matures about July 1, when it is common along the shore
under loose stones and the floats of boat landings. It runs on the
surface of the water and on the bottom, carrying a large amount of air
adhering to its hairs. It remains under only a short time, coming
quickly to the shore as soon as it has escaped pursuit.

Dolomedes idoneus, Montgomery. Proc. Phila. Acad. Nat. Sci.,
Nov. 1902. (Plate VII, figure 8.)

The female of this species is of the same size as fontanus and
has similar markings, but the color in alcohol] is reddish brown in-
stead of olive gray, which is usual in fontanus. The shape of the
head is the same as in fontanus, and the arrangement of the eyes
is the same, the only difference being in the size of the front middle
eyes, which in this species are twice as large as the laterals of the
same row. The shape of the epigynum is characteristic of this
species, even when half grown. The middle lobe is round and
swells out beyond the surface of the abdomen, and there is a distinct
opening on each side between it and the lateral lobes.

The male has not been described.

Females have been found at Lake Champlain, Vt., and at Sims-
bury and New Haven, Conn.

Dolomedes urinator, Hentz. Montgomery, Proc. Acad. Nat. Sci.,
Philadelphia, 1904.

The male spider described by me in 1885 as the male of D.

lenebrosus appears to be urinator or lanceolatus, Hentz. I have not
found females but have one from Pennsylvania sent me by Mr.
Montgomery.
_ An immature male from Milton, Mass., resembles closely the draw-
ing of D. /anceolatus by Hentz. It has the tuft of stiff hairs on
the femur of the fourth leg, like the mature males that I have de-
scribed.

Dolomedes vernalis, new. (Plate VII, figures 7 to 7d.)

Males from Falmouth, Me., and Three Mile Island, Lake Winni-
pesaukee, N. H. Cephalothorax 3 to 4mm. in length and a little
less in width. Fourth and first legs 16 to 18mm. The colors are

212 J. H. Emerton,

pale yellow and gray. The cephalothorax is dark in the middle
and light at the sides, with light gray spots over the coxe. The
dark middle area extends forward between the eyes to the front
edge of the head, dividing into two below the eyes. The mandibles
are striped on the front with black. The abdomen is light at the
sides, and the middle dark marks are united into a broad stripe
with irregularly indented edges. The legs are marked with broken
dark rings, the femur and the tibia having parts of four rings each.
The sternum is dark around the edges, and the whole under side
of the abdomen is gray, darkest at the sides, with two indistinct
light lines converging toward the spinnerets. The tibia of the male
palpus is as short as the patella. The process of the tibia is as
long as the diameter of the joint. It is flat and widened at the
end, hollowed in at the middle, and with the corners sharp, and
sometimes two little teeth in the hollow. The palpal organ resem-
bles that of the other species.

A female just moulted, from Three Mile Island, Lake Winni-
pesaukee, N. H., May 25, 1905. Cephalothorax 6.5 mm. and abdomen
the same length; fourth and first legs 24mm. Colors and markings
like those of male. The epigynum resembles that of D. tdoneus
with the middle portion not as prominent, and the pockets at the
sides more open.

At Three Mile Island, between May 20 and 27, 1905, one female
and several males made their last moult. They were under stones
and loose boards lying on the ground near the shore.

Oxyopes scalaris (Hentz) Em.

This species was found again at Durham, N. H., in June 1904. It
resembles closely a species found commonly on the Pacific Coast
from British Columbia to California.

(cobius parietalis.
Thalamia parietalis, Hentz. Journal Boston Soc. Nat. Hist. (Plate VII,
figures 1 to 1e.)

2.5 mm. long, pale and translucent, with black spots on the head
and legs and around the sides of cephalothorax and abdomen. The
cephalothorax is as wide as long, and almost circular. The eyes
are on the top of the head in two nearly straight rows, the front
row shorter than the upper, and the front middle eyes farther apart
than they are from the lateral eyes. The upper middle eyes are
not round but irregularly oval, largest from front to back. The
head extends forward a little beyond the eyes, and under this

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Supplement to the New England Spiders. 2138
&

projection are the mandibles which are very small. The maxille
are inclined toward each other, over the short and rounded labium.
The sternum is as wide as long. The abdomen is oval, as wide
as the cephalothorax, and one-half longer. It is marked with irreg-
ular opaque white spots, a black line around the front end and
several pairs of black spots, Fig 1. The shape of the end of the
abdomen and the arrangement of the spinnerest are very peculiar
in this genus. At the end of the abdomen behind the anus is an
oval appendage surrounded by a single row of curved hairs of the
same thickness throughout their length, and rounded at the end.
The hinder pair of the spinnerets are their length apart, and extend
backward so as to be seen for nearly their whole length from above.
The spinning tubes extend along the under side. The cribellum is
slightly divided by a notch in the middle. The calamistrum consists
of two parallel rows of ten or twelve sligthly curved hairs, extend-
ing half the length of the fourth metatarsus. The legs are all about
the same length, and the feet have three claws. The epigynum
has a double tube directed backward and resting in a shallow
groove on the under side of the abdomen. The male has the legs
longer and the abdomen smaller, but otherwise resembles the fe-
male. The male palpus has very short patella and tibia, and the
tarsus is wide and oval, and the palpal organ thick and furnished
with a cluster of short appendages near the base.

This @cobyus lives in houses and on walls and fences. It makes
a flat web one to two inches long and half as wide, fastened at
several points around the edges, leaving open spaces through which
the spider can run in and out. The spider stands on the wall be-
hind and not on the web.

It has been known since the time of Hentz in the Southern States,
but has lately been found in a house in Roxbury, a suburb of Boston,
where it seems to be well established around window frames and
behind furniture.

4

(Seotolathys pallidus (Marx) Simon.

Neophanes pallidus, Marx. Proc. Ent. Soc. Wash., 1891. (Plate VIII,
figures 2 to 2d.)

1.6 mm. to 2 mm. long and pale and translucent without any
markings. The cephalothorax is shaped like that of amaurobius.
The abdomen is slightly larger and wider than the cephalothorax
and a little wider behind than in front. The eyes are six in number,
large for the size of the spider, all about the same size and arranged
in two groups. The cribellum is small, about as wide as one of

214 J. H. Emerton,

the anterior spinnerets. The calamistrum consists of seven or eight
pairs of hairs about the diameter of the leg in length, Fig. 2c. The
coxee of the fourth legs are more than their diameter apart, and the
end of the sternum extends backward beyond them in a blunt point,
Fig. 2d. The epigynum shows externally two round spermathece,
each crossed by an opaque spot, and in some specimens spiral tubes
can he seen connecting with them. The male palpi resemble those
of Dictyna. The tube of the palpal organ coils around the edge
of the tarsus, where it is supported by a wide thin appendage; it
curves around the base of the tarsus to the upper end, where it is
twisted and rests against a blunt process of the tibia.

These little spiders live under leaves and are found by sifting in
company with various Erigonez. They have been fond in various
places around New Haven Connecticut and at Three mile Island,
Lake Winnipesaukee, and Fitzwilliam, N. H.

‘~Amaurobius borealis, new. (Plate VII, figures 3 to 3d.)

Female 5 mm. and male 4 mm. long. The cephalothorax and
legs are yellow brown, the legs darker toward the tips and the
cephalothorax darker around the edges, but little toward the head.
The abdomen is reddish brown with an indistinct pattern. The
cribellum is small, not wider than the length of the first spinnerets
and is indistinctly divided in the middle. It is on a slight elevation
just back of the spiracle. The calamistrum occupies half the length
of the metatarsus. The epigynum has a wide middle lobe, covered
at the ends by the lateral lobes. The male palpus has the patella
as wide as long, with one stout spine projecting over the tibia. The
tibia is curved and has the usual complications shown in the figures.

Fitzwilliam, N. H., abundant near the Rhododendrons. Portland,
Me., under leaves on the ground. Mature in May: females with
eggs in July.

Orchestina saltitans, Banks. Ent. News, 1894, p. 300. (Plate I,
figures 4, 4a, 4b.)
Cellar of Boston Soc. Nat. Hist. building, March 6, 1889. Found
by Banks in house at Sea Cliff, Long Island, N. Y.

Micaria laticeps, new. (Plate X, figures 4 to 4c.)

One male of this species was found under a stone at New Haven,
Conn. The length is 3 mm. The cephalothorax is a little higher
than in the other species, and the head nearly as wide as the widest
part of the thorax. The eyes of the upper row are at equal dis-

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 2415

tances apart, and the whole group of eyes wide in proportion to
the width of the head. The abdomen is oval and slightly indented
in the middle. The colors are all dark, and were not noticed when
the specimen was fresh. The cephalothorax is of the usual brown,
and the legs the same color with the ends of the first and second
pairs lighter. The abdomen seems to have been lighter in front
of the depression, but there are no distinct markings to be seen in
its present condition. The male palpi have no process on the tibia.
The palpal organ is prominent as in guinquenotata.

Micaria quinquenotata, new. (Plate X, figures 1 to 1e.)

This species lives in sandy places, sometimes in company with /ong7-
pes, which it resembles in color and habits. It is smaller than /ongzpes,
measuring 4 mm. in length, the cephalothorax between 14 and 2 mm.
in length. The-.cephalothorax is shorter and the head narrower than
in /ongipes and the lateral eyes are nearer the middle pairs, Fig. 1a.
The sternum and the legs are slightly shorter than in /ongzpes.

The legs and cephalothorax are light orange brown, with scattered
shining hairs of the same color. The abdomen is covered with
iridescent scales, yellow in front, and darker toward the hinder end.
The colors vary in different individuals and some are greenish gray
as in /ongipes. There are two pairs of white spots on the abdomen,
one pair in the middle and another at the front end, and just behind
the front pair is a middle white spot of about the same size, Fig. 1.

The epigynum differs little from that of /ongipes, but is usually
less regular in shape. The male palpi also are like those of /on-
gipes with a similar process on the tibia, Fig. 1a.

This species is common on the sand dunes at Ipswich, Mass.,
among the roots of sand grass. It matures about the first of June,
when both sexes are active, running about on the sand from one
bunch of grass to another, or hiding under any loose object lying
on the ground. The cocoons which are found early in June are
white and thin, and contain about eight eggs.

In pairing the male holds the female by the first and second
legs around the thorax between her third and fourth, reaches his
head under her and inserts the palpus of the same side as the
clasping legs, Fig. 1.

Micaria gentilis, Banks. Canadian Entomologist, 1896. (Plate X,
figures 3 to 3d.)

Mature males and females have been found from the middle of

May to the first of July at Portland, Me., and at Monhegan, Me.

216 J. H. Emerton,

The cephalothorax is shaped as in guinquenotata, a little narrowed
in front and not much elongated. In some individuals the cephalo-
thorax is unusually narrowed behind, so that the widest part is in
front of the middle. The cephalothorax is a little less than 2 mm.
long. The abdomen is oval without any constriction in the middle,
sometimes in females twice as long as it is wide, in males not
much longer than the cephalothorax.

The color of the cephalothorax varies from light brown to black,
covered with light shining hairs not very close together. The first
and second legs have the femora dark like the cephalothorax, and
the other joints light yellow. The third and fourth legs are brown,
the femora darker. The sternum is dark brown and the front coxe
are the same color; the other coxz are partly light colored; the
fourth pair almost entirely light yellow. The abdomen is covered
with dark green iridescent scales, with a narrow white band across
tho middle, and in some individuals another transverse white band
near the front end, but this is oftener broken into two short white
streaks at the side.

The epigynum has a large opening in front, covered by a wide
rim with a dark colored edge, Fig. 3d.

The male palpi have no process on the tibia. The palpal organ
is flatter than it is in /ongipes and quinquenotata, but has a hook
in the middle as in those species.

Castaneira lineata, new. (Plate X, figures 5, 5a, 5b.)

This small species has the general appearance of a Micaria. It
measures 6 mm. in length, the cephalothorax nearly 3 mm. The
cephalothorax is twice as long as wide, widest in the middle and
narrower behind than in front. It is slightly indented at the sides
between the second and third, and between the third and fourth
legs, Fig. 5. The head is three-fourths as wide as the thorax,
wider than in the other species, and the eyes are farther apart.
The upper eyes are equidistant and cover three-fifths of the width
of the head. The sternum is narrowed and pointed behind, more
than it is in the other species. The abdomen is a little longer than
the cephalothorax, widest behind and a little constricted in the
middle. The pedicel is as long as wide and can be seen from
above between cephalothorax and abdomen.

The color of the cephalothorax is dull orange as in Micaria longipes.
The femora are marked with two longitudinal dark stripes as in
M. longipes and C. bivittata. The other joints of the legs are orange

a

i

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 247

yellow, except the ends of the fourth legs, which are somewhat
darker.

The abdomen is lighter in front and has two white spots at the
sides, nearly meeting in the middle.

The epigynum resembles that of C. prnnata with two small holes
wide apart.

One female from low bushes in Sharon, Mass., July 7, 1902.

Prosthesima rufula, Banks. Phil. Acad. 1892. (Plate IX, figures
6 to 6h.)

7 to 8 mm. long; cephalothorax 3mm. A little smaller than
P. atra and more slender. The cephalothorax is narrower across
the middle and less pointed in front. and the legs are more slender
and the front pair less distinctly larger than the others. The sternum
is narrower than in P. atra.

The color is light reddish brown without markings, the abdomen
paler than the rest. :

The epigynum varies in shape, the edge in front varying from
nearly straight to the shapes shown in the figures.

The male palpus has a process on the outer side of the tibia, that
lies along the edge of the tarsus for about a third its length and
is slightly twisted at the tip. The tube of the palpal organ is on
the outer side and extends nearly straight the whole length of the
tarsus.

New Haven, Conn., and Cold Spring Harbor, L. I. N. Y.

Pecilochroa montana, Em. N. E. Drasside, etc., Trans. Conn. Acad.
1890. (Plate IX, figures 4, 4a, 4b.)

The female of this species was described in 1890 from the White
Mountains, but only Jately the male has been found on the Blue
Hills near Boston. The individual is probably a small one and
measures only 5mm. in length. The cephalothorax is shorter and
rounder than in variegata, and the legs proportionally a little longer.
The difference in shape of the cephalothorax in these two species
is shown in the sternum, which in montana is distinctly wider than
in variegata, Fig. 4a. The color is less brilliant than in variegata,
the orange of the latter species being absent. The cephalothorax
is dark brown, covered with white hairs. The femora and basal
joints of all the legs are dark brown or black and the other joints
light yellow. The abdomen is black with a narrow white band
across the middle, a wider white band across the front end, with
a little black showing in front of it, and a white band at the hinder

218 J. H. Emerton,

end over the spinnerets. The male palpi resemble those of varie-
gata, but have the process of the tarsus a little stouter and more
curved at the tip.

Gunaphosa parvula, Banks. Proc. Am. Ent. Soc., 1896. (Plate IX,
figures 3, 3a, 3b.)

This species is a little smaller than drumalis, the largest female
measuring 8 mm. long, and the cephalothorax 3.5mm. The color
is the same rusty black as in the other two species. The lateral
eyes of the upper row are placed as in drumalis, not as far from
the middle eyes as in conspersa. The epigynum resembles that of
conspersa more than brumalis, Fig. 3. The male palpi have the
process of the tibia half as long as the tarsus, with the tip sharply
pointed and a little curved, Fig. 3a. The palpal organ resembles
that of brumalis, but the tube does not have a tooth at its base
as in brumalts, Fig. 3b.

Ipswich, Mass. mature male and females, May 20. Described by
Banks from Hanover, N. H.

Drassus hiemalis, new. (Plate IX, figures 1 to 1d.)

This species is a little smaller than vobustus. The cephalothorax
is 3mm. long and a little narrower at the head than in rodustus,
and the lateral eyes are a trifle nearer together than in that species.
The abdomen is a little more elongated than in rodustus, and the
epigynum farther back.

The epigynum is shaped somewhat as in vodustus, but the lateral
ridges are much thinner and lower, and in front of them is a trans-
verse depression with a hard and dark colored rim, Fig. 1d. The
colors are the same as in vodustus, but lighter than most specimens
of the latter species.

The males are the same size as the females. The male palpus
has a process on the upper side of the tibia which is nearly straight,
not curved as in vodustus, and extends over the tarsus one-third
its length. The palpal organ has several hard brown processes that
cover the surface and nearly conceal the end of the tube.

From Blue Hill and from Hammonds Pond, Brookline, under leaves
in winter. Three Mile Island, May 25, adult males and females.

Drassus bicornis, new. (Plate IX, figures 2, 2a, 2b.)

Slightly smaller than D. jiemahs. The cephalothorax 2.5 mm.
long, but form and color are the same, and there is nothing to
distinguish these two species except the epigynum and palpi. The

——————

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 2419

epigynum has a large oval opening divided at the posterior end
into two. The hard brown part around the hole extends forward
on each side like a pair of horns turning toward each other at
the ends.

The male palpi have a long process on the upper side of the
tibia that extends over the tarsus for a third of its length. It is
narrowed in the middle and obliquely truncated at the end. The
palpal organ is hard and brown, smooth around the base, and
divided at the end into a complicated group of processes, Pl. IX,
fig. 2a.

Three Mile Island, Lake Winnipesaukee, N. H.

Clubiona spiralis. (Plate X, figures 10, 10a, 10b, 10c.)

6 mm. long, fourth leg, 9mm. Larger than C. rubra and longer
legged, but resembling it in the short mandibles and the arrange-
ment of the eyes with the upper middle pair farther apart than
they are from the lateral eyes. The male palpi have a general
resemblance to those of rubra, but the double lateral process is
differently shaped, round at the base and with the tip sharp and
curved upward. The tarsus and palpal organ are more elongated
than in rubra, and the large black process more slender. The only
specimen found is pale, even to the mandibles.

Magnolia, Mass.

Two females, one from Ipswich, Mass. and one from the Blue
Hills appear to belong to this species. They are the same size
and color and have the same eye arrangement, with the legs shorter
and stouter, us usual in females of this genus. The epigynum is
shown in Fig. 10c. It has a partly divided transverse opening
turned forward.

Clubiona prematura, new. (Plate X, figures 7, 7a, 7b.)

In N. E. Spiders of the Family Drassidz, etc. this species is con-
founded with C. ornata (Americana Bks.), on account of the distinct
dorsal markings of the female which until recently was the only
sex known. It is a little smaller than ornata, the cephalothorax of
the female being 2.2 mm. long, and the abdomen from 4 mm. when
filled with eggs, to 3mm. after the eggs have been laid. The color
is pale, with the cephalothorax slightly darkened on the head and
mandibles. The abdomen has a pattern similar to that of ornata,
but less distinct. The arrangement of the eyes is similar to that
of ornata, the upper middle pair being only slightly farther apart
than they are from the lateral eyes. The shape of the border of

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 15 January, 1909.

220 J. H. Emerton,

the epigynum is constant and characteristic. It does not extend
backward in a point as in ornata and rubra, but is transverse with
a deep notch in the middle, Fig. 7b.

The male has the cephalothorax narrower in front than the fe-
male, and the palpi short, with little resemblance to those of ornata.
The tibia is widened into a large process on the outer side, without
any sharp teeth. The tube of the palpal organ is short and turned
backward, and the other appendages are short and blunt, Fig. 7

This species is very abundant under stones all over the top of
the Mt. Washington range. The females make thin silk nests and
lay their eggs about the first of July, by which time the males are
scarce.

Agreeca pratensis, Em. Trans. Conn. Acad., 1890.

Females with epigynum like A. repens Em. Trans. Conn. Acad.,
1894, have been fond in several New England localities at the same
time with males of pratensis which makes it probable that pratensis
and repens are one species with two forms of epigynum.

Anyphena rubra, Em. N. E. Drasside. Trans. Conn. Acad., 1890.
(Plate IX, figures 8 to 8c.)

The males of this species as well as the adult females are é rarely
found, because they mature very early in the season. A young
male that had wintered under leaves was taken in Franklin Park,
Boston, April 17. and moulted April 22.

The males differ but little from the females in size and color,
but as usual are a little more slender. and have longer legs and
longer and straighter mandibles. The male palpi have a long pro-
cess on the outer side of the tarsus, curved outward and slightly
notched at the end, and in some individuals sharply pointed. The
palpal organ swells out from the tarsus at the base. The tube
begins on the inner side and curves around the base of the palpal
organ and along the outer side of the tarsus nearly to the tip, Fig. 8.

Apostenus acutus, new. (Plate IX, figures 7 to 7c.)

Immature males 4mm. long. An adult male, which is dried and
shrunken is of the same size. The cephalothorax is oval and much
narrowed in front, so that the head is only one-third as wide as
the widest part of the thorax. The eyes are low and arranged as in
Agreaca pratensis, except that the front middle pair are much smaller.
The front row is slightly curved upward, the middle eyes less than

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 221

half as large as the lateral. The upper row is more curved; the
eyes all about equal in size, and the same distances apart. The
lateral eyes of the two rows are near each other, but do not touch.
The legs are long, with long spines, the fourth pair longest. The
tibiz of the first and second legs are thickened and have on the
under side two pairs of long spines under the metatarsi. The
sternum is almost circular with a slight point behind between the
fourth coxe.

The colors are translucent white and dark gray, like Phrurolithus
alarius, but usually darker. The cephalothorax is light in the middle,
with black edges and radiating dark lines. The abdomen is dark,
with a series of pairs of light spots down the back. On the under
side the sternum and coxe are light and the abdomen spotted ir-
regularly with dark gray. The male palpi in an individual that
has been dried have the tibia and patella of about the same length.
The tibia has a stout process on the outer side that turns inward
against the base of the tarsus. The tarsus is oval, and the palpal
organ long and thick. The tube seems to start near the outer end
and curve around toward the inner side.

Adults were found at New Haven, Conn., May 1, and young
males at Cold Spring Harbor, April 10.

Ccelotes calcaratus, Keys. Zool. bot. Ges. Wien, 1887.
Celotes longitarsus, Em. Trans. Conn. Acad., 1890.

On Plate VII, Vol. VI, fig. 2a is not the epigynum of this species
but that of Cicurina arcuata. A correct figure of the epigynum
of C. calcaratus is given in Common Spiders of the U. S. by J. H.
Emerton 1902, page 104, fig. 242.

Cicurina arcuata, pallida and brevis. (Plate VIII, figures 6 and 7e.)

The three species of Crcurina live under dead leaves on the
ground at all seasons, all three being sometimes found in the same
locality. C. arcuata Keys. = complicata Em. is the largest and most
deeply colored, with the abdomen covered with gray oblique marks.
C. pallida is of the same shape and a little smaller, without mark-
ings. It is less common than the other two. C. drevis = Tegenaria
brevis Em. = C. creber Banks, is smaller than the others and pale,
with two rows of gray spots on the abdomen. The cephalothorax
of the male is rounder and the head narrower than in the female,
and more so than in the males of other species. All the species
have very complicated palpal organs and a large appendage of the
tibia of the palpus which lies against the tarsus and is not easily

223 J. H. Emerton,

distinguished from parts of the palpal organ. In P. arcuata this
appendage is as long as the palpal organ and nearly as wide. In
C. brevis it is narrow but longer than the rest of the tibia. This
appendage was not noticed in my description of Teg. brevis but is
correctly described by Banks under C. creber in the Spiders of
Ithica. In C. palida, although it is larger than brevis, the palpal
organ is smaller, and the appendage of the tibia reaches only to
its base.

Cicurina arcuata, Keys. Zool. bot. ges. Wien, 1887.
Cicurina complicata, Em. Trans. Conn. Acad., 1890.

In New England Agalenide &c. Trans. Conn. Acad., 1890, Pl. VI,
fig. 2a is the epigynum of this species, not of Coelotes longitarsus.

Cicurina pallida, Keys. Zool. Botan. Ges. Wien, 1887. (Plate VII,
figures 7 to 7c.)

5 mm. long and pale and without markings. The cephalothorax
is 2.5 mm. in length and 1.5 mm. wide, the head only a little narrower
in the male than in the female. The epigynum is smaller than that
of C. brevis and the parts seen through the skin rounder. The tarsi
of the male palpus are as long as those of brevis, but more pointed
and the palpal organ is smaller and more simple, though resembling
in its general structure that of brevis. The process of the tibia
which is so long and conspicuous im complcata and in brevis, is in
palhda but little longer than the rest of the tibia, Pl. VIII, fig. 7.

Found under leaves at Sharon and Northfield, Mass., in company
with brevis and complicata.

Cryphoeca montana, new. (Plate VIII, figures 4 to 41.)
Cryphoeca peckhamii, Simon, from Washington territory, resembles
this species.

Males 4 mm. long, females 3 mm. General appearance like a
small Coelotes or Amaurobius. The cephalothorax is narrowed in
front of the first legs and at that point is as high as wide, curving
downward toward the eyes. The eyes cover half the width of the
front of the head, both rows arched upward. The upper row is
largest, the eyes of equal size, and equal distances apart. In the
lower row the middle eyes are half the size of the lateral. The
lateral eyes of both rows touch each other. The sternum extends
in a long blunt point between the coxe of the fourth legs. The
legs are of moderate length, the fourth longest in females, and the
first in males. The first and second legs have two spines on the

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 223

outer side of the tibia, and four on the inner side, and three pairs
of spines on the metatarsus. In females these spines are long, more
than half the length of the tibia; in males they are short like the
spines of the other legs. The abdomen is oval, not much longer
than wide, resembling in shape as well as in markings that of
Amaurobius sylvestris. The lower spinnerets are wide apart, and
there is a wide opening to the tracheze between and in front. The
edge of the tracheal opening is thickened and colored on the inner
side so that it resembles a small cribellum.

The colors are translucent white and gray. The legs are marked
with broken dark rings at the ends and middle of the joints. The
cephalothorax has a narrow black edge and broken radiating dark
marks like Celoles medicinalis. The abdomen is marked with a
series of oblique light spots in pairs like Amaurobius. On the under
side the abdomen is light in the middle; the coxe are light, and
the sternum is light in the middle and dark at the sides. The light
color turns yellow by long keeping in alcohol.

The male palpi have two processes on the tibia—one on the
upper side turned outward and sharp pointed, the other on the
outer side about half as long, stout, and directed forward. The
palpal organ is large, extending backward beyond the base of the
tarsus. The tube begins at the hinder end, extends around the
inner side and ends in the groove of a thick process on the
outer side.

Adult males and females half-way up Mt. Washington, June 10.
Females Stow, Vt., July 29, Miss Bryant. Young males under leaves
Jackson, N. H., in February.

Hahnia brunnea, new. (Plate VIII, figure 5.)

A single female from Clarendon Hills maple swamp is 3 mm.
long, three-fourths the size of agz/’s. The proportions of the body,
the eye arrangement and the shape of the sternum and maxille are
the same as in agilis. The opening of the trachea is midway
_ between the epigynum and spinnerets, not as far forward as in
agilis. The spinnerets are in a line, with the lateral pair slightly
larger than the others as in agi/is, but the spinnerets are closer
together, the middle pair almost touching. The lateral spinnerets
are shorter than in agz/is, being a third the length of the abdomen,
while in agz/is they are half as long as the abdomen. The epigy-
num is shaped much as in agz/’s, but on each side there is a brown
loop under the skin that does not show in agi/’s. The color is
light brown, the legs without rings or markings. The cephalo-

224 J. H. Emerton,

thorax is light brown, a little lighter than the abdomen. The
abdomen is marked by a middle row of five pairs of oblique light
spots, and the front pair of muscular spots is not conspicuous as it
is in agths.

Hanover, N. H., C. M. Weed in N. Banks’ collection.

Phidippus albomaculatus, Keys. Zool. bot. ges. Wien, 1885.

P. mystaceus, Em. Trans. Conn. Acad., 1891.

P. incertus, Pkm., 1901 from Texas is thought to be the Aétus
mystaceus of Hentz.

Phidippus brunneus, Em. Trans. Conn. Acad., 1891. (Plate XI,
figure 1.)

Male a little smaller than the female, and the same general color.
The cephalothorax is darker than in the female, and the abdomen
covered on the upper side with dull yellow hairs. The legs are
darker than those of the female. The mandibles are iridescent
green. The male palpal organ is short and wide at the base, and
the tube is stout and with a double bend: Pl. XI. fig. 1.

Found at the same time with females at Hyde Park. Mass.,
May 2, 1903.

Phidippus Whitmani. (Plate XI, figure 5 and Plate XII, figure 1.)

The male of this species is very distinctly marked. It is about
8 mm. in length, larger than most males of multiformis, Pl. XII,
fig. 1. The cephalothorax and abdomen are red, in some individuals
inclining to orange. There is a distinct black band across the front
of the head behind the eyes and as wide as the largest eyes.
There is a narrow yellow band around the front of the abdomen,
and in some individuals two pairs of indistinct yellow spots near
the hinder end, but in others the whole back of the abdomen is
red without any spots. In alcohol the spots are more distinct, and
another pair of spots often shows in front of the others. The legs
and palpi are gray with irregular dark and light spots obscured
by long hairs. In alcohol the femora are dark and the other
joints have dark rings at the end. The palpal organ is long and
narrow, the bulb extending backward the whole length of the tibia.
Pl. XL fig. 5. The writer does not know the female.

Sharon, Mass. Three Mile Island, N. H.

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 225

Phidippus insignarius, Koch. 1846. (Plate XI, fig. 2 and 2d.)
The male is described by Peckham as the male of Phidippus coma-
tus in Trans. Wisconsin Acad., April, 1901.

Male 8 mm. long; cephalothorax black with two wide white
stripes beginning below the lateral eyes in front, and turning upward
behind, where they nearly meet under the front of the abdomen.
There are two pairs of tufts of long black hairs at the sides of
the head. The abdomen is orange red with black and white mark-
ings; there is a white stripe around the front, and a scolloped
black middle band including a middle orange spot, and two smaller
orange spots in front of it. The ornamentation of the face and
front legs is striking and complicated. The lateral white stripes
extend around under the front eyes as far as the middle pair, but
do not meet under them, and below these are long white hairs
that cross each other and nearly cover the mandibles, so that their
iridescent blue color is concealed. The palpi are white, with a
little mixture of brown. The first legs are covered on the under
side with long white hairs; the hairs of the cox point downward,
nearly to the ground; the femur has a row of stiff white hairs as
long as its diameter along the outer side, and the other joints
have hairs extending more than their diameter each side to the
ends of the tarsi. When the first legs are pointed upward, the
whole front appears white except the upper part of the head,
which is black, extending outward at the sides in four black tufts.
When the first legs are down in walking position, the upper side
becomes visible in front, and this is covered with black hairs at
the sides and, as far back as the patella, with a middle stripe of
orange. The second leg is striped in the same way, but not as
brightly, and has shorter white hairs.

The female is a little larger than the male, and marked on the
back less distinctly in the same way. The cephalothorax is brown
with lateral white stripes and tufts of long hairs on the head as
in the male. The abdomen is light and dark brown with gray
hairs; there is a white stripe around the front end and a square
white spot in the middle. The dark middle band is broken into
two pairs of black spots in the front half. The epigynum has a
small notch in the hinder edge and two anterior openings close
together separated only by a narrow ridge.

Dendryphantes Jeffersoni, new. (Plate XI, figures 3 and 3e.)
Males 4 mm. long. Color brown mixed with white and yellow.
The cephalothorax has the usual white stripes at the sides that

226 J. H. Emerton,

connect in front with a large white patch extending backward in
the middle nearly as far as the dorsal eyes. The abdomen is
marked with a front white band and five or six pairs of white
spots extending forward on their inner corners. The legs are ringed
with white at the ends of the joints. In alcohol the white dis-
appears and the abdomen appears marked with a series of black
spots on a light ground. The first legs are 5.5 mm. long, with the
tibia a little thickened. The palpus of the male differs but little
from that of capitatus and flavipedes. The bulb is wide at the
base and more nearly square than in capitatus. The tube resemb-
les that of /lavipedes in having a long process parallel to it, but
both are curved in a half circle, fig. 3.

Two males were found in the moss near Spalding’s Spring on
the Mt. Washington range at a height of 5000 ft. July 6, 1904,
and a female at the same place, July 4, 1907.

A female found in the same locality several years later is 7 mm.
long and dark brown with light gray hairs without any distinct
white or yellow marks. In alcohol the abdomen shows indistinctly
light marks similar to those at mlitaris. The epigynum has the
notch shallow and truncate and the two openings a little farther
apart and more angular than in mihtaris.

Dendryphantes flavipedes, Pkm. Trans. Wisc. Acad., 1888. (Pl. XI,
figures 4, 4a.)

The males do not differ from the females as much as in capitatus
and militaris. My specimens are 4 mm. in length. The cephalo-
thorax is light brown as in female capitatus, with white longitudinal
bands at the sides below the eyes widening behind. The abdomen
has the dark middle area broken by three pairs of spots in the
front half and three or four light chevrons behind. The dark area
is less sharply defined than in the male capitatus and connects with
several oblique rows of dark spots. The legs are not ringed as in
the other species but pale and translucent with longitudinal dark
lines on the inner side. One of the the males from Portland, Me.,
and others from Fitzwilliam, N. H., are light gray, almost as light
as Drassus saccatus without any distinct markings on the back, but
with fine distinct longitudinal black stripes on the legs. The male
palpi are a little darker than the legs and the tarsi and the palpal
organs resemble those of D. capitatus, except that the tip of the
palpal organ is double, the tube having a slightly curved process

longer than itself parallel with it on the outer side. The process

at

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 227

of the tibia is short and transverse, differing little from the same
part in the other species.

Long Island, Portland, Me., Sept. and Crawford Notch, N. H.,
July 4. Fitzwilliam, N. H. in July.

Eris nervosus, Pkm. Wisconsin Academy, 1888.
Zygoballus terrestris, Emerton. N. E. Attidae, 1891.

Icius similis, Bks. 1895. Colorado.
I. elegans, dark variety, Em. Conn. Acad., 1891.

This species is described in New England Attidae as a variety
of Icius elegans. The colors are not as brilliant, and it does not
have the tufts on the front legs or such large tufts over the eyes.
The palpal organs also differ slightly from those of e/egans as figured
in N. E. Attidae.

Icius formicarius, Em. New Eng. Attidae, Trans. Conn. Acad., 1891.
(Plate XI, figures 8, 8a.)

The male of this species has been found by Miss E. B. Bryant,
July 3, 1904, at Allston, Mass., near Boston. It resembles the female
in form and color, and has no tufts on the head and no peculiar
modifications of the front legs. It is 45 mm. long. The male palpi
resemble those of the other species of /cius; the patella and tibia
are both very short, the tibia shorter than it is wide, and having
a process on the outer side longer than the rest of the tibia. The
palpal organ has the same general shape as in e/egans and Harti,
but is a little more elongated, and the tube is a little more slender.
In the same neighborhood with this male, a female 6 mm. long
was found under a stone with a cocoon of eggs.

Mevia tibialis, Koch. 1848. XIV, p. 78.
Admestina Wheeleri, Pkm. Trans. Wisconsin Acad., 1888. (Plate
XI, figures 6, 6a.)

_ The female is 4 mm. long, the cephalothorax 1.5 mm. The
cephalothorax is one-half longer than wide,—a little the widest across
the hinder half and flat on the top. The abdomen is oval,—widest
across the miadle. The spinnerets are long, the third pair extending
their whole length behind the abdomen. The legs are short, the
first pair a little thickened, and as long as the cephalothorax. The
sternum is one-half longer than wide and pointed at the posterior
end; it is narrow in front, but does not extend beyond the first
coxe. The cephalothorax is covered with white hair but in alcohol

228 J. H. Emerton,

appears black. The abdomen is white with a middle gray band
broken at the edges by spots and indentations. The legs are white
with black spots at the ends of the joints.

The epigynum is large for so small a spider and is at the end
of the first third of the abdomen. It has two large spermathece
that show through the skin, and two small openings in front of them.

Hyctia Pikei, Pkm. Trans. Wisconsin Acad., 1888. (Plate XI,
HoureEs. 7. 7 Cz)

Cephalothorax and abdomen both elongated and narrow, whole
length 6 to 8 mm., cephalothorax 2.5 to 3 mm. Abdomen 1.5 to
2 mm. wide; cephalothorax two-thirds as wide as long, a little
wider in males than in females. The second, third and fourth legs
are short and slender, but the first pair are thickened in both sexes,
in the females twice as long as the cephalothorax, and in the males
longer. The color is ight gray with brown markings. In females
the cephalothorax has three light brown longitudinal stripes, two
extending the whole length from the lateral eyes and a middle
stripe on the hinder half only. The abdomen has three fine stripes
or rows of spots, sometimes forming a broken wide middle stripe.
In males the whole middle of the abdomen has a wide brown
middle band partly divided into triangular spots. Young individuals
sometimes have no markings at all and are greenish in color like
the sand grass in which they live. When approaching the female
the male raises his front legs stiffly upward at an angle of sixty
degrees with each other, and lifts the abdomen slightly, walking
on the six short legs.

The sternum is half as wide as long and pointed at both ends,
and the first and fourth coxe are close together and may touch
each other. The epigynum has a simple oval opening with a
thickened edge in front. The male palpi are very short; the patella
is as long as wide, and the tarsus is shorter, but with a thick
pointed process on the outer side, as long as the rest of the tibia.
The tarsus is curved downward and has a ridge along the outer
side, the part below which is smooth, with few and short hairs.
The bulb of the palpal organ projects at the base ina long blunt point.

Common on sand grass along the sea shore.

Pellenes viridipes, Hentz.

Pellenes Howardi, Pkm. Bull. Wisconsin Nat. Hist. Soc., Oct., 1900.

Attus viridipes, Hentz. Boston Journal Nat. Hist. 1846. (Plate XI,
figures 5, 5a.)

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 229

The male is 5 mm. long with the cephalothorax 3 mm. long.
The colors are bright and the markings of the back sharply defined.
The first legs are light, transparent green, and the other light portions
pale fawn color. The green fades entirely in alcohol. The top of
the head covering the whole area between the eyes is orange
brown, and the dark markings are dark brown, almost black. The
pattern can best be seen in the figures. The front legs have a
narrow stripe of fawn color on the upper side dividing the green,
the other legs and palpi are fawn color, broken along the sides by
dark scales, forming parts of rings at the ends of the joints. The
three inner spines of the front tibia are dark colored and flattened
and two of them are long and spatulate, showing distinctly beyond
the hairs. The patella of the third lee is widened and flattened
and has a black and white eye spot and a black border under the
eye spot, and just over the joint is a spine slightly turned up at
the end. When the third legs are drawn up in the usual standing
position, the modified patella show in front over the head. The
face below the eyes is for a short distance dark brown and below
this white. The mandibles are also white on the front.

The female is shghtly larger than the male, but the cephalothorax
smaller. The color is dull orange brown, at first sight uniform, but
showing indistinctly the same light and dark pattern as the male.

The males mature about the first of May and the females a little
later. The females are usually found under stones and the males
moving about in dry paths in the woods in Hyde Park and Sharon,
Mass. It has been found at several places across the country as
far as California.

Pellenes roseus.
Attus roseus, Hentz. Journal Boston Soc. Nat. Hist. 1846. (Plate
XII, figure 4.)

Male 4 mm. long, cephalothorax 2 mm. Neither the first or
third legs are modified or ornamented. The cephalothorax and the
front of the abdomen are bluish white and covered with fine short
scales. The rest of the back of the abdomen is light pink, with
a metallic lustre. The legs and palpi are thinly covered with white
scales, and the color is modified by dark hairs and the yellow of the
skin. The face and mandibles are covered with white scales, the
mandibles indistinctly striped with black.

The female is the same size as the male and resembles the female
of splendens. The cephalothorax is covered with light gray scales
mixed with darker hairs. The abdomen is light fawn color and

a

230 J. H. Emerton,

black. There is a light band each side and one across the front
of the abdomen. There is also a light middle band indented at
the sides, extending forward from the spinnerets two-thirds the
length of the abdomen. The legs are light gray without any mark-
ings. On the under side of the abdomen there are three dark lines.

Ipswich, May 20, 1898, in an open field near the shore. Specim-
ens from New York State were found and sent to Mr. Peckham
at about the same time.

Pellenes agilis, Banks. Ent. Soc. N. Y. 1892.
Pellenes auratus, Pkm. Bull. Wisc. Nat. Hist. Soc., Oct., 1900.
(Plate XII, figures 3, 3a, 3b.)

5—6 mm. long, the cephalothorax 3 mm. long. The female
is covered with bluish gray hairs, through which can be seen indis-
tinct white markings on the abdomen and dark gray at the ends
of the joints of the legs. In alcohol the light gray color disappears,
and dingy gray and brown take its place on which the white and
dark markings show more distinctly. The male is brightly marked
with black and white. The cephalothorax has a pair of white stripes
at the sides and another pair just above the lateral eyes extending
its whole length, and a white middle stripe from the front middle
eyes as far back as the posterior eyes. The abdomen has lateral
and middle white stripes connected in front; the lateral stripes are
broken in their hinder half into two white spots, and the middle
stripe is sometimes broken into spots at the end. The second,
third, and fourth legs are irregularly ringed with gray and white,
but the first pair are highly ornamented with long black hairs and
white spots, Pl. XU, fig.3a,3b. The first leg has the femur black with

short hairs like the other legs, the patella white with a crest of

white hairs above and long black hairs below, the tibia black with
a white spot on the upper side near the end, and long black hairs
above and below, the metatarsus and tarsus white. The third legs
have no peculiar modifications of the patella or tibia. The palpi
have the tarsus black and the patella white.

In marsh grass and under sticks and stones along the shore,
Ipswich, Mass., Long Island, New York.

Males and females mature about August 1. In dancing before
the female, the male holds the front legs out sidewise with the
tibia nearly horizontal and the tarsus turned downward, and walking
on the other six legs, approaches her by short quick steps without
much movement from side to side until near enough to touch her

and then quickly retreats.
+

—

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 231

Pellenes borealis, Banks. 1895.
Habrocestum cristatum, Pkm. Attidae of N. A., 1883. (Plate XII,
figures 4 to 4c.)

The female is 5—6 mm. long, the male 4.5—5 mm. The
female is light gray and brown like the sand, while the male is
deep black with white markings. The legs of the male have no
peculiar modifications either of the first or third pairs. The mark-
ings of the female are very indistinct; the cephalothorax is varied
with white, sometimes suggesting two white lines from the lateral
eyes backward. The abdomen has a white line across the front and
two pairs of short lines at the sides. Toward the end there are
two middle spots, sometimes connected, and the usual two small
white spots just in front of the spinnerets. The male has the ce-
phalothorax black with long black hairs on the front of the head.
The abdomen is black and has the same markings as the female,
but much whiter and more distinct. The legs are pale, but the
color is darkened by black hairs. The face below the eyes is white
in the female, and in the adult male is thinly covered with small
white scales, but in the young male before the last moult, this part
is bright red, so that it may be mistaken for the young of P. ca-
catus, which lives farther south. See Psyche, Journal of Cambridge
Ent. Club, Vol. Il, p. 32, April, 1904.

The epigynum has a large oval anterior opening extending back-
ward at the sides almost as far as the posterior opening. The
palpal organ is oval and has a stout supporter of the tube extend-
ing along the inner side and but little narrowed toward the end.

This spider is very common along sea beaches in the dry grass
and rubbish thrown up by the tide. Adults are found most ab-
undantly about the first of May, but some of them mature in the
late summer as early as the last of August. The red-faced young
males are found in the summer and fall, and in spring as late as
June.

Chalcoscirtus montanus.
Icius montanus, Banks. Can. Ent., 1896.

The cephalothorax is 1.2 mm. long, the abdomen of the male
about the same length, and that of the female longer. The cephalo-
thorax is two-thirds as wide as long, a little flattened above and
with the sides nearly straight and parallel. The posterior eyes are
half as far from the front eyes as they are from each other and
the middle eyes are slightly nearer the posterior than the front eyes.
The color differs in the sexes, the male being much darker than

>

232 J. H. Emerton,

the female. The male is dark brown, almost black, without any
markings, and the abdomen is slightly iridescent. The female has

the cephalothorax dark brown and the abdomen light brown with

pale herringbone markings like the female Euophrys. The legs of
the female are pale. The fourth leg is longest in both sexes. The
male palpi are short with the patella and tibia of equal length,
the patella thicker than the tibia. The tarsus is oval and does not
cover the bulb, which is thick at the base and extends backward
under the tibia nearly its whole length. At the distal end of the
bulb a small oval piece is constricted off and turned to one side,
and at the tip of it is the small sharp tube. The epigynum re-
sembles that of Meon and Euophrys.

Sifted from moss on the upper part of Mt. Washington range.
July 4, 1907.

Homalattus cyaneus, Pkm. N. A. Spiders, Trans. Wisconsin Acad.
Oct., 1888
Attus cyaneus, Hentz. (Plate XI, figure 9, 9a.)

Female 4mm. long and 1.5mm. wide. The part of the cephalo-
thorax showing in front of the abdomen is as wide as long, narrowed
a little in front. The posterior eyes are very far back, two-thirds
as far from the front of the head as they are from each other.
The cephalothorax and abdomen are both flattened, and the front
of the abdomen covers the cephalothorax about a quarter of its
length. The color is metallic green, the cephalothorax toughened
and covered with small scales nearly as wide as long, and the ab-
domen with small but longer scales.

New Haven, Conn. and Sharon, Mass. under shingle of a barn.

Peckhamia picata.
Synemosyna picata, Hentz. Journal Boston Soc. Nat. Hist. 1846.
(Plate XII, figures 7, 7a, 9b.) :

This species continues to be rarely found in New England. Adult
males and females were found in May, 1906, at Three-Mile Island,
Lake Winnipesaukee, N. H., and adult females in July at the same
place. They lived on a dry hillside among dead leaves on the
ground and were seen walking slowly in and out among the leaves,
resembling ants of the same size and color that were wandering
over the same neighborhood. The male figured was 4 mm. long.
The dancing of the male of this species before the female has been
described by Peckham in the Occasional Papers of the Nat. Hist.
Soc. of Milwaukee, Vol. 2, 1892.

*

Ee

T Sa <n) i tit oe et

a ee

Supplement to the New England Spiders. 233

Peckhamia scorpionia.
Synemosyna scorpionia, Hentz. Boston Journal Nat Hist. 1846.
(Plate XII, figures 6, 6a.)

This little spider was found at New Haven, Conn., in 1883 but
was overlooked at the time of publication of the N. E. Attidae.
Since then it has been found in considerable numbers at Cold
Spring Harbor, Long Island, N. Y., and at Cambridge and Ipswich,
Mass., always on fences on which it runs about slowly and irreg-
ularly like an ant. When threatened it flattens itself against the
wood, holding on so tightly that it is hard to pick it up without
injury. The males mature about June 1 and when confined with
females dance before them much like frcata, holding the abdomen
up vertically and swinging it toward the advancing side and some-
times turning the feet of that side under the body. The front legs
are not turned forward as much as in picata.

The females are about 3 mm. long, the males 2 to 2.6mm. The
cephalothorax is twice as long as wide, and widest across the hin-
der third. The posterior eyes are farther back than the middle
of the cephalothorax. The abdomen is oval, slightly widest behind,
and both it and the cephalothorax are flattened on the upper side
and without any constrictions or indentation.

The legs are short and slender and the first pair thickened in
both sexes. The color is dull brown and gray with pale markings.
On the cephalothorax there is a transverse light spot just behind
the eyes. On the abdomen there are two white stripes across the
middle and between them two light spots connected with the an-
terior band. The space between the light bands is slightly paler
than the rest of the abdomen. The legs are pale with a dark
longitudinal stripe on the front side. The femora are darkened a
little in the first, and less in the second and fourth pairs. In the
male the first legs have the tibia and patella thickened as well as
the femur, but not flattened on the upper side as they are in prcata.

Myrmarachne albocinctus, Koch.
Salticus albocinctus, Koch. 1846. Vol. XIII p. 36.
Salticus ephippiatus, Em. Trans. Conn. Acad. 1891,
It is doubtful if this is the Synemosyna ephippiata of Hentz
neither his description nor figure show the thickened palpi.

INDEX

page page
Acrosoma rugosa. : . 1%3 | Dolomedes idoneus . ; ee |
Admestina wheeleri : . 227 | Dolomedes sexpunctatus . 210
Agroeca pratensis . ; . 220 | Dolomedes tenebrosus. . 210
Agroeca repens 220 | Dolomedes urinator : oe
Ancyllorhanis . : : . 175 Dolomedes vernalis 3 ot
Amaurobius borealis . 214 | Drassus bicornis . : . 218
Anyphena rubra. : . 220 | Drassus hiemalis . : . BAS
Apostenus acutus . : . 220 |
Argyrodes cancellatus . . 184 | KEcobius parietalis . : . alg
Argyrodes larvatus : . 184 Enoplognatha rugosa. -. 182
Attus cyaneus. , 3 . 232 | Epeira angulata . 3 . 198
Attus roseus . > «| ~/§ 229° qipeira .corticaria. 1.) 2p
Attus viridipes : : . 228 | Epeira juniperi : : . 200
| Epeira labyrinthea . : . 200
Bathyphantes calcaratus ot Epeira nigra. : ; _ 198
_, | pei dmanni . : . 199
Caseola alticeps : = LST Hd oo ee aS 4
: , | Hpeira silvatica : : -. i308
Caseola herbicola_. : . 86. | nee op Abs
’ i | Epeira solitaria : , = lite:
Castaneira lineata . , . 216 eee ae
5 ‘ es peira thaddeus : : -. 200
Ceratinella formosa : . 185 as
: é = peira verrucosa. e . 17
Ceratinopsis alternatus . . 185 Eri ¥
: ; ; 5 rigone brevidentatus . . 194 .
Ceratinopsis auriculatus . . 185 Eri hy
a : ., | Erigonoplus gigas . : -) 18%
Chalcoscirtus montanus . . 231 :
tae | Eris nervosus . 5 : . 227
Cicurina arcuata . OO OOD hee : =
aT : ; _ Eucharia atrica : , of 2OL
Cicurina brevis : : - pee Beechoule Sk sale 188
Cicurina complicata Sy eae ce? ees _
Cicurina pallida. - 221, 222 | Grammonota gigas . ‘ ov
Clubiona preematura ; - 219 | Gnaphosa parvula . = tae
Clubiona spiralis. : 5) 219.
Ceelotes calcaratus . ; . 221 | Habrocestum cristatum . . 231
Celotes longitarsus : . 221 | Hahnia brunnea _. ‘ . 223
Cryphoeca montana : . 222 | Histagonia palustris : . 188
Cryphoeca peckhamii . 177, 222 | Homolattus cyaneus ; . . 232
Hyctia pikei . ‘ : . 228
Dendryphantes flavipedes . 226 Hypselistes 3 ) _ 1%
Dendryphantes jeffersoni . 225
Described species 1882-1892. 179 | Icius elegans . . . . 227
Dicyphus trilobatus - - 191 | Icius formicarius . d . 227
Dismodicus alpinus F . 190 | Icius montanus : : . Zeal

Dolomedes fontanus y . 210 | Icius similis. E » . aa

Supplement to the New England Spiders.

Lasaeola cancellata
Latrodectus mactans
Linyphia conferta
Linyphia maculata .

Lophocarenum
Lophocarenum
Lophocarenum
Lophocarenu_o

abruptum

alpinum .

cuneatum
Guadricrista-

tum :
Lophocarenum minutum
Lophocarenum rugosum .
Lophocarenum trilobatum
Lophomma
Lycosa arenicola
Lycosa avara :
Lycosa baltimoriana
Lycosa bilineata
Lycosa carolinensis
Lycosa crassipalpis
Lycosa frondicola
Lycosa nidifex
Lycosa nigroventris
Liycosa ocreata
Lycosa pikei
Lycosa punctulata .
Lycosa scutulata
Lycosa rufiventris
Lycosa relucens

Meevia tibialis

Micaria gentilis

Micaria laticeps

Micaria quinquenotata
Microneta denticulata
Microneta latidens .
Microneta persoluta
Microneta serrata

_ Minyriolus : : i.
Myrmarachne Dueericeaa

Neophanes pallidus
Neriene
New Species

Oecobius parietalis . 3
Orchestina saltitans ..

page
184
181

Palisa)

195
189
190
188

189
191
191
191
176
204
202
203,
207
203
206
203
205
203
207

Oxyopes salticus
Oxyopes scalaris

Pachygnatha tristriata
Panamomops

Pardosa bilineata
Pardosa diffusa
Pardosa littoralis
Peckhamia picata
Peckhamia scorpionia
Pedanostethus pumilus
Pedanostethus riparius
Pedanostethus spiniferus
Pellenes agilis
Pellenes auratus
Pellenes borealis
Pellenes ccecatus
Pellenes howardi
Pellenes roseus
Pellenes viridipes
Phidippus albpamraclabes
Phidippus brunneus
Phidippus incertus .
Phidippus insignarius
Phidippus mystaceus
Phidippus whitmani
Pholeomma hirsuta
Pirata arenicola
Pirata insularis

Pirata maculata
Pirata sylvestris
Pocodicnemis
Peecilochroa montana
Prosopotheca
Prosthesima rufula .

Salticus albocinctus
Salticus ephippiatus
Seotolathys pallidus
Synemosyna picata

| Synemosyna scorpionia :

_ Tapinopa bilineata .

Tapinopa longidens
Tetragnatha vermiformis
Thalamia parietalis

236 J. H. Emerton, Supplement to the New England Spiders.

page
Theridium cancellatum . 5 184
Theridium differens : 180
Theridium kentuckyense . 180 |
Theridium verecundum . 5 ikl
Theridium zelotypum . -) 180
Tmeticus . : : : = ASS)
Tmeticus brunneus . ; _ eye
Tmeticus corticarius : . 194

Tmeticus debilis : ; » 193

| Tmeticus flaveolus .

Tmeticus longisetosus
Trachelocamptus
Typhocraestes .

Zilla atrica
Zilla montana
Zygoballus terrestris

page
193
192
176
176

201
201
227

gl lys\d ie,

Figure 1.—Ffedanostethus riparius. 1a male palpus, outer side.
{1b male palpus, inner side. 1c epigynum, usual form. 1d epi-
gynum, unusual variety.

Figure 2.— Pedanostethus pumilus. Male palpus, outer side. 2a epi-
eynum.

Figure 38.— Pedanostethus spiniferus. Male palpus, inner side. 3a male
palpus, outer side. 3b epigynum.

Figure 4.—Orchestina saltitans. 4a claws. 4b male palpus.

Figure 5.—Theridium zelotypum. Male palpus.

Figure 6.—Theridium kentuckvense. Dorsal markings. 6a male palpus.

Figure 7.—Theridium differens. Epigynum. Correction of Pl. 1,
fies. 1c and 1d, Trans. Conn. Acad., Vol. VI, 1892.

Figure 8.—Lnoplognatha rugosa. Under side of female. 8a dorsal

markings of male. 8b head of female. 8c under side of head
and thorax of male.

Figure 9.—Enoplognatha (Steatoda) marmorata. Under side of head
and thorax to compare with vwgosa. 9a mandible from above.

Figure 10.—Argyrodes cancellatus. Side of male. 10a side of female.
10b abdomen of male. 10c abdomen of female. 10d epigy-
num. 10e male palpus.

oe Plate ue

tC

Y/ al|iinm
ifiers

\
|

i]
i)

Vic
| db,
i)
NU
| \ eee

Hi)
uy

PRA 1

Figure 1.—Caseola herbicola. 1a, 1b male palpus. 1c epigynum.
{td sternum and maxille.

Figure 2.—Caseola alticeps. Head and palpus of male. 2a head of
male. 2b side of cephalothorax. 2c, 2d male palpus. 2e
sternum and maxille.

Figure 3.—Lophocarenum rugosum. Under side of male. 3a cephalo-
thorax of male. 3b, 3c, 3d, 3e, 3f male palpus. 3g epigynum.

Figure 4.—Histagonia palustris. Back of male. 4a side of cephalo-
thorax of male. 4b, 4c, 4d, 4e male palpus. 4f sternum and
mavxille.

Figure 5.—Ceratinclla formosa. 5a, 5b, 5c male palpus. 5d sternum.

Figure 6.—Ceratinopsis alternatus. Male palpus from the side. 6a
male palpus from above.

Figure 7.—Cormnicularia clavicornis. Tibia of male palpus, showing
form of two processes extending over the tarsus.

Figure 8.—Grammonota gigas. Side of male showing form of head
and enlarged metatarsus of first leg. 8a back of male. 8b
male palpus.

Figure 9.—Ceratinopsis auriculatus. Back of cephalothorax and palpi
of male. 9a side of cephalothorax and palpus. 9b male palpus.
Figure 10.—Evigone brevidentatus. Mandibles and palpi of male. 10a

cephalothorax of male. 410b sternum and maxille. 10c male
palpus from above.

Plate II

| Ae bie:

y 4a
(0)

PACA EE uke

Figure 1.—Lophocarenum trilobatum. Cephalothorax and palpi of
male. 1a same, from the side.

Figure 2.—Lophocarenum longitubum. Epigynum. 2a head of female.

Figure 3.—Lophocarenum alpinum. 3a head of male. 3b head and
mandibles of male from the front. 3c immature male. 3d fe-
male. 8e epigynum. 3f patella and tibia of male palpus.

Figure 4.—Lophocarenum quadricristatum. Head of female. 4a epi-
gynum and end of sternum.

Figure 5.—Lophocarenum abruptum. 5a head of male. 5b male
palpus from above. 5c male palpus from below.

Figure 6.—Lophocarenum cuneatum. Head and palpi of male. 6a
same from the side. 6b epigynum. 6c head of female.

Figure 7.—Lophocarenum palidum. Head of male. 7a same from
the side. 7b patella and tibia of male palpus. 7c
showing tarsal hook and tibia from above.

> male palpus

Figure 8.—Lophocarenum minutum. Cephalothorax and palpi of male.
8a epigynum and end of sternum of female. 8b male palpus.

Plate III

all

Pa Avery, ey

Figure 1.—Z7meticus probatus. Male palpus. 1a same from above
showing processes of tibia. 1b epigynum.

Figure 2.— 7meticus truncatus. Male palpus. 2a same showing form
of tibia.

Figure 3.—7meticus debilis. Palpal organ. 3a, 3b male palpus from
above showing tarsus and hook.

Figure 4.—T7meticus corticarius. Male palpus from above. 4a male
palpus from side. 4b epigynum.

Figure 5.—Tmeticus terrestris. Epigynum.
Figure 6.—Tmeticus bidentatus. Epigynum.

Figure 7.—7meticus brunneus. Epigynum. 7a epigynum from side.
7b male palpus.

Figure 8.—T7meticus flaveolus. Epigynum and end of sternum. 8a,
8b male palpus showing spines at base of tarsus.

Figure 9.—T7meticus longisetosus. Epigynum.

Figure 10.—Linyphia maculata. Front of head and mandibles of fe-
male. 10a female from above. 10b same from side. 10c male.
10d, 10e, 10f male palpus. 10g epigynum.

Figure 11.—Microneta persoluta. Male palpus. 11a epigynum.

Figure 12.— Microneta latidens. Abdomen of female with markings.

12a male palpus from above. 12b male palpus from side.
{2c epigynum. 12d epigynum from side.

Figure 13.—Bathyphantes calcaratus. Dorsal markings. 13a male
palpus from side.

Figure 14.—Microneta denticulata. Male palpus.

Figure 15.—Microneta serrata. Male palpus from the side. 15a same
from below. 15b same from above.

Plate sy)

Ml

Ni
I)

ce

vl

(

|

ih phe
a di

aly
(lt ik
Wh, :

s = ify “muadyy yp wy”
SOoer

f
WON
WW

PEATE, V
igure 1.—Eperra junipert, male. 1a first and second legs.
Figure 2.—Epeira thaddeus, male. 2a first and second legs.
Figure 3.—Epeira corticaria, male. 3a patella and tibia of second leg.

Figure 4.— Zilla atrica, female. 4a palpus of male. 4b epigynum
of Zilla montana. 4c epigynum of Zi//a atrica. 4d epigynum
of Z. x-notata.

Figure 5.—Pairing of Tetragnatha vermiformis. 5a Hold of man-
dibles of male and female.

Figure 6.—Pachygnatha tristriata. 6a male palpus. 6b head of
P. brevis. 6c head of P. tristriata. 6d head of P. autumnal.

Pi ack by Nel

Figure 1.—Lycosa relucens. 1a male palpus. 1b epigynum.
Figure 2.—Lycosa ocreata..Epigynum. 2a male palpus.

Figure 3.—Lycosa crassipalpis. 3a male palpus.

Figure 4.—Lycosa (Pardosa) bilineata. Epigynum. 4a first leg of

>

male. 4b male palpus.
Figure 5.—-Pardosa littoralis. 5a male palpus. 5b epigynum.
Figure 6.—Fardosa diffusa, male. 6a palpal organ. 6b epigynum.
Figure 7.—Pirata insularis.
Fivure 8.—Pirata sylvestris. 8a male palpus. 8b, 8c epigynum.

Figure 9.— Pirata aremcola, male. 9a head of female. 9b male
palpus. 9c epigynum.

Figure 10.—Pirata maculata, female. 10a under side. 10b epi-
eynum.

Figure 11.—Tyrabea (Aulonia) aurantiaca.

Plate VI

5b

VEN

<=

WA yall HH!
NG VY MyM),
ee 7) 111 | Ah

a |

hh
ig

9e
( era A )
(lg dy

a | I\

NY

7 T
Pa Vin
igure 1.—Lycosa baltimoreana. 1a markings of under side of
abdomen. 1b epigynum.
Figure 2.—Lycosa avara. Epigynum. 2a head of female.

Figure 3.—Lycosa nidifex. First leg of male. 3a first leg of female.
3b epigynum. 3c male palpus. 3d first leg of male, L. prket,
3e first leg of female, L. prker.

Figure 4.—Lycosa punctulata. Male palpus. 4a epigynum.
Figure 5.—Lycosa scutulata. Male palpus.

Figure 6.—Dolomedes sexpunctatus, female. 6a male palpus.
6b young female.

Figure 7.—Dolomedes vernalis, male. 7a front of head. 6b epi-
gynum. 7c, 7d male palpus.

Figure 8.—Dolomedes idoneus. Epigynum.

Plate VII

\ ee Ss
SSSA ua SSAsAg
Oi ‘
0) “ze

STO << ie se
OP OT PPIEALD OY. arpa 8 co Fp

S$ myn

IRIE SoS ——

Rie VoL

Figure 1.—Ccobius parictalis, female. {a under side of abdomen.
4b epigynum. {tc spinnerets and anal tubercle. 1d. calam-
istrum. ‘te male palpus.

Figure 2.—5Scotolathys pallidus. Male palpus, upper side. 2a male
palpus under side. 2b eyes. 2c calamistrum. 2d epigynum.
Figure 3.—Amaurobius borealis. Epigynum. 3a, 3b, 3c male palpus.
8 g) par
3d spinnerets.

Figure 4.—Crypheca montana, female. 4a spinnerets. 4b epi-
gynum. 4c eyes. 4d sternum. 4e, 4f male palpus. 4g first
leg. inner side. 4h first leg, outer side. 4i eyes from in
front.

Figure 5.—Hahnia brunnea.

Figure 6.—Cicurina brevis. Cephalothorax of male. 6a, 6b male
palpus. 6c epigynum.

Figure 7.—Cicurina pallida. Cephalothorax of male. 7a, 7b male
palpus. 7c epigynum.

Plate VIII

[ORC eee
ye a She
a <<

fis, ee

= Gare
Wa Cpl

1

>
) »

= >>
=P

Pee Lapa O.<

Figure 1.—Drassus /Iuemalis. 1a, 1b male palpus. ic eyes.

1d epigynum.
Figure 2.—Drassus bicornis. 2a male palpus. 2b epigynum.
Figure 3.—Guaphosa parvula. Epigynum, 3a, 3b male palpus.

Figure 4.—Pecilochroa montana. Sternum and maxille of male.
4a tibia of male palpus, inner side. 4b male palpus, outer side.

Figure 5.—Poecilochroa variegata. Sternum and maxille of male, to
compare with montana.

Figure 6.—Prosthesima rufula. 6, 6a, 6b, 6c variations of epigy-
num. 6d spinnerets. 6e, 6f male palpus. 6g sternum and
maxillz. 6h eyes.

Figure 7.—Apostenus acutus. 7a eyes. 7b, 7c male palpus.

Figure 8.— Anyphena rubra, male palpus from below. 8a mandible
of male. 8b, 8c male palpus.

Plate IX

Re
AY glitter alin

me pe

Aye

6h

Riga es

Figure 1.—Micaria quinquenotata, male and female pairing. 1a male
palpus. 4b cephalothorax of male. 1c same from side. 1d
eyes. 18 epigynum.

Figure 2.—Micaria longipes. 2, 2a cephalothorax of male, to com-
pare with qgaguenotata.

Figure 3.—Micaria gentilis, female. 3a male. 3b, 3c male palpus.
3d epigynum.

Figure 4.—Micaria laticeps. 4a, 4c male palpus. 4b sternum and
maxille.

Figure 5.—Castancira lineata, sternum and maxille of female. 5a
epigynum. db cephalcthorax.

Figure 6.—C/ubiona riparia (ornata). 6, 6a, 6b male palpus. 6c
epigynum.

Figure 7.—Clubiona prematura. Male palpus, under side. 7a tibia
from above, 7b epigynum.

Figure 8.—C/ubiona canadensis. Male pulpus. 8a epigynum.
Figure 9.—Clubiona rubra. Epigynum.

Figure 10.—Clubiona spiralis. Male palpus showing tibial hook.
10a same from side. 10b palpal organ from below. 10c epi-
gynum.

Figure 11.—Clubiona crassipalpis. Epigynum.

Figure 12.—-Clubiona tibialis. Epigynum.

Plate 26

Af Ou

Nit

|}

il |
te “ha

“ell

Rae xT

Figure 1.—Phidippus brunneus. Male paipus.
Figure 2.—Phidippus insignarius, female. 2a male. 2b male from
in front. 2c epigynum. 2d under side of abdomen.

Figure 3.—Dendryphantes Jefferson. 3a male palpus. 3b end of
palpal organ. 3c tibia of male palpus. 3d epigynum. 38e epi-
gynum of D. militarts.

Figure 4.--Dendryphantes flavipedes. Tibia of male palpus. 4a palpal
organ.

Figure 5.—Phidippus Whitmant. Male palpus.

Figure 6.—Mevia (Admestina) Wheeler.

Figure 7.—Aycta Prker. Under side of female. 7aback of female.
7b male approaching female. 7c male palpus.

Figure 8.—IJcius formicarius, male from the side. 8a male palpus.

Figure 9.—Homalattus cvaneus. 9a side of same.

Plate XI

PAE Xe

Figure 1.—Phidippus Whitman, male.

Figure 2.—Fellenes roseus, male.

Figure 3.—Fellenes agilis, female. 3a male in the position taken
when approaching the female. 3b male approaching female,

front view.

Figure 4.—Fellenes borealis, male. 4a female. 4b male palpus.
4c epigynum.

Figure 5.—Fellenes viridipes, male from in front. 5a back of male.

Figure 6.—Peckhanua scorpionia, male approaching the female. 6a
female.

Figure 7.—Peckhamia picata, male. 7a side of male. 7b first leg
of male. inner side.

Figure 8.—Tapinopa bilineata, f2male. 8a male palpus. 8b head of

male. 8c front of head of female. 8d mandibles, inner side.
8e, 8f epigynum.

Figure 9.—Chalcoscirtus montanis, female. 9a male. 9b male
palpus.

Plate XII

o

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&

TRANSACTIONS OF THE

CONNECTICUT ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES

INCORPORATED A. D. 1799

VOLUME 14, PAGES 237-290 JULY, 1909

The Poems of Thomas
Third Lord Fairfax

From MS. Fairfax 40
In the Bodleian Library, Oxford

BY

EDWARD BEISS REED

PUBLISHED UNDER THE AUSPICES OF

YALE WNIVERSIL Y.

NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT
1909

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TV.—-Tue Poems or Tuomas Turrp Lorp Fairrax.

(From the Bodleian MS. Fairfax 40; formerly MS. Add. A. 120.)

In the annals of England the name of Thomas, third Lord Fair-
fax, is deservedly illustrious. As a general, he was an intrepid
fighter and a skilful commander; in his private life, a man of
scholarly tastes, happy in his country estates, which he preferred
to the court. Policy and self-advancement were far from his thoughts,
despite his great opportunities for aggrandizement; and the simplic-
ity of his character, at which his enemies sneered, was but a proof
of his sincerity. To sketch his life in detail is unnecessary, yet his
poems will gain significance if, in the briefest manner, we review
his interesting career.

The son of Fernandino, second Lord Fairfax, and Mary, daughter
of Lord Sheffield, he was born at Denton, Yorkshire, in 1612, of
a family long distinguished for its soldierly qualities. In 1620 his
grand-father, Thomas, first Lord Fairfax, then a man of sixty, joined,
with two of his sons, the single regiment sent by James I to the
support of the Elector of the Palatinate. He was obliged to return
to England to take part in the Parliamentary elections, but his two
sons died at Frankenthal at the head of their troops. Fernandino
did not make this campaign, and his father spoke of him as a
“tolerable country justice, but a mere coward at fighting”?; yet
Fernandino took the field against Charles I, and certainly did not
deserve this taunt.

The early years of our poet were spent in Yorkshire, and he un-
doubtedly enjoyed in his first studies the guidance of his great
uncle, Edward Fairfax, the translator of Tasso. In 1626 he entered
St. John’s College, Cambridge, where he remained four years, and
then, following the family traditions, he went to the Low Countries,
to serve under Lord Vere against the Spaniards. Another young
volunteer in the same camp was Turenne. After witnessing the
capture of Bois-le-Duc, he traveled and studied in France for eighteen
months, returned to England in 1632, and requested permission to
volunteer under Gustavus Adolphus, but his family opposed it, and
he retired to the Yorkshire estates to live the life of a country gentle-

1 A Life of the Great Lord Fairfax, by Clements R. Markham, London,
1870, p. 12

240 E. B. Reed,

man. In 1637 he married the daughter of his commander, Anne
Vere, a woman of energy and courage, who followed her husband
to the field, shared his dangers (she was once taken prisoner by
the Royalists) and, in no small measure, determined his career.?
In the two brief and inglorious Scottish compaigns, Fairfax joined
the King’s army, but when in 1642 Charles came to Yorkshire to
seize the supplies at Hull, and raise troops against Parliament, the
Yorkshire gentry who opposed the King looked to Fairfax for leader-
ship. He was entrusted with a formal protest against the King’s
actions, and, despite repulses, succeeded in laying this document
on the royal saddle at Heyworth Moor, where Charles was endeavo-
ring to win over the gentry of the shire. Fairfax thus showed
the world on which side he would be found, and in the Yorkshire
campaign that followed, he fought with the greatest courage. Un-
daunted by defeat, fearing no odds, on at least one occasion he
attacked a force that outnumbered his own by four to one. When
surrounded, he cut his way through the enemy. At Marston Moor
he found himself carried by the tide of battle into the thick of the
enemy’s ranks. Taking from his hat the white badge worn by the
Parliamentary forces, he calmly rode through the ranks of the Roy-
alists, regained his troops, and led another attack.? So fearless was
he that on several occasions he narrowly escaped death. In 1644
a musket-ball pierced his shoulder, another broke his arm. Hardly
recovered from these wounds, he was again struck at the siege of
Pomfret Castle. His skill as a leader, his bravery in action, had
attracted the attention of all England, and in 1645, when but thirty-
three years of age, he was made Commander-in-chief of the Par-
liamentary forces, having as his first task the organization of the
New Model army. While in the popular opinion it was Cromwell
who was “the leading spirit of the war,” to quote Sir Clements
Markham, the biographer of Fairfax, “it was Fairfax who organized
the new army without the smallest assistance from Cromwell. It
was Fairfax whose genius won the fight at Naseby, and whose
consummate generalship concluded the war, and restored peace.
Cromwell was his very efficient general of horse, but nothing more:
and indeed he was generally employed on detached duties of se-
condary importance.”® At Naseby, Fairfax was conspicuous for his
daring; at the surrender of Oxford, he placed a guard about the

1 Tbid., p. 108.
2 [bid., p. 171.
3 Jbid., Preface, p. iv.

The Poems of Lord Fairfax. 241

Bodleian and saved it from destruction, as he had spared the
minster at the siege of York.!

With Charles hopelessly defeated, Fairfax was unwilling to depose
him, wishing the King to rule, with the constitution safeguarded
from encroachments of the crown. He hotly resented the seizure
of Charles by Joyce, and through his insistance Charles was allowed
to see his friends, and above all, his children—a favor for which
he repeatedly thanked Fairfax.2 In the political intrigues which
preceded the execution of Charles, Fairfax took no part; but when
the Royalists made a last stand, he laid siege to Colchester, cap-
tured the town, and crushed the insurrection. It was at this time
that Milton addressed to him his noble sonnet:

Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings,
Filling each mouth with envy or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze,

And rumours loud that daunt remotest kings,
Thy firm, unshaken virtue ever brings

Victory home, though new rebellions raise

Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays
Her broken league to imp their serpent wings.

O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand

(For what can war but endless war still breed ?)
Till truth and right from violence be freed,

And public faith cleared from the shameful brand
Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed,
While Avarice and Rapine share the land.

Though appointed one of the Commissioners to try the King,
Fairfax refused to be present at the trial, and opposed it in vain.
Surely there are few more dramatic moments in history than when
Lady Fairfax rose in the gallery of Westminster Hall to protest
against the trial, and to defend her husband’s name. Indeed, so
well known was Fairfax’s opposition to the execution of the King
that Cromwell accused the general of planning to rescue Charles.

In 1650 Lord Fairfax resigned his command, and returned to his
estates at Nunappleton. On the death of Cromwell he decided
that there would be anarchy unless Charles If returned and ruled.
Lambert, with a disciplined army of ten thousand men, was on the

' Jbid.p.271. Fairfax bequeathed to the Bodleian 28 manuscripts. See
W. D. Macray: Annals of the Bodleian Library, Oxford.
2 Ibid. pp. 290, 298.

242 E. B. Reed,

field to oppose Monck, who, with an army of seven thousand, was
on the point of declaring for Charles. Though ill and suffering
intensely, Fairfax sent word to Monck that he would take the field
in support of Charles. When he appeared, Lambert’s troops deser-
ted and flocked to their old commander, and thus, without a shot
being fired, the Restoration was accomplished. It was fitting that
Lord Fairfax should head the commission sent by Parliament to
the Hague to invite Charles to return. No honors were conferred
on him by the Merry Monarch—he sought none—and he retired
to Yorkshire, where he died November 12, 1671, three years be-
fore the death of Milton.

It is not surprising that the letters of Fairfax, and his two Short
Memorials of the War, should have been published, but it is strange
indeed that a manuscript of 656 pages of verse, all in his own hand-
writing, should never have been carefully examined. This manuscript
passed from the possession of the Fairfax family, and was owned
successively by Ralph Thoresby, the Duke of Sussex, and Dr. Bliss
of Oxford, from whose collection the Bodleian library, its present
owner, purchased it in 1858. Archbishop Cotton, in his Editions of the
Bible and Parts thereof in Enghsh from the year MDV to MDCCCL,
Preface to the second edition, 1852, gave a table of contents of
the manuscript, then in the possession of Dr. Bliss, and reprinted
one of the paraphrases of the Psalms. Sir Clements Markham, in
his Life of Fairfax, already cited, went further; for in the text of
his work he reprinted three of Fairfax’s poems,! and in an appen-
dix gave ten more, wholly or in part, but as a historian, interested
in the political, and not the literary life of the times, he made no
study of the manuscript. Since Markham, I can not find that any
one has examined these poems or published them.

We have no means of dating the poems, with the exception of
the following:

Upon the New-built House at Apleton (1650), To the Lady Cary
upon her Verses on my deare Wife (1665), On the Fatal Day (1649),
Upon the Horse which his Majestie Rode upon att his Coronation

1 Life of Fairfax, p. 352: On the Fatal Day, Jan. 30, 1648; p. 365, Upon
the New-built House at Apleton: p. 384, Upon the Horse which his Magestie
Rode upon Att his Coronation. Appendix A, pp. 415—427 contains the follow-
ing: Preface to the Psalms, Honny dropps (excerpts), The Solitude, The
Christian Warfare (excerpts), Life and Death Compared together, Shortness of
Life, Of Beauty, Upon a Patch Face, Upon an ill Husband, and two of the

Vulgar Proverbs.

om

The Poems of Lord Fairfax. 243

(1660).! As these poems are written down in this order, it will be
seen that their position gives no clue to the time of their compo-
sition, indeed, the very last poem in the manuscript is an eclogue,
Hermes and Lycaon, by Edward Fairfax, who died in 1635.2 If we
refer Fairfax’s translations from ‘“ good old Mantuan” to his student
days, the poems certainly cover a period of forty years.

A perusal of the manuscript shows us at once that Fairfax is not a
poet, but rather a man of poetic tastes, an admirer of verse. We have,
then, no discovery of a neglected genius, and there will be no call
for the Complete Works of Thomas Fairfax. It will occasion no
surprise, therefore, that we have omitted a considerable amount of
his poetry.’ It will readily be seen that the chief defect in these
poems is their poor technique. Fairfax had very little sense of
rhythm; at times his ear seems absolutely untrained, and, though a
multitude of corrections in the manuscript show how hard he strugg-
led to improve his lines, yet his revisions are generally as awkward
as his first rude draft. Few of his poems have any metrical charm,
and when in his Honey Drops or Vulgar Proverbs he seeks to
become epigrammatical, he lacks both point and finish. His best
writing is seen in such a poem as David’s Lamentation, or in the
straightforward couplets of the Christian Warfare; however, it is
not for his skill as a writer that Fairfax deserves attention, but for
certain conclusions that may be drawn from the subject-matter of
his lines.

Fairfax divided his poetry into religious and secular verse, the
former occupying 551 pages out of 650, 388 of these being devoted
to a metrical paraphrase of the Psalms. From the days of Wyatt
and Surrey in England and Clément Marot in France, to “trans-
late” the Psalms, or indeed to turn any part of the Scriptures into
verse, was a pastime indulged in alike by the devout and by the pro-
fligate. A complete list of English writers who from 1500 to 1700
made metrical versions of any portion of the Bible has never been
compiled. It would be a surprisingly large one, and, though Fairfax
was a devout man, he was following a literary fashion as well as
his own inclination in his paraphrase which offers so little that is

* The Z£prtaph on A. V. dieing Vounge might be dated, were we sure
that V. stands for Vere.

* As Markham published this in Miscellanies of the Philobiblon Society,
vol. 12, 1868—9, I have not reprinted it.

* See table of contents of the MS. on page 249. With the exception of
the Psalms, I have a copy of the whole MS. It is at the disposal of
any one interested in it,

244 E. B. Reed,

interesting that I have reprinted but four Psalms, enough to
show his method.t. In his hymns we notice most of all that he
writes in an impersonal style, for we have in them no picture of
his own mind, no account of his spiritual conflicts, his doubts, his
defeats, or his victories. Religious verse is valuable in proportion
as it shows us the soul of a man, and this is precisely what Fair-
fax does not attempt to do.

This same lack of the personal element in his writing is a marked
defect of the secular verse also, for he gives us practically nothing
of his own life, even in remote allusion. When we consider the
great scenes he had witnessed, the part he had played in shaping
the destinies of England, it is rather surprising that he should choose
to write on Envy, Temperance, Anger. Surely he might have written
with more spirit on Liberty, Tyranny, or Valor. He collects many
popular proverbs, but he does not jot down the song of his soldiers.
For a fighting man, how faint and unrealistic are such lines:

As men besieged with mines about
Ready to spring and ruing [s¢c] all,
Hearing the alarm beat, runne out
To th’ assault and gard ther wall,
And by the blast in ruins sinke
Vanquist are when they least thinke.?

And yet they are quite unusual, so rarely does he refer to the
shock of battle. As Fairfax does not tell us what he has felt, so
he has little desire to write down what he has seen. Apart from
all considerations of the immeasurable distance that separates
Andrew Marvell’s work from that of Fairfax, it is yet surprising
that Marvell should describe Appleton House and the estates so
fully, and that Fairfax, who delighted in them, should give us but
a few faint lines on the new-built house. Similarly we should
expect the sympathetic picture of the last moments of Charles to

1 Markham, in his Life of Fairfax, p. 369, mentions another copy of
Fairfax’s version of the Psalms, owned by Mr. Cartwright of Aynho.
I have not attempted to trace this. At the end of the MS. of the
Short Memorial, at Leeds Castle, are versions of the 18th, 24th, 30th,
and 85th Psalms. He prefaces Psalm 18 with the following: ‘That I
chuse this 18 Psalm let none think that I arrogate anything to myself,
for farre be it from me to applie it otherwise than as David’s triumph
over his enemies.’ See Markham’s Fazrfax, p. 415.

2 A Hymne to Christ the Messiah.

a

The Poems of Lord Fairfax. 245

come from the pen of the general rather than from the tutor of
his daughter.

To observe for one’s self, to describe one’s feelings, demands a
certain amount of originality, and this is precisely what Fairfax
lacked. The greater part of his religious verse was paraphrase,
and we naturally look for translation in his secular poems. Pages
602—10 of the manuscript are taken, he tells us, from the French, the
Italian, the Latin. With the exception of the Mazarinades, all these
translations are directed against Rome, showing his strong Puritan
sympathies. It is interesting to notice that when he translates
Petrarch he does not choose the sonnets to Laura, but 7he Char-
acter of the Romish Church? Petrarchism, brought in by Wyatt
and Surrey a century before, had spent its force, and the lyrics of
Philip Ayres, 1687, fill the last book that shows the old sway of
the founder of the modern lyric.2 As confirmation of Fairfax’s lack
of skill in writing, it is noticeable that he is unable to reproduce
the sonnet form, and turns the quatorzains into poems of twelve
lines.

Eight pages of translation, however, constitute but a small part
of his secular verse. As we read it, we are impressed by the con-
trasts it shows, contrasts that can not be explained by assuming
that certain poems are separated by long intervals of time. Lady
Carey had written to Fairfax a metrical epistle on the death of his
wife, and he felt called upon to answer it. Knowing his devotion
to Lady Fairfax, we expect him to rise above himself under the
inspiration of his grief, but his thought is so trivial, and so feebly
expressed, that Zo the Lady Cary Upon her Verses on my deare
Wife is one of the poorest poems. A few lines will show this more
plainly than any comment:

Madam

Could I a Tribute of my thanks express
As you have done in love and purer verse,
On my best selfe then I might Justly raise
Your Elogy t’ Encomiums of your Prayse
And soe forgett the Subject that did move
Me to a thankfulness as ‘t did you to love.
O ’twere to great a Crime but pray allow

1 See Marvell’s Horatian Ode upon Cromwell’s Return from Ireland.
2 Sonnets, De Vario Argumento, Nos. 14 and 16.
3 Lyric Poems, made in Imitation of the Italians, London, 1687.

246 E. B. Reed,

Wher I fall short but you have reached to,
Making that Good wisest of Kings hath said,
Th’ Living’s not soe Prayse-worthy then [sic] the dead.

A few pages further on, we come to a more formal elegy on
Henry of Navarre.

Ah is itt then Great Henry soe fam’d

For taming men, himself by death is tam’d!
Whatt eye his glory saw, now his sad doome,
But must desolve in Teares, sigh out his Soule,
Soe small a shred of Earth should him intombe
Whos acts deserv’d pocession of the whole.

Though this poem has its defects, it is, on the whole, a better
piece of writing than the elegy on Lady Fairfax. This consideration,
together with the fact that Henry of Navarre was assassinated two
years before Fairfax was born, and that there seems to be no special
reason why he should lament his death, makes one suspect that
the lines are a translation from the French. Such is the case, for
I find that the poem is taken word for word from an elegy by Anne
de Rohan which Fairfax read at the end of Agrippa d’Aubigne’s
Histoire Universelle, published 1626, for d’Aubigne does not quote
the whole poem, and Fairfax translates only as much as he gives.?
With this hint I have looked in the French literature of the period
for the originals of the other poems. Oz a Fountain is a trans-
lation of an epigram of Malherbe that was a favorite one,” to judge
from its appearance in a French anthology (Les Delices de la Poésie
Francaise, 1615), while Fairfax’s best poem, the one that gives the
manuscript its title, is a translation of Saint-Amant’s La Soltude.
Other sources I have not found, but I feel convinced that many of
the poems are translations, as for example, Of a Faire Wife, to
Coregio, which is probably taken from the Italian. Others better read
in Continental literature of the period may discover his models.?

We are now in a position to see the significance of these poems.
They are not fine examples of English verse; they are rather to
be regarded as documents that show us what an English gentleman

1 Histoire Universelle par Agrippa d’Aubigné (Paris, 1879), Vol. 9, pp.
472-15.

2 See Ocuvres complétes de Malherbe (Paris, 1862), Vol. 1, p. 225.

® Mr. Lewis C. Everard, Yale Phi Beta Kappa Fellow, 1908—1909, has
searched in the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris, for other French originals,
but without results.

The Poems of Lord Fairfax. 247

of the Caroline and Commonwealth period read and thought. They
are like an old diary in which a great man has jotted down a list
of the books he owns, or of poems he has memorized; they are
like a package of old letters, in which the writer tells us of his
favorite authors and his literary tastes. It is to be observed that
this moralist, who mentions but one English writer—his great-uncle—
turns to French literature. La Solitude is certainly not only Saint-
Amant’s best piece of work, but one of the finest French poems
of the period, and the evident admiration of Fairfax for it speaks
well for his taste. Though Saint-Amant had twice visited London
and was possibly known there as a poet, only two other unimpor-
tant translations of his verse have been noticed in English literature.*
It is worthy of mention that Saint-Amant himself had some very
pronounced opinions concerning Fairfax, who probably never read
the Frenchman's Ep~igramme Endiablee sur Fairfax.

There is another interesting point concerning La Soltude. It is
well known that in 1650 Andrew Marvell came to Appleton House
as a tutor for Mary Fairfax. He had already written verse, but it
had not been nature-poetry; his grotesque Flecnoe and his absurd
verses Upon the Death of Lord Hastings have nothing of the meadow

1 See A. H. Upham, Zhe French Influence in English Literature from the
Accession of Elizabeth to the Restoration, New York, 1908, pp. 345, 405, 409,
412 It is interesting to read Saint-Amant’s brief reference to Ben Jonson
in his ZL’ Albion.

? Je crois quil doit bien estre en peine,

L’execrable tyran qui preside aux enfers,

Quand, dans les feux et dans les fers,

Il songe au noir object des foudres de ma haine;
Son vieux sceptre enfumé tremble en sa fiere main;
Il redoute Fairfax, ce prodige inhumain;

I] craint que ce monstre n’aspire
Au degré le plus haut de son horrible empire,

Le degré le plus haut est celuy le plus bas,

C’est ot ce prince des sabats,

Des endroits les plus clairs aux endroits les plus sombres,

Tomba pour regner sur les ombres ;

C’est la, dis-je, qu’il craint que par quelque attentat,

Que par quelque moyen oblique,

Fairfax n’aille du moins renverser son estat
Pour en faire une republique.
Kt voila les raisons qui l’ont fait hesiter

Jusqu’a cette heure a l’emporter.

Oeuvres Complétes de Saint-Amant (Paris, 1855), vol. 1, p. 472.

248 E. B. Reed,

in them. During the two years he spent at the home of Fairfax,
Marvell wrote those nature-poems that determined his fame—Upon
the Hill and Grove at Billborow, Upon Appleton House, On a Drop
of Dew, The Garden—poems that show an observation, an appreca-
tion of the earth, of flowers, birds and trees unsurpassed in all
the works of his predecessors in English poetry, not excepting the
very greatest, Chaucer, Spenser, and Shakespeare. That these poems
were inspired not only by the beauty of Nunappleton, but by its
owner’s love and appreciation of poetry, there can be little doubt.
We may go even further, and see in Marvell’s nature-poems some
hints from Saint-Amant. Marvell’s verse is richer and deeper;
where Saint-Amant is vague in his descriptions or conventional in
his thought, Marvell is concrete and original; for it is the Englishman,
and not the Frenchman, who uses /e mot precis, and yet Saint-
Amant’s theme—to lose one’s self in Nature—is the theme of The
Garden and of the finest lines in Appleton House.

We see now the significance of the poems of Fairfax. They
throw light on the character of a great Englishman; they remind
us that the literary influence of /a ville lumiére was still powerful
in England, that it had not died with the sonneteers; and they
give us the atmosphere in which Andrew Marvell lived and wrote
the tenderest, the sincerest, the deepest nature-poetry of the seven-
teenth century.

Yale College, Epwarp Buss REEp.
February 19, 1909.

249

TABLE OF CONTENTS OF MS. FATRFAX 40.

The poems marked + are reprinted here. Those marked * are
given only in part. The poems are printed as they stand in the
MS. with no changes in the punctuation or spelling.

250 Ee; ae REED,

| Title] THE IMPLOYMENT OF MY SoLiTuDE. T. F. p. i.

+ The Preface to the Psalmes. p. i.
x Psalms 1 to 150, in verse. pp. 1-388. [p. 389 is blank.|
Songs of the Old and New Testament. pp. 390—479.
% Moses Songe. Exodus 15. p. 390.
Moses Songe. Deut. 32. p. 396.
The Songe of Deborah. Judges 5. p. 406.
Hannah’s Songe. 41 Sam. 2. p. 4145.
Dauids Lamentation for Saule & Jonathan. 2 Sam. 1. p. 418.
Hezekiah’s Songe. Isaiah 38. p. 422.
The Songe of Mary the Blessed Virgin. Luke 1. p. 427.
Zachariah’s Songe. Luke 1. p. 429.
Simeon’s Songe. p. 4314.
The Songe of Salomon. Chapter 1. p. 432. Chapt 2. p. 435.
Chapt 3. p. 488. Chapt 4. p. 440. Chapt 5. p. 444.
Chapt 6. p. 448. Chapt 7. p. 451. Chapt 8. p. 454.
Out of the Prouerbs of Salomon. p. 458.
Wisdom’s Antiquity. pp. 471—475.
Out of the Prouerbs of Salomon. p. 473> 473°.
[These two pages were formerly pasted together. They are a
repetition of pp. 458 and 459. with two lines of 460.|
Samuel’s Instruction from his Mother. Prouerbs 32. p. 476.
x Honny dropps. p. 480.
Hymnes to the Soueraine God. p. 510.
A Hymne to Christ the Mesiah. p. 519.
A Hymne to the Holy Ghost. p. 539.
+ A Songe of Prayse. p. 549-5513.
[Title] The Recreations of my Solitude T. F. p. 551°.
+ The Solitude. p. 552.
+ Of a Faire Wife to Coregio. p. 564.
+ Of Beauty. p. 568.
+ Upon a Patch Face. p. 570.
Upon a Younge Virago. p. 571.
+ Upon an ill Husband. p. 571.
+ Of Envy. p. 572.
+ Of Anger. p. 574.
Of Viriie:. 3p.29 17.
Of Patience and Temperance. p. 579.

—}- --

*

MS. Fairfax 4o.

bo
o1
—

+ Nature and Fortune. p. 582.
+ The Christian Warfare. p. 583.
+ Life and Death compared together. p. 590.
7 Upon a Fountaine. p. 592.
+ Upon the New-built House at Apleton. p. 593.
y+ Shortness of Life. p. 594.
y+ Epitaph on A. V. dieng Younge. p. 598.
7 The Lady Caryes Elogy on my deare Wife. p. 596.
+ To the Lady Cary Upon her Verses on my deare Wife. p. 598.
+ On the Fatal Day, Jan. 30th, 1648. p. 600.
+ Of Impartial Fate. p. 604.
Epitaph sur le Mort du Cardinal Mazarin. Epiodium. p. 602.
+ A Carracter of the Romish Church by Francisco Petrarca, Laura
Can. 106. p. 604.
Pontanus writes this Epitaph on Lucretia daughter of Alexander 6.
p- 606.
Baptista Mantua reproving the wicked Life of Sixtus 4 maketh the
Divel give him this Entertainement in Hell. p. 607.
Mantua Eclogae 5. p. 608.
Palengenus A Papist thus discribes the monstrous Corruptions of
the Romaine Clargie. p. 609.
Upon Mr. Stanley’s Booke of Philosophers supposing itt the Worke
of his, Tutor W. Fa. ip: 611.
+ Upon the Horse w** his Matic. Rode upon att his Coronation 1660.
p= 612.
* Vulgar Proverbs. p. 613.
+ The teares of France for the deplorable death of Henry 4 surnamed
the Great. p. 641.
An Egloge maide by my uncle Mr. Ed. Fairfax in a Dialoge bet-
wixt two Sheapards Hermes and Lycaon. p. 647.

[p. 38]

E. B. Reed,

The Preface to the Psalmes.

Vaine Fancy whether now darst thou aspire

W'" smoky Coales to light the holy Fire

Could thou indeed as wt the Phenix burne

In perfum’d flames & into Ashes turne

Thou might’st hope (vaine hope) yet once againe
To rise wt purer notions in thy Braine

But t’would nott serue for they would still be darke
Till from thyn Alter Lord I take a sparke

I need not then assend up any higher

In offring this to fetch another fire

Inspired thus may on my Muse distill

Dewes nott from Parnass but Herman’s sweet Hill.

iesalied

Blest is the man in walking daly shuns
Pernitious Councel that from th’ wicked Comes
Nor to the sinners paths his steps doth bend
Or he yitt up to Scorners chaire assend

Who in the early morne & euening laite

On lawes deuine makes choyse to meditate

As by the runing streames the well sett tree
His fruit in season yeild, the iust shall be
Whos leafe shall neuer fade & what he doth
Shall thriue as itt & shal be fruitfull both

But wth the wicked itt is diffrent farre

As chaff tost in the Ayre, So they are

Nor shall he stand fore th’ impartial Judge

Or mongst the iust who in sins way doe trudge

Psal 19

The heauens Lord the siluer studed frame
They are the Curious works thy hands declare
Time vnto time itt doth recount the same

To places most remote, ther voyce it heares
Ore all the earth ther arched Sphers extends
The Tun on’s throne ther rises ther desends

[p. 49}

MS. Fairfax 4o. 253

As cherfull brid-grome in his nuptial state

Or actiue men to race wth ioy Come out

From East to West so runs he at that raite
Till his cirquitt rownd he’as gone about

All parts euen to the wide Earths extreames
Both light & heat takes from his radent beames

Thy law 6 Lord to soules perfection giues
They that are simple by thy words made wise
They shall reioyce who in thy precepts liues
Thy Statutes pure inlighten’s the blind eyes
To feare the Lord will vs preserue for euer
Whos iudgments true & rightious altogether

More sweete then honny yea or gold refin’d
Thy seruants setts them att a hier prise

They great rewards in keeping them do find
But 6 alas who ist his errors spies

My faults vnseene 0 let ther none remaine
From bold-fac’d sins thy seruant Lord restraie

O let not sin wt! it’s tyranick might

Ere gitt a iuri[s|diction ouer mee

So in my soule shall I then be vpright

And from the great transgression guiltless be
So shall my words & thoughts acceptance find
Wt» thee my strength redeemer of man-kind

IPSeill 23

How can I want the Lord my sheapard seemes
Who to the verdant pasturs leads me outt

By flowry bankes wher waters gently streams
My soule he doth refresh he sets my foot

In paths of truth & eaqual Justice both

This only for his owne name sake he doth

Al Though I through death|s| shady vale doe goe
No terrors ther shal makes me yitt affraid

His rods my guide his staff my strength also
Before myn foes my table he doth spread

Wt» oyle my head full cups my hart doth chere
Him in his house for euer Ile serue ther

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. LG Juxy, 1909.

254

[p. 104]

[p. 105}

[p- 390]

[p. 391]

E.OB: Reed,

Psal 46

If in distress® Lord thou ‘It giue me ayde

What need I feare though rocks in seas be throwe
Though by ther rage the hills on hills be layd
Thou still preseruest thos that are thyn owne

In thes o’re turnings shal noe fear cease them

For God was ther, his help in season Came

When furious rage procest the Heathen world
Thou was to vs as a strong Towre in War

Thou spake the word & Earth on heaps was hurld
Come se then ther what great vastations are

T’is he when wars arise Can stop ther Course
This he ther weapons breake ther Chariots fire
Wait thou on him know he’s a God of force
Did he not rule the world t’ would soone expire
He mongst the Heathens will exalted be

But Jacobs Gods the Towre to whom we flee

Songs of the Old & New
Testiment

Moses Songe
Exodus 15

Vnto the Lord let prayse be sung
Who gloriously triumphed hath

For he into the sea hath flung
Both Horse & Rider in his wrath

The Lord my strength & songe shall be
‘Who my sure saluation

Mine & my father’s god is he
Soule be his habitation

A man of Warr’s the Lord renown’d
His name is by Jehouah knowne

Who in the Sea hath Pharoah drownd
Downe Captains Horse & Chariots throwne

This goodly Traine wt fury drunke
The waues as Couerings did Containe

[p. 392]

[p. 393]

_[p. 394]

©.

MS. Fairfax 4o. Opt

Wher to the bottome they are sunke
As stones that neuer rise againe

Thy hand o Lord has done this deed
Glorious in Powre art thou become

Thy hand I say when ther was need
Th’ insulting Foe has ouercome

They that agaist thee did Combine
Thy wrath has broke in thy defence
As stuble th’are before the winde
So powrefull- is thyn’ excelence

Thy Nosthrills wt a blast haue layde
The liquid Seas on sollid heapes

The floating waues ther w'> were stay’d
As Ice Congealed in the depths

Pursue o’retake th’ enimy said
Ther spoyles let vs mongst vs deuide
Whilst wt ther Swords they hauack made
And lust as law to them was guide

But in a happy howre thou did

The Treasures of thy winde display
So sunk they as the heauy lead

And vnder watry-Monntains lay

Amongst the Gods who's like to thee
O Lord in Holiness & Prayse

The fearfull wonders w*' we see
Doe Trophyes to thy Glory raise

Thou stretcht thy hand & they were gone
The gapinge earth deuourd them quite

To th’ Holy mountaine thou leddst on
The chosen Flock of thy delight

Nations hard this wt pale-fac’d looks
And horred feare amazed stood
Edom Moab & Syrian Dukes
Ditt melt away wtt Canan’s broode

Thy Glorious Name did soe apall

Ther trimbling Harts wt feare & dread
That as a stone lie still they shall

Till those pass ouer thou dost lead

256

[p. 395]

[p. 418]

[p. 419]

E. B. Reed,

To Zions mount thou didst them bring
Didst plant them in its firtil soyle
The place wher thou delightst in
A sanctuary freed from toyle

Raigne Lord for euer vn-opposd
For Pharoa’s Horse & Men are drownd

Him & his force hath sea inclosd
Whilst Israel marches on dry grownd

Miriam the Prophetiss a Timbrel takes
Wher in their Circulinge-dances round
The Virgin-Traine such Musick makes
As th’ Hills about wtt Ecchoes sound

Then Miriam answered them & sunge
The Lord triumphd in Glory hath
Proud Pharoah into th’ sea has flunge
Wt Horse & Rider in his wrath

Dauids Lamentation for Saule & Jonathan.

2 Sam: 1

Israel has lost her ornement
Alas for itt lement
How are her Mighty, falne & laine
& on Mount Gibea slaine
O let itt nott in Gath be knowne
Or told in streets of Askelon

O lett nott Lord our ancient Foes
Joying Deride our woes
Least daughter of th’ vncircomcis’d
Triumph o’re vs dispis’d
Noe more lett fruitfull showres distill
Or dewes on Gibeas direfull Hill

Nor e’er may any thither bringe
More a Heaue-Offringe

Ther th’ Mighty fell, Saule lost his sheild
In this shamfull feild

On him regardless they did treade

As if noe oyle had touch’d his head

[p. 420]

[p. 422]

MS. Fairfax 4o. 257

Sharp Arrowes shott from Jonathans Bow
Drunk wt* the blood of Foe
Nor did Sauls sword rebate a Jott
Till he’ad his! enimys smote
How louely-pleasant are you tow
Death Could not loue disjoyne in you

Swifter then Eagles w* th’ Ayre peirce
Both stronge as lions feirce
Israel’s daughters lement the fall
Of your valiant Saule
Who you in Purple & Scarlet deckt
And did from Foes your land protect

How pleasant was itt to behold
Your orniments of Gold

Thy worthys by the sword, how are
They thus cutt off in war

O Jonathan my harts delight
Slaine in the bloody fight
Mount Giboa saw the woefull day
Thou mongst her Rockes ther wounded lay

How can I Deare Jonathan express
For thee my sad distress

Noe Woman’s loue reach’d thatt degree
As thou once loued mee

How is the Mighty falne, is Crusht

And Israels Worthys rould in dust

Hezekiahs-Songe

Isaiah 38

In Cuttinge off my days I said

Must I goe downe to deaths cold shade
Youth’s flowre noe sooner Budd but Blast
Be Cropt and to obliuion cast

Mongst liuing Lord must | noe more

Lift vp myn eyes & thee adore

1 Fairfax has written over this line * his foes had smote.”

bo
Ou
CO

[p. 423]

[p. 425]

E. B. Reed,

Or longer in this vniuerse

W'h Man-kind haue noe more Conuerse
Farwell then Suns chearful light

Whose Rayes expells the shades of Night
Adeiu deare siluer-Horned Moone

By step & step our time setts downe
Yee Stars farwel that in Night appears
Runing in your apoynted Spheres

Who from your orbs soe far from hence
Throwes downe on vs your influence
Stay when you will your Constant Course
For ouer death you haue noe force
Farwel my Friends, farwel delight
Deuided by Eternal Night

My flitting years how soon th’are spent
Remoued as a Sythian Tent

Here to day to morrow dead

Cut off like to a weauers thread

In morning when new hopes began

Er’ evening pinning sickness came

Yitt did’st nott heare my sad groanes
But lyon-like brake all my bones

O whatt a little space is this

T’wixt Being & not Beinge is

Euen from th’ Eueninge to the Day

My wasting Sperits faide away

As Crane or Swallow sett alone

To the 6 Lord I make my mo’ne

And as the Doue that trembling sitts
When Hawke aboue doth sores his pitch
So faints my hart so failes myn eyes

In seing such sad miseryes

But thou in Mercy hast noe piere

O help me in this troubled feare

What shall I say but sure thus much
Thy Word & Truth keep perfait touch
For sin my soule shall all itts days
Walke softly in my pensiue wayes

By these things Lord doe Mortals liue
New life by these things thou dost giue
Lo, Peace to me dost thou restore

And Joy for Greefe I had before

[p. 426|

[p. 431]

[p. 435]

MS. Fairfax 4o. 259

Thou pluckt me from destrctions Pitt
And all my sins didst thou remitt

For who in death can offrings bringe
Or in the Graue thy Prayses singe

Of All to Shades beneath repare

Does any hope for Mercy ther

The luinge ‘tis the liuinge They

Shall Prayse thee as I doe this day
Father to sonne relate shall this

How faithfull are thy Promises

Since Lord thou hast prolong’d my days
On Warbling Harpe [le give thee prayse
And in thy Courts wt Holy Fire

Of Zeale pay thanks till I expire

Simeon’s Songe
As thou hast said soe Lord pray I
In peace now lett thy seruant die
Sence my blest eyes haue seene 1'th end
Saluation from thy Throne desend
Which thou before earth frame was layd
To saue Man-kind decreed had
A light to guide the Gentiles ways
Of Israel’s sones to be the prayse

[The Songe of Salomon]
Chap 2

I am the Rose of Sharon’s fruitfull feild

The Lilly w the humble vallyes yeild

In midst of thornes as Lilly appear’s aboue

Soe mongst the youthfull Virgins is my loue
As Apple-trees ‘mongst trees o’th Forrest growe
Amongst the sones of Men my loue is soe
Vnder whose shade is my delightfull seat

And to my tast his fruit is pleasant meat

Then to the house of wines he brought me in
Wher Loue like banners was a Couer in

Stay me wth flaggons wth Apples Comfort giue
Who's sick of Loue may yitt haue hope to liue

260 E. B. Reed,

Vnder my head his left hand stretched out
And wt" his Right h’ imbraceth me about

[p. 436] O Zions daughters I strictly you adiure
By the swift Hynde & fearfull Roe be sure
Noe stir by noyse you make for to disease
Or wake my loue before the time he please
Behold I hear his Voyce o’re Hills & Downes
My loue Comes skiping ouer Mounts & bounds
Like th’ Hart or nimble Fawne & triping Roe
Standing behind our Wall Behold him Loe
Through trelest windows how he looketh out
His Church wt watchfull care he vews about
Thus speaking to me I my loue did heare
Arise my faire one Come away my deare
Lo winters past wth her stormy showers
Th’ Earth now shew’s her various coulred flowrs
Chirping of birds a signe the spring grows near

[p. 437| We in the land the mourning Turtle heare
The Figg-tree budding green her Figgs disclose
The tender Grapes of Vines smell as the Rose
Arise my faire one Come away my loue
Whom Cliffy Rocks doe hid Come out my Doue
Shew me thy Face myn eares let thy Voyce meet
Thy Countinance is Comely, Voyce most Sweet
Take th’ Fox & little Foxes in thy Toyles
That thus our tender grapes & Vinyard spoyles
My deare is myne & I am his who ‘monge
The Lillyes feed till shades of Night be gone
Turne my beloued turne like th’ Roe that trips
Or nimble Hinde that in Mount Bether skips.

[p. 480] Honny dropps.
(Under this title Fairfax has written
one hundred and twenty five couplets and thirty five quatrains)
Why good men haite all sin ‘tis understood
Because tis both gainst god and ther owne good

To walke wtt god tis goodmen’s care we see
But leaves the Care to god wc way ‘t should be

Se i i i i

[p.

186]

_ 487]

. 490]

. 491]

. 509]

MS. Fairfax 40. 261

Noe safty w'* out god in Freindship were
Yitt safe wtt enimyes if God be there

A good man questionless was never hee
Thatt strives nott allways better for to be

Good Conscience is a name att we Men tante
But betters a good name then Conscience want

Whatt before men we are affrayd to doe
Fore God to thinke itt should affright us too

Many the Sacred ordinances use
Making noe proffet of them—them abuse

When thou dost well or any good thou can
Prayse nott thy worke, the worke will prayse the Man

The soule by such a Noble sperit moves
Tis nott soe much where’t lives as wher it loves

Sure best are they, nott they who most can talke
How Good God is, but who most with him walke

In sweetest Natures this will sure befall
None All can like nor shall be lik’t of all

All Earthly things are such as ther’s noe doubt
Worst Men may have and best may goe wt'outt
Yett wanting them a man may happy be

When others wtt them have butt misery

Noe Time in pastime need we Idly wast
For time will pass from us in too much hast

Ith’ Sacred Arke Reason of State should lye
But rules of state should nott Religion tye

When men wt! wine themselves like beasts abuse
Not wine the Men but the wine misuse

In all thou undertskes be carful still

That none of thee can speake deserved ill

And soe when that is done thou needs not Care
For Ill men’s Censure (’Tis the Common fare)

[p. 5514]

E. B. Reed,

A Songe of Prayse

Earth prayse the Lord him Reverence beare
As well for’s Thunders that we heare
At w* poore Mortals stand affraid

As four the glotious Maruels which
Such Splendors doth the world inrich
They are the workes his hands hath made

His Prouidential loue lets singe
That w'' a plentious flowinge springe
Our barren soules hee watered

The East the West tast of his Care
Hott Affrick nor the freezinge Beare
From his al seeinge eye is hidd

And wast nott he He who did please
W'= seueral kinds to store the Seas
Of Fish beyond account Nay more

Made Woods & Hills that Cataile yeilds
Gaue flowry Pasturs verdent feilds
That bringe both Corne & wine great store

But how doe we his mercy wronge
He sees wee still in Sin grow stronge
And day by day his patience moue

Yet as a Father ready is
To pardon faults he sees in his
Such are the tokens of his loue

In vs Affections 6h tis strange
W* our light humor suddaine Change
As in a moment they grew old

They wt the Wind are easely driuen
But his is alweyes firme & euen
And to Eternity doe hold

Finis

|p. 551 c|

[p. 552]

[p. 553|

[p. 554]

MS. Fairfax 4o.

THe RECREATIONS OF MY SOLITUDE

ADE)

THE SOLITUDE

O how I loue these Solitudes

And places silent as the Night

Ther wher noe thronging multituds
Disturbe w'® noyse ther sweet delight

O how myn eyes are pleas’d to see

Oakes that such spreadinge branches beare
Wc from old Time's netiuity

And th’enuy of so many yeares

Are still greene beautifull & faire

As att the world’s first day they were

Naught but the highest twiggs of all
Wher Zephyrus doth wanton play

Doe yett presage ther future fall

Or shew a signe of ther decay

Times past Fawnes Satyrs Demy-Gods
Hither retird to seeke for Aide

When Heauen wt? Earth was soe att odds
As Jupiter in rage had laide

O’re all a Deluge these high woods
Preseru’d them from the sweling floods

Ther vnder a flowry Thorne alonge
Of Springs delightfull plant the Cheife
Sadd Philomela’s mournfull songe
Doth sweetly entertaine my greefe
And to behold is noe less rare

These hanging Rocks & Precepies
W to the wounds of sadd dispare
Are soe propitious to giue ease

When soe oprest by cruel fate
Death’s sought for att another gate

E. B. Reed,

[LA SOLITUDE !
A Alcidon.

Que j’ayme la solitude!
Que ces lieux sacrez a la nuit,
Esloignez du monde et du bruit,
Plaisent a mon inquietude!

Mon Dieu! que mes yeux sont contens

De voir ces bois, qui se trouverent
A la nativite du temps,

Et que tous les siecles reverent,
Estre encore aussi beaux et vers,
Qu’aux premiers jours de l’univers!

Un gay zephire les caresse
D'un mouvement doux et flatteur.
Rien que leur extresme hauteur
Ne fait remarquer leur vieillesse.
Jadis Pan et ses demy-dieux
Y vindrent chercher du refuge,
Quand Jupiter ouvrit les cieux
Pour nous envoyer le deluge,

Et, se sauvans sur leurs rameaux,
A peine virent-ils les eaux.

Que sur cette espine fleurie,
Dont le printemps est amoureux,
Philomele, au chant langoureux,
Entretient bien ma resverie!

Que je prens de plaisir a voir
Ces monts pendans en precipices,
Qui, pour les coups du desespoir,
Sont aux malheureux si propices,
Quand la cruauteé de leur sort
Les force a rechercher la mort!

1 This is not in the MS. See pp. 246—248.

Ti ser rs

[p. 555]

[p. 557]

MS. Fairfax go. 265

How pleasant are the Murmuring stream
In shady Vallyes runinge downe

Whose raginge torrents as itt seemes
Just measurs keepe in skpps & bounds
Then glidinge vnder th’ arbored banks
As windinge Serpents in the grass

The sportfull Naides playes ther pranks
Vpon the watry plaines of Glass

The christal Elements wherin

These watry Nimphes delight to swime

The quiet Marshe I loue to see

That bounded is wt? willowes round

With Sallow, Elme, & Popler tree

W Tron yett hath giuen noe wound

The Nimphes that Come to take fresh Ayre
Here Rocks & Spindles them prouide
Mongst Sedge & Bulrush we may heare
The lepinge Froggs Se wher they hide
Themselues for feare when they espye

A Man or Beast approachinge nye

A hundred thousand Fowle her lye

All voyd of feare makinge ther Nest
Noe treachrous Fowler here Comes nye
Wt mortal gunnes to breake ther rest
Some ioying in the sunn’s warme beames
Ther fethers buisily doe plume

Whilst others findinge Loue’s hott flames
In waters allsoe can Consume

And in all pastimes Inocent

Are pleased in this Element

How pleasant is itt to behold

These ancient Ruinated Towers

’Gainst wc the Giants did of old

W* Insolence imploye ther Powers

Now Sayters here ther Sabath keepe

And Sperits w* our sence inspire

Wt frightinge dreames whilst we doe sleepe
Noe here againe all day retire

In thousand Chinkes & dusty holes

Lyes vgly Batts & Scritchnge Owles

266

E. B. Reed,

Que je trouve doux le ravage
De ces fiers torrens vagabonds,
Qui se precipitent par bonds
Dans ce valon vert et sauvage!
Puis, glissant sous les arbrisseaux,
Ainsi que des serpens sur l’herbe,
Se changent en plaisans ruisseaux,
Ou quelque Naiade superbe
Regne comme en son lict natal,
Dessus un throsne de christal !

Que j’aime ce marets paisible!
Il est tout borde d’aliziers,
D’aulnes, de saules et d’oziers,
A qui le fer n’est point nuisible.
Les Nymphes, y cherchans le frais,
S’y viennent fournir de quenouilles,
De pipeaux, de joncs et de glais;
Ou lon voit sauter les grenouilles,
Oui de frayeur s’y vont cacher
Si tost qu’on veut s’en approcher.

La, cent mille oyseaux aquatiques
Vivent, sans craindre, en leur repos,
Le giboyeur fin et dispos,

Avec ses mortelles pratiques.

L’un, tout joyeux d’un si beau jour,
S’amuse a becqueter sa plume;
L’autre allentit le feu d’amour

Qui dans l’eau mesme se consume,
Et prennent tous innocemment
Leur plaisir en cet element.

Que j’ayme a voir la decadence
De ces vieux chasteaux ruinez,
Contre qui les ans mutinez
Ont deploye leur insolence!

Les sorciers y font leur sabat;

Les demons follets s’y retirent,

Qui d’un malicieux ebat

Trompent nos sens et nous martirent;
La se nichent en mille troux

Les couleuvres et les hyboux.

1 Fairfax omits a stanza here.

MS. Fairfax 40. 267

These Mortal Augurs of Mischance
Who funerall notes as Musick makes
The Goblins singe & skipp & dance
In valts ore spred wtt Toads & Snakes
Ther in a Cursed beame might see
[p. 558] The horred Skeliton of some poore louer
W = for his Mistriss Cruelty
Hanged himselfe sence naught could moue her
Or wt a glance nott once to daine
To ease him of his mortal paine

The Marble Stones here strew’d about
Of Carracters leaue yett some signe
But now are almost eaten outt
By teeth of all deuouring time
The planks & timber from aboue
Downe to the lowest Valts are fau’ne
Wher Toads & Vipers ’mongst them moue
Leauinge theron ther deadly spawne

[p. 559} And Harths that once were vs’d fvr fyers
Now shaded are wt scratchinge Bryers

Yet lower an Arched-Valt extends
Soe hiddious darke & deepe doth sinke
That did the Sun therin desend

- I thinke he scarce Could se a winke
Slumber that from heauy Cares
Wt» drowsiness inchants our sence
Sleepes here secure, as far from feares
Lul’d in the Armes of Negligence
And on her back in sluggish sort
Vpon the pauement lyes & Snort

[p. 560} When from these Ruings I doe goe
Vp an aspiringe Rock nott farre
Whose topp did seeme ast were to know
Wher mists & Stormes ingendred are
And then desending att my leasure
Downe paths made by the storming Waues
I did behold wt greater pleasure
How they did worke the hollow Caues
A worke soe Curious & soe rare
As if that Neptuns Court were ther

268

E. B. Reed,

L’orfraye, avec ses cris .funebres,

Mortels augures des destins,
Fait rire et dancer les lutins
Dans ces lieux remplis de tenebres.
Sous un chevron de bois maudit
Y branle le squelette horrible
D’un pauvre amant qui se pendit
Pour une bergere insensible,
Qui d’un seul regard de pitie
Ne daigna voir son amitie.

1

La se trouvent sur quelques marbres

Des devises du temps passe ;
Icy lage a presque efface
Des chiffres taillez sur les arbres;
Le plancher du lieu le plus haut
Est tombé jusques dans la cave,
Que la limace et le crapaut
Souillent de venin et de bave;
Le lierre y croist au foyer,
A Vombrage d’un grand noyer.

La dessous s’estend une voute
Si sombre en un certain endroit,
Que, quand Phebus y descendroit,
Je pense qu'il n’y verroit goutte;
Le Sommeil aux pesans sourcis,
Enchante d’un morne silence,

Y dort, bien loing de tous soucis,
Dans les bras de la Nonchalence,
Laschement couche sur le dos
Dessus des gerbes de pavos.

1

Tantost, sortant de ces ruines,
Je monte au haut de ce rocher,
Dont le sommet semble chercher
En quel lieu se font les bruines ;
Puis je descends tout a loisir,
Sous une falaise escarpee,

D’ou je regarde avec plaisir
L’onde qui l’a presque sappee
Jusqu’au siege de Palemon,
Fait d’esponges et de limon.

1 Fairfax omits a stanza here.

[p. 561]

[p. 562]

[p. 563]

MS. Fairfax 40. 269

Tis a delightfull sight to see

Standinge on the mururinge shore

When Calmer Seas begin to bee

After the Stormes w* raginge roare

How the blew Trytons doe appeare

Vpon the rollinge Curled Waues

Beatinge wth hiddious tunes ‘the Ayre

Wt Crooked Trumpets Sea-men braues

Att whose shrill notes the winds doe seeme
By keepinge still to beare esteeme

Sometimes the Sea wt? Tempests rore
Frettinge itt Can rise noe higher
Roulinge or’e the flinty shore

Throwes them vp againe retirés
Somtimes through itt’s deuouringe Jawes
When Neptun’s in an angry moode
Poore mariners finde his Cruel lawes
Made to his finy Subiects foode

But Diamonds Amber & the Jett

To Neptune they doe Consecrate

Sometimes soe Cleare & soe serene

Itt seemes ast were a looking glass
And to our Vewes presenting seemes
As heauens beneath the waters was
The Sun in it’s soe clearely seene

That contemplatinge this bright sight
As’t was a doubt whether itt had beene
Himselfe or image gaue the light

Att first appearing to our eyes

As if he had falne from the skyes

Thus Alcidon whose loue inioynes

To thinke for thee noe labor paine
Receaue these Rustick Shepheards lines
That’s from ther liuinge obiects ta’ine
Sence I seeke only desart places

Wher all alone my thoughts doe use
Noe entertainment but what pleases
The genius of my Rural Muse

But noe thoughts more delighteth mee
Then sweet Remembrances of thee

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 18 Juty, 1909.

270 E. B. Reed,

Que c’est une chose agreable
D’estre sur le bord de la mer,
Quand elle vient a se calmer
Apres quelque orage effroyable!
Et que les chevelus Tritons,
Hauts, sur les vagues secouces,
Frapent les airs d’estranges tons
Avec leurs trompes enrouees,
Doat V’eclat rend respectueux
Les vents les plus impetueux.

Tantost l’onde, brouillant l’arene,
Murmure et fremit de courroux,
Se roullant dessus les cailloux
Quelle apporte et qu’elle r’entraine.
Tantost, elle estale en ses bords,
Que lire de Neptune outrage,
Des gens noyez, des monstres morts,
Des vaisseaux brisez du naufrage,
Des diamans, de l’ambre gris,
Et mille autres choses de pris.

Tantost, la plus claire du monde,
Elle semble un miroir flottant,
Et nous represente a l’instant
Encore d’autres cieux sous l’onde.
Le soleil s’y fait si bien voir,
Y comtemplant son beau visage,
Qu’on est quelque temps a s¢avoir
Si c’est luy-mesme, ou son image,
Et d’abord il semble a nos yeux
Qu’il s’est laissé tomber des cieux.

Bernieres, pour qui je me vante
De ne rien faire que de beau,
Recoy ce fantasque tableau
Fait d’une peinture vivante.

Je ne cherche que les deserts,
Ou, resvant tout seul, je m’amuse
A des discours assez diserts

De mon genie avec la muse;
Mais mon plus aymable entretien
C’est le ressouvenir du tien.

1 Fairfax omits the two concluding stanzas.

[p. 564|

[p. 565]

[p. 566]

MS. Fairfax 4o.

Of a Faire Wife

to Coregio

Thou thinkst Coregio thou hast gott
An exelent Beauty to thy lott

But yet remember this againe

For pleasure also thou'lt haue paine
No perfect rest can be to thee

When watchfull always thou must be
Tis hard & difficult to keepe

That all the world desire & seeke

Is her beauty much, Then know

Her pride’s noe less we she doth show
Dost thou admire her th’more will shee
For thy esteeme disdainfull be

But is shee faire Consider this

If shee be chast, some doubt it is

As shee in hansomnes exceeds

Soe much of Modesty shee needs
Shee’l alwayes be a Mistress there
Wher only thou Comand should beare
But wouldst thou haue me to define
This rare beauty that is thine

Thy Idoll as thou make’s of itt

Much more of Hurt then good thoule gett

For th’ Adoration by thee giuen
Giues thee a Hell insteade of Heauen
New habits daly shee will axe

And if denyed then shee will vex
And thinke all’s nothing in her passion
That’s nott in the Mode & fashion
As if her Body were assign’d

To giue Inquietud’s to thy minde

Me thinke I see thee rauisht on her
Thou blinde (as Idolizinge) Louer
Ma’as soone begett Ixion’s brood

On Juno’s Image in a cloude

bo

272

B. E. Reed,

[p. 567] Why shouldst thou longer thus submit

[p. 568]

To her who to obay’s more fitt

Least when thy Reason once is lost
Thy Liberty too itt will Cost

And in the end butt as a slaue

A soueraine for Companion haue

To say noe worse of Beauty I Conclude
It is but an Ilustrious seruitude

Of Beauty

Beauty’s a fraile & brittle good

Web Sicknes Time & Age doe blast
The Rose & Lilly in face thatt budd
Hardly are keept & seldome last
What hath she then to boast on Saue
A fragil life & timely graue

Beauty wher sweet Graces faile

May be Compared vnto this

A goodly ship wt out her saile

A spring her fragrant flower doe miss

[p. 569] A day want's Sun or Torch itts Light

[p. 570]

A shrine want’s Saint or Starless night

But how doth Nature seeme to smother

The Virtues of this louely Flower

Who is of wanton Lust the Mother

Of toyinge Vanity a Bowre

Enimy of Peace the Fount wher Pride doe swime
Th’ Incendeary of Strife of Passions Magazen

Vpon a Patch Face

Noe Beauty Spots should ladyes weare
They but the Spots of beauty are

Who knowes nott this (saue foolish Sotts)
That Beauty aught to haue noe Spotts
Some note a Spot that Venus had

Admitt itt were in one soe badd

Yett should nott shee haue Spots vpon Her
That would be held a Maide of Honor

[p. 571]

[p. 572]

[p. 573}

MS. Fairfax go. 273

Vpon an ill Husband

All Creaturs else on Earth that are
Whether they Peace affect or Warre
Males ther Females ne’re opress

By the Lyon safe lyes the Lyoness

The Beares ther Mates noe harme procure
Wt. Wolfe the shee Woolfe liues secure
And of the Bull the Earth w¢ teeres

The tender Heyfer has noe feares

But men then these more brutish are
Who wt ther wiues Contend & jarre

Of Enuy

In Enuy’s Face discerne I this

Of Monsters shee most Monstrous is
A hurtfull glance her eye doth dart
A painfull paine lies att her hart
Noe Good doe’s Man enioy by Right
Her enuious teeth doth nott bitte

To Carracterize her yitt more fitt
Of Erringe blindness shee the Pitt

A Hell to Natures swetest Life
Reuenges Spur the flame of Strife
Her Actions yett bespeake her worse
To Ciuill Peace a vexinge Curse
Temptation’s Sargent that’s assign’d
The Sentinell of Restless minde
More hurtfull to the soule by farr
Then Vipers to the body are

But in a word t’express this Euell
Tis the Sin peculier to the Diuill

Of Anger

Noe Passion’s rooted deeper or extends
Her branches furder or that more offends
Then Coller doth of wt no sex or Age
Can boast a full exemption from itts rage
And when it’s boundless fury growes

It’s high distemper Madnes showes

|p. 577|

E. B. Reed,

Soe oft as Man is Angery oh tis sadd

He’s nott only weake but blinde & Madd

Error for Truth imbraces & t’wer well

If dearest freinds from enimys he Could tell

A harmeless smile or from the eye a glance
Though vndesign’d puts him into a trance

And when his fury wakes how oft tis seene
Frendships most sacred bonds disolued haue beene
Who doth nott then discerne in sundry fashions
How Man afflicted is wtt Angry passions

More feirce then are some Brutes as may apeare
They sometimes yeilds but he’s in full Cariere
As Mariners when wtt amazement smitt

The Pilots voyce in stormes regards nott itt

Soe men in frenzy ther strange gesters are

Wild as the beasts & Irreguler

The flaminge fire w*' Passions kindle flies

In furious sparkes from his piercinge eyes

His angry face by a reflux of blood

That from his Hart assends becometh rude

His haire wt gastly horror stands vpright

And euery word he speakes he seemes to bitt
His hands & feet in ther excentrick Motions
Breath naught but threats wtt rash & bloody notions
His Lookes soe terrible as doe portend

A fatal Change vnto his nearest freind

What must be then’s distempred soule wtin
Soe vgly outward, but a sinke of Sin

Of Virtue

As wel tun’d Musick sweetly seize

The sences soe doth’t Virtue please

The Virtuous, force the Vitious too
Th’admire in others what they should doe
Those best loue virtue & her lawes

That most Contemnes men’s vains aplaues
Vertue alone ‘all Grace inhance

And she noe vse doth make of chance
Whose effects are transcent in th’ euent
What proceeds from virtue’s permenent

MS. Fairfax 4o.

Those things itt slights the World doe hold
Pretious as Fortunes Goods & Gold

[p. 578] These hath ther wings & flye away
When Man desireth most ther Stay
The virtious Soule prize most that some
Thinkes but from sheepesh nature Come
And nott from Grace the spring fro whence
Flowes Virtue Goodnes Inocence
Care thou for these sence they’le apeare
Much surer Goods then Riches are
Thy virtious acts goe wher thou will
For Companions thou shalt haue still
When Men shall faile & freindship both
A better frende wt» thee then goe’th
Enuy att death shal Cease in Foes
No Post-hume euel Malice knowes

{p. 579] In transendent hight shal vertue shine
Wher feet of Enuy Can not clime
Virtue alone doth death outliue
As't t’wer againe new life doth giue
Whilst Goods of Fortune here haue ends
Virtue alone to heauen assends

[p. 582] Nature & Fortune

What thing is nature we may thus define
God draws’t through Beings in directst line
Wher as in Fortune soe miscal’d by some
More Crooked is & in Meanders rune

As Natur’s rule by prouidence deuine

Soe Fortune too in an obstrucer line

Then Fortune is not blinde as vaine men says
Tis they are blinde discerning not her wayes

[p. 583} The Christian War-fare

The marke of note Gods children here doe beare
Is from the World’s a different Carrecter

He to th’one for portion here beneath

Doth Losses, Shame & Pouerty bequeath

E. B. Reed,

Yett happy those Aflictions wee account
That to the State Eternal doe amount

The worldly brood if we Caractrize

Th’ haue noe Aflictions liue in Paridize
Ther Riches here as they desire augment
Ther Honors too increase to ther Content
But as a dreame these Honers vanish soone
And an eternal woe shal take ther Roome
As fatt of Lambes away they shall Consume
Ther Honor vanish into smoke & fume

[p. 584] T’indure sorrowes & Iniuryes we must

(As Scriptures tel) & be to exile thrust

Then tis a signe indeed heauen is our choyse
When in our Tribulations wee reioyce

T’is Gileads pretious Balme & serues to binde
The wounds & blowes w*" here below we finde
Yea happy choyse though thus the World vs treat
Seing that in heauen our reward is great

The Soulder of that name vnworthy is

That trembles att the sight of enimyes

Soe is the Christian w* that title bear’s

If he att threats of aduerse destine fear’s

But w* a patient calmness lett’s receaue

What the Soueraigne hand is pleas’d to giue

|p. 585] The Midle Region or those parts aboue

Are least obscurd nor ther doe Tempests moue

Soe should our soules be raysd boue Passions sphere
Noe Stormes of Tongues Nor Cloudes of enuy feare
In fronts of Batailes we our fortunes Sett

The Ship at Sea wth stormy winds is bett

The Pilot scapt from former gusts noe more

Feare’s ship-wrack now then what he did before
The Soulder oft to frequent perills knowne
Neglect’s the danger that’s soe Comon growne

And soe should we when our Aflictions growe

Wt lenghtned Patience learne to beare them too
This Life’s a war-fare if sometimes begun

To parly wth our sorrowes t’is soone done

And in th’ end when hopes begin to Cease

a

a

[p. 586] Proues but a Cessation noe Continu’d Peace

Whilst through cleare skyes the Sun triumphant rides
Vpon a sudden cloudes his splendor hides

[p. 587]

[p. 588]

MS. Fairfax 4o. 277

Doth health & Pleasure spur our sences on
Soon sickness Comes and all delights are gone
Such is the State of vs vncertaine men

To know in calmes to guide our Vessels then

Is not enough, but t’is when Tempests rise

To steare a Course both Patient, Stout, & Wise
Did our misfortunes soe deuide our share

As some shee would Aflict & others Spare

We might Complaine of her inconstant fitts
Bullets as soon th’ Captaine as soulder hitts

The Feauer to the Great a deafe eare hath

As to the meanest both subuerts by death

Soe may the Justice of Impartial fate

For Comfort serue vs in our greatest Strait
Why doe we enuy then aspiringe Men

Wt» Stormes the Vallyes are less troubled then
The lofty Hills & humble shrubbs belowe

Less danger’s in then Oakes that highest growe?
See we not how the straitest Popler tree

And spredinge Elme as they vngratfull be

For nurishment) to barreness incline

Whilst prostrate on the ground the Crocked vine
Abundance yeilds or haue we nott seene

From highest plenty men in wants haue beene
How many Kings falne from ther Regall seate
Haue Crack’t their Crownes ther Royal Septers breake
Our Wittnesses by cloudes we all may bringe
To shew that splendid honours a vaine thinge
Should they be ta’ne from vs resolue thus much
Ther loss should not be great ther fading’s such
Should we aflict ourselues when loss appear’s
Our Teares would sooner want then Cause for teares
All you wt heauenly Marks of God indued
Arme to the Fight shew Virtue Fortitude

As Rocks ’gainst w° the raging billowes rore
Keepe firme ther station on the threatned shore
Soe let our Soules be firme & Constant still
Against the threats this World doth make of Ill
Or as a Diamon mongst the dust doth dart

The beauty more in itt’s resplendent sparke

1 Cf. Horace, Carm. II 10.

278

E. B. Reed,

[p. 589] In midst of troubles soe lett vs demeane

. 590]

. 590]

5914]

As Countinances be pleasant Soules serene
Remember t'is from high Aflictions fall
From Prouidence deuine that gouern’s all
Who when he please in turning of an eye
Turn’s Wrath to Mercy Sorrows into Joy
Tis he who made the firtile Earth produce
Her anual fruit most meet for humaine vse
He both the Rose & Violets did Cloth

Tis he beauty & th’oders gaue to both
’Twas his Almighty power that did make fall
Att Israels seige the Jereconian Wall

That on’s Enimyes ruing he might raise
Trophy on Trophy to inrich his Prayse

Shal we then those his wonders now less prize

Or thinke his Power abat’s, or hee less wise
No, hee’s as able still Nor shall His want
Victory on Standards Glory. on ther front

Life & Death Compared together

Such vulgar thoughts the World doe fill.
To thinke Life good Death only ill

Then life ill lived noe euell’s worse
Death (dieing well) remoues the Curse
And tis for certaine truth men tell

He ne’re dies ill that liueth well

Ill liues doe but ther Ills increase

But dieng well makes Euells Cease
Badd men haite death but not soe much
That itt is Ill, as They are such

Moral Men teache vs in their bookes
That we should dispise death’s grime lookes
Tis Comon sence w% doth inspire
Ther feares of thatt Good men desire
Nor Can we truly death define

By makinge odious what’s sublime
Consider’t in th’ effects & soe itt will
Plead much for death be’t Good or Ill
Say itt be Ill yett here’s the Good

To greater Ills it giues a period

In life what one good thinge is ther

[p. 592]

|p. 592]

_ [p. 593]

[p. 594}

MS. Fairfax 4o.

To keepe our Passions Reguler
The many Ills each day is done
Makes Death less fear’d but once to come
But rather thanke Death that’s the Cause
Our Ills are not Imortal Lawes

Vpon a Fontaine

Seest thou how these waters flowe
How soone againe away itt glides
Soe worldly Glory’s but a showe
That neuer long w‘ vs abides?

Vpon the New-built
House att Apleton

Thinke not 6 Man that dwells herein
This House’s a Stay but as an Inne
W for Conuenience fittly stands

In way to one nott made wt? hands
But if a time here thou’ take Rest
Yett thinke Eternity’s the Best

Shortness of Life

In Rosy mor’ne I saw Aurora red

But when the Sun his beames had fully spred
She vanisht I saw a Frost then a Dew

T’wixt time soe short as scarce a time I knew
This stranger seemd when in more raised thought
I saw Death Come How soone a life he’ad Caught
Wher in the turninge of an eye he’ad done

Farre Speedier execution then the Sun

Pour une Fontaine
Vois tu, passant, couler cette onde
Et s’ecouler incontinent ?
Ainsi fuit la gloire du monde
Kt rien que Dieu n’est permanent Malherbe.

279

280

[p. 595]

[p. 596]

E. B. Reed,

Epitaph on A V dieng Younge

O what affront was itt to Nature

And sadder Influence of the Skyes

That in a moment clos’d the Eyes

Of such a machless Creature

But askinge what might be the Reason
That Creuel Fate soe out of season

Had Caried her from vs soe farre

This Answer was to me returnd

Least that the Earth should bee burnd

By th’ scorching beames of that bright starr

The Lady Caryes
Elogy on my deare Wife

O Fatal fall might not those heapes suffice
This Sumer Captiu’d but thou must surprize
The best of Nobels this soe great good Lady
A Vere A Fairfax Honours-Honour, Shee
Did grace her Birth Sex Relate & Degree
& Shee a Non-parell for Piety

Vers't in the Theory of Godliness

The w she did in Conference express

Its Practick part her life to life did shew
Each way but most excellinge in all vew
Was Faith Submission vnweared pleasantnes

[p. 597] With vniuersal weaknes, Paine Sickness

Many longe lasting Great few euer sence

Soe followed Job in suffringe Patience

But she is now most gloriously exalted

Wher sin & sorrow neuer entred

To Mount Zion heauenly Jerusalem

The City of God to Sperits of Just men

To Church of the first borne to Angels blest

To God to Jesus this Compleats the rest

Her Faith saw this wc made her smile att death
And wtt much Joy surrendred vp her breath
Her Body deare her All thats out of Heauen

To Billbrough church as a riche Treasure’s giuen
Bilbrough church-yeard daine me a little roome
That after death my graue waite on her Tombe.

[p. 598]

MS. Fairfax 4o.

To the Lady Cary

Vpon her Verses on my deare Wife

Madam

[p. 599}

[p. 600}

[p. 600]

Could I a Tribute of my thanks express

As you haue done in loue & purer Verse

On my best selfe then I might Justly raise

Your Elogy t’Encomiums of your Prayse

And soe forgett the Subiect that did moue

Me to a thankfulnes as’t did you to loue

O t’were to great a Crime but pray allow

Wher I fall short but you haue reached to
Makinge that Good wisest of Kings hath said
Th’ Liuing’s not soe Preyse-worthy then the dead
I thinke the Reason’s this itts grounded on
‘Cause Mercys are not priz’‘d till they are gone
O had not hopes surpast my grosser sence

My loss Could not haue had a recompence

Yett such an Influence hath your happy straine
To bring my buried Joy to life againe

Vertue Goodnes Loue things Imortalize

The better part when as the other dies

True, Soules in Bodyes haue ther being here
But Loues in Soules haue ther ther proper Sphere
Then is true loue Compos’d of Nobler fyers
Then to extinguish when the Life expires

Butt to Conclude Madam me think you ’spire

In humblest Thoughts to raise your Trophys higher
Then Her’s you would attend in gelid Mould
W° for her Friend the lodging seemes too Could
But were itt soe itt my good happ might bee

To lye next Her, To you our Quire is free

On the Fatal day
Jan: 30 1648

Oh lett that Day from time be blotted quitt
And lett beleefe oft in next Age be waued
In deepest silence th’ Act Concealed might
Soe that the King-doms Credit might be saued

281

bo
(0)
bo

[p. 601]

[f. 604]

|p. 605]

E. B. Reed,

But if the Power deuine permited this
His Will’s the Law & ours must acquiesse

Cure loquuntur leues
Ingentes stupent

Of Inpartial Fate

Here we all the Same Danger run

By the like Destin’s we are ledd

Same Misfortune to the Shepeard Come

May attack as well the Crowned head

Our dayes are Spun vpon that wheele

The meanest Subiect & greatest Kinge

To like end th’ Fatal Sisters bringe

The thread when Cutt both same Sisers feele

A Carracter of the Romish
Church by Francisco Petrarca
Laura Can: 106

Fiamma dal ciel su tue treccie pioua

Heauens dire flame sits on thy Curled tresses

O wrech, from scrip & wallet who’s become

Both riche & great through those w thou oppresses
Soe much reioyces thou when euells Come

A nest of Treasons wher mischeifes bredd

Ther hacht in the o’re the World is spred

Wine Bed good Belly chere & pleasant dayes
To All, thy whoredoms to the vttmost shews
Thy seruants younge & old the wanton playes
This fire wth bellowes Bel-ze-bub blowes

Such is thy life thou wicked Epicure

As to the Heauens thy stinch is gone vp sure

Fountaine of Greefe & woe wraths harbor too
Temple of Heresy Pitt of Errors deepe

In elter times we held thee Rome but now
Babel the peruerse for wth wee weepe

A shopp of Cousnage prison of Crueltyes
Wher ills mentaind & wher Goodnes dyes

[p. 606]

MS. Fairfax 40.

When founded first wast humble Poore & Chast

Thy hornes against thy Founders now thou lifts

O shameles Strumpet wher’s thy trust now plast

Is't in th’ Adultryes ill gott Goods or Shiffts
Then vnto All great wonder itt will bee

If Christ in th’ End powre nott his wrath on thee!

[Fiamma dal ciel su le tue trecce piova,
Malvagia, che dal fiume e dalle ghiande,
Per l’altru’ impoverir se’ ricca e grande;
Poiche di mal oprar tanto ti giova:

Nido di tradimenti, in cui si cova
Quanto mal per lo mondo oggi si spande;
Di vin serva, di letti e di vivande,

In cui lussuria fa Vultima prova.

Per le camere tue fanciulle e vecchi
Vanno trescando, e Belzebub in mezzo
Co’ mantici e col foco e con gli specchi.

Gia non fostu nudrita in piume al rezzo,

Ma nuda al vento, e scalza fra li stecchi:
Or vivi si, ch’a Dio ne venga il lezzo.

Fontana di dolore, albergo diira,
Scola d’errori, e tempio d’eresia;
Gia Roma, or Babilonia falsa e ria,
Per cui tanto si piagne e si sospira.
O fucina d’inganni, o prigion dira,
Ove ’1 ben more, e ‘1 mal si nutre e cria;
Di vivi Inferno; un gran miracol fia,
Se Cristo teco alfine non s’adira.
Fondata in casta ed umil povertate,
Contra tuoi fondatori alzi le corna,
Putta sfacciata: e dov’ hai posto spene ?
Neglh adulterj tuoi, nelle malnate
Ricchezze tante? Or Constantin non torna ;
Ma tolga il mondo triste che ‘1 sostene.?|

283

1 See page 245.
2 These sonnets are not in the MS.

284

[p. 612}

[p. 613]

[p. 614]

|p. 615]

|p. 617]

[p. 618]

E. B. Reed,

Vpon the Horse w* his Matie
Rode vpon att his Coronation 1660

Hence then Dispaire my hopes why should itt bury
Sence this braue Steed Bredd first was in my Query
Now thus aduanc’t wt» highest honors loden

Whilst his that bredd him on by most Mens troden
But t'is noe matter Seing tho’ hast gott th’ Aduance
Then please the Royal Rider wt» thy Prance

Soe may thy Fame much rayse thy Prayses higher
Then Chessnut that begott the or Brid-la-dore his Sire

Bridla-dore (Anglice)
Golden Bridle

Vulgar Proverbs
None to another freind can be
That to himselfe’s an enimy

Of sence & Money & of Faith
Where’s the Man that too much hath

Betwixt the Bridle & the Spur
Reason often lodgeth her

In th’ house of Foes prepose this End
To gett some Woman for thy freind

The Hope of Gaine—Abateth paine

Wouldst thou have all thy troubles cease
Then see & heare & hold thy peace

Lait (doe we say) repents the Ratt
When by the Neck has hold the Catt

His thoughts are good & ever best
That carryes Death wthin his brest

A fatt Earth makes a Horse to labour
But A good Lawyer is an ill Neighbour

Make Night of Night & Day of Day
Soe wt! less sorrow live you may

Pardon to Men that evel be
Unto the God’s an injury

. 635]

MS. Fairfax go. 285

When Pride on horseback getteth upp
Loss & shame sitts on the Croup

He that would live in healthfulnes
Must dine w* little & supp w'' less

As the evening doth the day comend
So life is Praysed by the end

Virtue shewes the greater grace
Shining from a bautious face

Att a rounde Table noe Strife is
Who shal be nearest a good Dish

Dry March Wett Aprel May that’s both
Brings plenty wher ther is noe sloth

In a fresh gale
Extend thy Saile

We may be sure still inocence
Beares in itselfe its owne defence

To read & yitt to have learn’d nought
Is like the chase wher nothing’s caught

Tis good we should the tongue comand
Speake litle & more understand

For if from us our words once fall

It is too laite them to recall

Humaine Praise—lIs a vaine blaze

Sett on a Seat a Foole e’re longe
; : :
Hele wagg his Legges or sing a songe

Nature made nothing so sublime
Butt Virtue to the topp will clime

When a whit frost on earth doth lie
Tis a presage then raine is nie

On a womans first Counsel rest
Seldome the Second is the best

Bread Butter & good Cheese
A shield ‘gainst death be al these

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 19 Jury, 1909.

286 E. B. Reed,

Pardon give to every one
But to thyselfe alow none.

[p. 637] When Italy is wout Fish
When France wttout Treason is
In England longe noe war we see
Then wttout Earth the World shall bee.

[p. 638] My contry is in all lands wher
I goe & meet wt" true friends ther.

|p. 644]

[p. 642]

[p. 643]

MS. Fairfax 40. 287

The teares of France for the
deplorable death of Henry 4
surnamed the Great

Ah is itt then Great Henry soe fam’d

For taming men himselfe by death is tam’d
Whatt eye his glory saw now his sad doome
But must desolue in Teares sigh out his Soule
Soe small a shred of Earth should him intombe
Whos acts deseru’d pocession of the whole

O tis but fitt for joyes we henceforth mourne
Our songes & mirth into sad plaints we turne
Instead of this great King greefe may raigne here
So thatt in sorrow plung’d our fainting breath
May send our endless sighs to th’highst Sphere
Whilst hopless teares distill vpon the earth

Yis itt is fitt what else can we returne

Butt teares as offrings to his sacred vrne

Wt them his Sable Marble tombe bedew

No no such armes too weake sence itt apeares
For vs he of his blood too careless grew

Haue we naught else for him butt a few teares

O could our eyes to fontains we distill

T’ Would nott abaite the least part of our ill
We oft shed teares for simple wrongs oft weepe
Too Comon oft for things of lesser prise

Then lett vs die att this great Monarchs feet
His Tombe th’ Alter, our selues, the sacrifice

But who can die if Sisters Fate denies

A closure to our half death trickling eyes
Hauing shut vp those of this warrlike Prince
Atropos so proud’s of her royal pray

Her Cypriss into laurels will turne, Sence

Of this great Victor she hath gott the day

But sence we are ordain’d to sigh & liue

And after this ther faitall stroke then giue

Liue then complaining this sad shock of Fate
Wher happy days are gone, no ioy appeares
Then mourne & sigh till death our greefe abate
And shew whilst liuing, Life shal wast in teares

E. Bs Reed,

{1 Quoi? faut-il que Henri, ce redouté monarque,
Ce dompteur des humains, soit dompte par la Parque ?
Que l’ceil qui vit sa gloire ores voye sa fin?
Que le nostre pour lui incessamment degoutte ?
Et que si peu de terre enferme dans son sein
Celui qui meritoit de la posseder toute ?

Quoi? faut-il qu’a jamais nos joies soyent esteintes ?
Que nos chants et nos ris soyent convertis en plaintes ?
Qu’au lieu de nostre roi le deuil regne en ces lieux ?
Que la douleur nous poigne et le regret nous serre?
Que sans fin nos sousoirs montent dedans les cieux ?
Que sans espoir nos pleurs descendent sur la terre ?

Il le faut, on le doit. Et que pouvons-nous rendre
Que des pleurs assidus, a cette auguste cendre ?
Arrousons a jamais son marbre triste blanc.

Non, non, .plustost quittons ces inutiles armes!
Mais puisqu’il fut pour nous prodigue de son sang,
Serions-nous bien pour lui avares de nos larmes ?

Quand bien nos yeux seroyent convertis en fontaines,
Ils ne sauroyent noyer la moindre de nos peines.
On espanche des pleurs pour un simple meschef.
Un devoir trop commun bien souvent peu s’estime.
Il faut doncques mourir aux pieds de nostre chef.
Son tombeau soit l’autel et nos corps la victime

Mais qui pourroit mourir? Les Parques filandieres
Desdaignent de toucher a nos moites paupieres,
Ayans ferme les yeux du prince des guerriers.
Atropos de sa proye est par trop glorieuse;

Elle peut bien changer ses cypres en lauriers,
Puisque de ce vainqueur elle est victorieuse.

Puisqu’il nous faut encor et souspirer et vivre,
Puisque la Parque fuit ceux qui la veulent suivre,
Vivons donc en plaignant nostre rigoureux sort,
Nostre bonheur perdu, nostre joye ravie;
Lamentons, souspirons, et jusques a la mort
Tesmoignons qu’en vivant nous pleurons nostre vie.

1 See page 246. This is not in the MS.

MS. Fairfax 4o. 289

Bewaile bewaile this our great Monarchs fall

Of Judgment perfait humour pleasing all

His equal none -a Hart w'®out all feare

Perfection such t’would but fall short in prayse
Enough to’ aue serued a World to’ aue admird here
Had nott his equal Justice bound his wayes

Lament lament this Sage & Prudent King
Thatt hight of Bonty, vigelence in him

Thatt hart wt could be mou’d not ouercome
Virtues here rarely found though we inquire
Parts I could sooner much admire then sume
Sence this Achilis a Homer would require

|p. 644] We cafiott count the Splendours of his Glorys
Nor number yitt his signal victorys
O no for such a subiect were too great
We aught to prayse what yitt we cannot write
And hold our peace or to good purpose speake
He nothing saith doth not to th’ full recite

His famous acts once raisd our drouping heads
His Laurels from the temples was our shades
End of his Combats ended feares wee’re in
Him only pris’d dispis’d all other Powers
More gloring to be subiect to this King

Then if we’ad had some other Kings for ours

But now this Glory’s clouded wt a staine

And now our joy & Mirth ther leaue hath taine

The Lillys faide as we att this sad Fate

Downe to the growne ther drouping heads doe bowe
Seeming as humble as Compassionate

To crowne his Tombe or else him homage doe

[pp. 645, 646 are blank|

290 E. B. Reed, MS. Fairfax 4o.

Plaignons, pleurons sans fin cet esprit admirable,
Ce jugement parfait, cet’ humeur agréable,
Cet hercule sans pair aussi bien que sans peur,
Tant de perfections qu’en loiiant on souspire.
Qui pouvoyent asservir le monde a sa valeur,
Si sa rare equite n’eust borné son Empire.

Regrettons, souspirons cette sage prudence,
Cette extréme bonte, cette rare vaillance,
Ce coeur qui se pouvoit fleschir et non dompter.
Vertus de qui la perte est a nous tant amere
Et que je puis plustost admirer que chanter,
Puisqu’ a ce grand Achille il faudroit un Homere.

Pourroit-on bien conter le nombre de ses gloires ?
Pourroit-on bien nombrer ses insignes victoires ?
Non, d’un si grand discours le dessein est trop haut.
On doit louér sans fin ce qu’on ne peut escrire,

Il faut humble se taire ou parler comme il faut,
Et celui ne dit rien qui ne peut assez dire.

Jadis pour ses beaux faits nous eslevions nos testes,
L’ombre de ses lauriers nous gardoit des tempestes,
La fin de ses combats finissoit nostre effroi.
Nous nous prisions tous seuls, nous mesprisions les autres,
Estant plus glorieux d’estre subjects du roi
Que si les autres rois eussent este leS nostres.

Maintenant nostre gloire est a jamais ternie,
Maintenant nostre joye est pour jamais finie;
Les lys sont atterez et nous avecques eux.
Dafne baisse, chetifve, en terre son visage,
Et semble par ce geste, humble autant que piteux,
Ou couronner sa tombe ou bien lui faire hommage.|

1 Fairfax omits a stanza here.

TRANSACTIONS OF THE

CONNECTICUT ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES

INCORPORATED A. D. 1799

VOLUME 414, PAGES 291-414. MARCH, 1910

The English Moral Plays

BY

ELBERT N. S. THOMPSON, Ph. D.

ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN THE STATE UNIVERSITY OF IOWA

PUBLISHED UNDER THE AUSPICES OF

ALE UNIVERSE Y

NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT

1910

™~

PRINTED BY R.

WAGNER SOHN

rite

V.—Tue EnciisH Mora Puays.
By Expert N. S. THompson.

Cuaprer [.—Tue ALLIANCE OF THE PULPIT AND THE STAGE.

The beginnings of the medieval miracle-plays have been very
clearly traced to the tropes that were added in the tenth century
to the antiphonal portions of the Gregorian service. As yet the
origins of the morality plays have not been determined with equal
certainty; partial investigations have yielded only tentative con-
clusions. The old idea, that the moralities developed from the slight
allegorical elements of the late miracle-plays, has been convincingly
set aside. The influences, too, of the Psychomachia, of the popular
Dance of Death, and of the allegorical handling of the verse in
the Psalms, ‘Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and
peace have kissed each other,” have been made clear, and of late
more thoroughly studied. But a careful examination of the contents
and the spirit of the English moralities will reveal more concerning
their origin and growth, and, the author believes, will eventually
justify the conclusion that both branches of the sacred drama were
devised by churchmen to supplement and enforce Christian teach-
ing. The miracle-plays, like the carvings on the portals of the
Amiens cathedral or the figures on the windows of Chartres, pur-
posed to teach the facts of sacred history; the moral plays, by
placing upon the stage personifications of virtues and vices to re-
present concretely the temptations that man must face and the means
of overcoming them, served to reiterate the moral and doctrinal
message of the pulpit. One received its first development in con-
nection with the antiphonal elements of the mass; the other was
the direct outgrowth of the ensuing homily.

It would be a great mistake to suppose that early Christian worship
consisted chiefly of liturgical forms, to the exclusion or subordination
of the sermon. The record of Christ’s life, the example of the
Apostles, and the tradition of the Jewish synagogue, established at
once both the duty and the method of oral instruction. The earliest
preachers went forth as missionaries to carry the gospel to distant
nations. But almost as soon, certainly in the time of the Apostolic
Fathers, each community of believers was accustomed to receive
religious instruction from its duly appointed leader. Since this
parish preaching was the church’s readiest means of getting its

294 Elbert N. S. Thompson

doctrinal and ethical teaching before the people, its importance,
naturally, was at once recognized. On Sundays and festival days
the sermon had its own fixed place, usually following the reading
of the Scriptures, in the regular order of worship. Nor was the
preaching confined to such occasions. Many of Augustine’s homilies
attest the fact that at certain seasons of the year he was wont to
preach almost daily, sometimes, we are told, five times a week.
Moreover, long series of sermons on various books of the Bible,
like Augustine’s on the Psalms, or Chrysostom’s on Romans, were
common; for even those leaders on whom the cares of administration
bore most heavily did not slight their parochial work. Instant they
were both in season and out of season; during the period when
the new religion was still subject to persecution, the foundations
of Christian homiletics were strongly laid, and when persecution
ceased, the pulpit orator became an acknowledged leader of society.}

The earliest sermons were very simple, if not quite extempora-
neous, expositions of the Scriptural lessons that preceded them,
with a few words added of pertinent admonition and exhortation.
This combination, however, of explanation and application, which
the example of Origen had fully established, proved susceptible
of rich development. Gradually the structure and composition of
the sermon were given more thought; its appeal under the influence
of the powerful Tertullian became more direct and forceful; and
its scope, in the fourth century, was broadened by the introduction
of doctrinal teaching. In all these respects the sermon grew in
power till its high, but perfectly normal, culmination was reached,
for the Greek church in the impassioned eloquence of Chrysostom,
and for the Latin church in the clear, practical addresses of Au-
gustine, the profoundest theologian of his age. Through all classes
of society in Antioch and Constantinople, Chrysostom’s denunciation
of vice and pleading for righteousness exerted an influence that
made him feared and hated by evil-doers, but loved by his people.
From his pulpit in the west, Augustine battled against heresy and
sin with a power that often left his hearers in tears.

This, the high-water mark of early Christian preaching, was soon
to be succeeded by long centuries of decline and impotence.? The
right to preach was vested in the bishops alone, and although they,
when prevented from performing such service by sickness or en-
forced absence, were allowed to license substitutes,* the number of

1 Dargan, 63-64. 2 Milman, Bk. 9, chap. 9.
3 Lecoy de la Marche, 21—26.

a

The Enghsh Moral Plays 295

preaching churchmen was altogether inadequate to meet the rapidly
growing demands. The bishops and monks, moreover, were rendered
worldly by the management of their secular affairs, while the parish
priests remained too ignorant or too indifferent to guide the people.
Consequently, oral instruction from the pulpit, especially in rural
districts, was infrequent and poor. Nevertheless, even in the darkest
period there were hopeful indications. Charlemagne and the ec-
clesiastics of his time urged that every priest be empowered, and
even forced, to preach. As another means of increasing the common
usefulness of the sermon, in the ninth century exhortation in the
open air was encouraged.? And that even the ignorant clergymen
upon whom these new responsibilities were thrust might have sound
teaching to offer, collections of homilies were prepared. All this
indicates that religious instruction from the pulpit was not forgotten
or contemned. Its high traditions would have been kept alive, if
in no other way, by the Pastoral Care which Gregory prepared
for the instruction of the clergy. That much admired treatise insists
with special emphasis that the priest should not be a dumb servant
of God. He should understand, to be sure, that discretion often-
times recommends silence; but he should also be alert to seize
those occasions that demand fearless speech. With the aim, there-
fore, of teaching the clergy to speak effectively, yet with moderation,
“to exhort by sound doctrine and to convince the gainsayers,” the
treatise gives explicit directions for the preparation of sermons.
Such instruction came with telling effect from Gregory, who him-
self set so high an example of faithful and intelligent effort in
preaching. The Pastoral Care was read all over Europe, even
being translated into Old English by King Alfred, and given, as
far as possible, to every Englishf priest; and it must have been,
to all but the most faithless, a constant reminder of the duties and
responsibilities of priesthood.

The latent energy of the medieval church, of which these facts
give but a faint indication, reawakened to a new period of activity
in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The higher clergy, frighten-
ed by the persuasive oratory of heretical teachers, entered with
new zeal upon their labors among men. At the same time, the
truer learning and richer spirituality that ripened in the monasteries,
impatient of narrow seclusion, filled the monks with a desire to
guide and control. The story of Bernard of Clairvaux shows how
fruitful monasticism could be. Finally, in the early thirteenth cen-

1 Hering, 55-58. 2 Lecoy de la Marche, 226—29.

296 Elbert N. S. Thompson

tury, the preaching friars of the Dominican and Franciscan orders.

carried to all parts of Europe the teachings of Christianity, and
by their example forced all orders of the clergy to render more
efficient and unselfish service to their fellow men. Then, as perhaps
never before, from a sense of what humanity had lost through its
neglect, the Church gave guidance and inspiration to the common
people. The Crusades, the cathedrals, the saints’ legends, and the
sacred plays, bear witness to the moral awakening. The people
were ready for instruction, and the priests and friars strove ear-
nestly to teach them.

In accepting this new understanding of their duties to man, the
preachers of the time changed radically their methods. They were
at once forced to adapt their instruction, as the friars did, to the
ill-trained audiences they addressed. In so doing they but followed
a course not unknown in actuality, and long sanctioned in theory.
The simplicity and directness of Augustine’s discourses witness con-
clusively to the pains he took to reach the people. The necessity
for such practical adaptation had been explained in detail by
Gregory the Great in the long third part of the Pastoral Care.
Moreover, in 816 those churchmen who seemed inclined to forget
the teaching were reminded by the Council of Aix-la-Chapelle that
the same kind of nourishment was not suited to all stomachs.?
Preachers, therefore, were unquestionably familiar with the principle ;
and they must soon have learned by experience, as their sermons
were interrupted by disorders, or as they saw groups of men leaving
their churches, what popular oratory demanded.? The first reform,
of course, was to substitute for the Latin language, which was
always used in addressing the clergy, the speech of the people.
Grosseteste at Lincoln and Abbot Samson at Bury St. Edmunds
preached, and insisted that others preach, in English. But preachers
had also to learn to vary their treatment of a subject to render it
suitable to particular occasions. Undoubtedly, the friars showed
the greatest readiness in adaptation, carrying it so far in the next
century as to lay themselves open to charges of insincerity and fraud.
But in general the preachers of the age worked zealously and
creditably to impress upon the world the truths that it had for-
gotten.

In this common movement of reform and expansion the arts of
the orator and rhetorician were not overlooked. Honorius of Autun

1 Lecoy de la Marche, 207-08. 2 Tbid., 215.
3 Speculum Ecclesiae, 830. Stevenson, 32, 297.

EE ——

OE

The Enghsh Moral Plays 297

warned the speaker that he should neither gesticulate as though
he were throwing his words at the congregation, nor stand with
closed or averted eyes; rather he should speak, as the rhetoricians
teach, with moderate gestures, and in a carefully studied manner.!
Owing, however, to the current opinion that less difficulty was ex-
perienced in the composition and delivery of sermons than in the
gathering of material,? homiletic treatises were more often designed
to furnish the busy or unfruitful priest with matter suitable for
discourse. At the close of his famous collection of sermons, the
Speculum Ecclesiae, Honorius of Autun expressed the belief that all
preachers filled with ardor for heavenly things would find its many
homilies on the gospels and on the lives of saints and martyrs an
aid in pastoral labor.? He had been induced to undertake the work,
his preface explains, by his fellow clergymen, who had found the
incomparable sacred writings of the Fathers, either because of their
antiquity or because of their elevation of thought, ill suited in
certain respects to the audiences of their own time. Hence he
had gathered in this series of sermons the most vital teaching of
Ambrose, Augustine, Jerome, Gregory, and many other noted
preachers, adapting the material, by a convenient arrangement ac-
cording to the order of church festivals, and by a clear and simple
style of composition, to the needs of the day. The Speculum Ec-
clesiae was one of the earliest compilations that sought thus to
preserve in practical working shape the best thought of the past.

For the student of the allegorical drama, however, the most sug-
gestive example of this type of literature is Alain de Lille’s Summa
de Arte Praedicatoria. The greater part of the work is devoted to
expositions in praise of virtues like patience and obedience, and in
condemnation of vices such as envy and pride, and to exhortations
to prayer, penance, and other religious duties that the church
wished to stress. Exactly these same lessons appeared later in the
morality plays in dramatic guise, as though the authors had studied
to good purpose the pages of the treatise. Alain de Lille’s method,
though, is still purely expository. After citing at the beginning of
each chapter verses from the Bible applicable to the ethical trait
under consideration, he enters upon a discussion of its distinctive
qualities and effects that is marked by the orderly, systematic

1 A story of Demosthenes’ eloquence in the Alphabet of Tales (No. 639),
concludes, ‘‘a grete parte of Demostenes wantys when it is red, mor
pan when it is hard.”

2 Humbert de. Romanis, 456.

3 1085.

298 Elbert N. S. Thompson

method of the age. He, too, drew freely from the writings of the
Fathers. The scope of this extensive treatise on the virtues and
vices, the author’s keen analysis of man’s varied psychic motives

and the sensible, forceful doctrine that concludes the chapters, must
have done much to vitalize and quicken in the thirteenth century the
objective study of the conflicting impulses of the inner life, and thus.
to prepare the way for the morality plays.

The leaders of the church, however, felt that it was not enough
to collect in such treatises the doctrines that preachers were re-
quired to expound; they believed that full directions should also
be given for the most effective employment of the material.
Honorius, accordingly, gave numerous suggestions for those who
were to use the sermons of the Speculum Ecclesiae. “Let this be
the end, if you wish,” he notes at one point, “but time remaining,
this may be added.”! Later he marks a possible end for a dis-
course in case the preacher found that excessive heat or cold, or
any other inconvenience, was interfering with the audience’s atten-
tion.” Of other sermons he designates certain portions as useful
only on certain specified occasions, or in churches consecrated to
particular saints. These hints remain always quite incidental; for
the sermons have an independent value that would render them
frequently appropriate. Quite different, though, are the sermons in
one whole section of the De Eruditione Praedicatorum, which were
prepared by Humbert expressly to illustrate the mode of adapting
discourse to special places and occasions—‘ ad omne genus nego-
tiorum.”? One address he frames for a meeting of the higher clergy ;
another he intends for a service consecrating a graveyard; a third
is to welcome returning pilgrims. For every conceivable occasion
a formal model suggests precisely the most appropriate theme and
its most effective treatment.

Similar specimen discourses in these treatises were intended to
help the priests more directly in applying their words to the partic-
ular audiences before them. In the latter part of his treatise,*
for example, Alain states specifically the needs of soldiers, judges,
widows, and other types of people, and shows how the preacher
should accomodate his thought to them. With the same end in
view, Jacques de Vitry prepared seventy-four sermons supposedly
directed® to specially designated audiences of prelates, secular

ey ISP 2 830. 3 Lib. 2, sect. 2.
4 Chap. 39.

5 Sermones Vulgares, Or, Sermones ad Status.

The English Moral Plays 299

canons, crusaders, husbandmen, or tradesmen, as the case might be.
Equally full is the section of Humbert’s treatise that exemplifies
concretely this same sort of adaptation. The sixty-sixth specimen
is addressed “to students of medicine.” They should be told,
Humbert explains, that the liberal arts and the sciences of law and
of medicine were devised, each in its own proper sphere, to restore
to man in part the perfection of mind and of body and the instinct
for right conduct that were lost through Adam’s sin. Of the three
means, he continues, medicine is the most valuable, for it advances
not only health of body, but may also further works of mercy and
the attainment of spiritual health. In the pursuit of this high call-
ing, however, all physicians are not capable or faithful. For these,
the author indicates what sort of exhortation should be used, re-
commending especially the general warning that they trust less to
their own skill than to prayer. At the close, the theme as usual is
plainly stated, and the leading points embraced by it are listed.
In this sermon we have a typical specimen of Humbert’s method,
which, in general, was the method of all who compiled these
manuals of practical instruction; for all had in view the end of
furnishing the pulpit of the day with matter and modes of treatment
that would convey the teaching of the church most directly to all
classes of people.

These sermonnatres, however, could be but partially successful in
effecting this end. That they were widely circulated, the student
of medieval literature finds abundantly proved, and that their formal
suggestions for adaptation may have guided practical churchmen
to some extent, one may readily believe. But they could be really
serviceable only on academic occasions when the preacher would
find a homogeneous audience, and not in services that the ordinary
parish priest or itinerant preacher would conduct. Hence some
more popular means of adaptation was needed; doctrine had to be
rendered tangible by pointed illustrations. To supply this want,
collections of interesting and even humorous stories, commonly
called in ecclesiastical literature exempla, were made to serve as
~clergymen’s commonplace-books. “They are not to be regarded as
distinct either in purpose or character from the sermonnatres already
discussed ; for the most famous collection of exemp/la was made up
of stories found in Jacques de Vitry’s Sermones ad Status; they
were to supplement the homilaria by supplying in greater plenty,
and in more compact shape, ‘anecdotes that even inferior preachers
‘could use to rouse the interest, or sharpen the understanding, of
their audiences.

300 Elbert N. S. Thompson

The employment of anecdote to illuminate or enforce is as old,
presumably, as moral instruction. As the tried handmaid of ex-
position it has held in even serious literature a place by no means
so inconspicuous or unessential as its nature would seem to allow.
How effective such narrative may be when it dispenses almost
entirely with its didactic foundation, the parables of the New
Testament beautifully demonstrate. Hence it is not surprising that
the early preachers resorted at least occasionally to its use. In
twelve of the forty homilies on the Gospels, Gregory the Great
introduced, most often toward the close, apposite stories, while in
his dialogues he added many more that were widely circulated.?
Not, however, till the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries did
this means of exposition gain its wide vogue. Then, as the preaching
friars carried the church’s teaching to even the commonest men,
they learned the efficacy of the illustrative anecdote. Saint Dominic
himself resorted to its use;? Jacques de Vitry believed that many
are moved by examples who are not reached by precept;* Alain de
Lille advised preachers to introduce them at the end of their dis-
courses, where interest ordinarily flags, to prove their doctrine.*
Even a little of such encouragement would have sufficed to establish
a practice that gratified so thoroughly the passion of the age for all
kinds of narrative. The numerous collections of exemp/a prove their
success, but possibly give a wrong impression regarding their use;
for their compilers only rarely indicate a story’s application, as did
Stephen of Besancon in adding to one tale the conclusion: “ This
tale is gude to tell agayns baim bat er slaw in penance doyng, or
at will not lefe syn or it lefe baim.”® Notwithstanding the fact
that the compilers usually left the responsibility of interpretation
with the preacher, they all insisted, as did Pierre de Limoges,®
that the exemplum should have a direct bearing upon the thought
of the sermon; for, after all, the anecdote was intended but as
a means to a serious end.

In form, the several collections of exempla varied considerably.
The contents of The Alphabet of T. ales, Tike so many others, were
arranged alphabetically under topics such as Abbas, Consciencia, and
Oratio, with an abundance of cross-references. Stephen of Bourbon
grouped his material topically under the seven gifts of the Holy
Spirit, connecting his tales by a thin thread of exposition. Other

' Crane, xviii. 2 Etienne de Bourbon, 12 ff.
3 Crane, xx. 4 Bozon, xi. 5 Alphabet of Tales, No. 30.
® Lecoy de la Marche, 299.

The Enghsh Moral Plays 301

compilers proceeded after no methodical plan. So, also, the exempla
themselves varied, from a cursory statement, in some instances,
giving the merest skeleton of plot, to a complete story, in others,
told with zest and skill. The stories, too, cover a fairly broad
range. Of course, one compiler borrowed freely from another,
usually with no acknowledgment, and all are indebted to practically
the same ultimate sources—the Vitae Patrum, Gregory’s Dialogues,
the Dialogus Miracularum, and the current saints’ legends.t Even
within a single collection there is some repetition. Nevertheless,
the collections offer a wide variety of material; history of all
shades of authenticity, saints’ legends, fable literature and folk-lore,
personal experiences—all contribute to the making of what Haw-
thorne would call these ministerial “ note-books.”

Neither the compiler nor those he served drew in all probability
any clear distinction between the sources from which the stories
were derived. They would classify them, rather, according to the
nature of the moral taught, and repeat the same story several times
if several lessons were suggested.” The tale might be a simple
example of right living that the preacher would commend. A holy
man once saw “by revelacion” the house that was being built in
heaven for the shoemaker who worked steadily all the week, and
on the Sabbath went to the church to give his savings to the poor.’
Other equally effective tales were told as warnings. A blasphemer
was afflicted by paralysis of his left hand, and, on his remaining
obdurate in the sin, by paralysis of the other members of his body.*
Still others exposed to ridicule the follies of the day. A certain
percentage of the exemp/a can be classed neither as encouragement,
nor warning, nor satire; for example, the many tricks perpetrated
by clever rogues upon the righteous, are told without any hint of
disapprobation, the preacher, no doubt, being left to supply that,
in case the audience seemed willing to receive it. Such stories,
and indeed not such alone, savor strongly of the tavern jest. But
the majority hold true to the original didactic intent of the species.
_ To recall lax Christians to religious ceremonies there were at hand
the story of the nun who, forgetting to make the sign of the cross
before eating, swallowed a devil with a leaf of lettuce®; the ex-
ample of the poor scholar who amused himself during responses
by imitating the street cries of Paris venders; and the very different

1 Crane, Ixx. 2 Bonaventura, 245.
3 Alphabet of Tales, No. 293. ¢ Etienne de Bourbon, No. 392.
5 Jaques de Vitry.

302 Elbert N. S. Thompson

example of the woman who went from town to town to hear the
itinerant preacher, and whom the Lord miraculously fed by a hare

sent from heaven.t There were stories in abundance on temptation,.

on good manners and bad habits, on the power of the Virgin, and
on moral virtues. Some stories sought even to enforce doctrine,
by showing that the active life is not to be altogether despised,
or that the excommunicated person is abhorrent even to the lower
animals.2 Occasionally the stories end with a specific statement
of the moral; one on anger, for example, in the A/phadbet of Tales,
closes with the words, “ for whar per is labur & felashup commonlie
per is paciens &. goddis helpe.”* Usually, however, in the ex-
emplum proper, as distinguished from the moralized tale, the en-
forcement is left to the preacher, who would see the obvious pur-
port of the tale—whether encouragement, warning, or ridicule—and
use it accordingly.

Here, though, lurked the danger. Insist as they might that the
exemplum must always have a didactic value, the higher clergy
could not prevent its misuse by their irresponsible brethren. The
line of demarcation between instruction and amusement, propriety
and indecency, was often lost sight of by preachers who were
above all else anxious to please. Such speakers developed the
story at the expense of the sermon, and did not scruple to use
ribald tales and scurrilous jests. Without exaggeration Dante could

protest *:
Now men go forth with jests and drolleries

To preach, and if but well the people laugh,
The hood puffs out, and nothing more is asked.

The abuse inevitably called forth from ecclesiastical councils re-
strictive legislation; yet, since the proper use of exempla was not
forbidden, their improper use could not be prevented. A more
salutary remedy was found in collections of sacred stories, which
were devised to offer all the attractions of the secular collections,
with none of their objectionable features. The Siblia Pauperum,
or the Virtutum Vitiorumque Exempla, \ong attributed to Bona-
ventura, was intended to supply preachers who had few books or
little leisure with suitable illustrative matter from the Old and New
Testaments. The compiler admitted the efficacy of anecdote only

1 Etienne de Bourbon, Nos. 213, 77, 78.

2 Etienne de Bourbon, Pt. 5, and Bozon’s collection.
3 Alphabet of Tales, No. 404.

4 Crane, Ixviii-lxix. Par. 29. 115-17.

y S-

The English Moral Plays 303

when kept in close subjection to “sacra verba,” and argued that
in the Scriptures, the sole repository of absolute truth, must be
found the preacher’s best help.t. Hence he gathered many Bible
stories, outlining them very briefly and grouping them under such
topical headings as ‘Concerning Idolatry,” “ Concerning Blasphemy
against God,” and “Concerning Good Angels.” This treatise, and
others like it, were prepared to check the resort to objectionable
narrative in the pulpit. They plainly testify to two facts: that the
exempla had found universal favor with the masses, and that the
preachers regarded them as too useful to be wisely discarded.

The determination to carry the teachings of the church directly
to all classes of men and women in the most effective and even
most interesting way, a determination that forced the clergy to
make the sermon, both in matter and form, something other than
a religious treatise, led directly to the recognition of the drama as
a legitimate and useful aid. Already the church had grown ac-
customed to compose and enact at the altar for the instruction of
the people the most important incidents of sacred history, very
simply at first, but soon with ever increasing elaboration and dis-
play. Certain uncompromising theologians condemned the miracle-
plays, and tried to suppress them; but their efforts at reform availed
little. The people were fond of sacred representations, and we may
well believe that the preacher whose aim was really evangelistic
appreciated too thoroughly their didactic value to abandon them
willingly. Moreover, even those who felt the sacrilege of the
miracle-plays could not offer that objection against the dramatic
portrayal of virtue and vice; they might even regard this as a
safe check upon the other. There was ample precedent, therefore,
for utilizing the drama as a subsidiary means of moral instruction.
Of course, had ecclesiastical affairs been under the guidance of
merely philosophical theologians, the idea of placing upon the
stage personifications of moral qualities to illustrate the wages of
sin and the power of holiness, would have seemed both artistically
_and psychologically incongruous. But churchmen had dramatic im-
pulses that ruled their manner of expression and their modes of
thought. The employment, therefore, of the moral play to enforce
the teachings of the pulpit was in strict accordance with the spirit
of the age.

Instinctively medieval churchmen, especially the monks, felt them-
selves so near to God that they conceived of sacred things in a

1 Praefatio, 244—45.

304 Elbert N. S. Thompson

dramatic spirit. The preacher often unconsciously threw his dis-
course into the present tense, speaking as though Christ and the
Apostles were still living and teaching upon earth. Augustine, for
example, began a homily with the words, “I am reminded to speak
to you, beloved, on that exhortation which the Lord hath just now
uttered out of the gospel.”1 The one to feel this relationship most
intimately was probably Saint Bernard, who customarily spoke of
the saints as his contemporaries. In retelling the story of the
Annunciation as given in the Gospel of Luke, he imagines himself
standing with the angel before Mary, and addresses her directly;
in the sermon on the Purification, he discusses with her the need
for her compliance with the law.2. The freedom betokens, it seems,
not rhetorical artifice, but the closest sympathy with sacred story.

It was inevitable that preachers who read the Scriptures with
this personal intimacy should reproduce in direct discourse many
of the effective dialogues found in the Bible. Bede, in the simplest
way, without thought of narrative effect, would read the verses one
by one, and give each full explanation. Thus, for example, Gabriel’s
speeches to Mary at the Annunciation lose all their dramatic value
in the accompanying discussion.* Gradually, though, a more dra-
matic style came to prevail. /£lfric and the Blickling homilist of
the tenth century accorded the Biblical dialogue greater prominence,
keeping the speeches more closely together by restricting the inter-
polated expository matter. In these homilies, and in later sermons
of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the impression of rapid,
realistic dialogue is thereby gained. Wherever the Scriptural
passage that he was handling made it possible, as was the case
throughout the sermons on the Song of Songs, Bernard conducted
the dialogue in this dramatic style, interspersing between the
speeches found in the text his own comments, but connecting by
phrases of his own the dissevered parts. In such simple Scriptural
dialogue, the Annunciation scene, the miracles, the stories of the
saints, and other vivid episodes from sacred history, were trans-
planted to the literature of these four centuries without emotional
and spiritual loss.

If the living presence of Gospel narrative in the hearts of the
higher clergy thus inspired the frequent use of simple dialogue in
the pulpit, so on their part the exemp/a that we have discussed
prompted the inferior preachers, and, in their less serious moods,

2 Sermon 3, p. 48. 2 Guvres Completes, 3. 355; Tbid., 327.
5 5. 360-68.

The English Moral Plays 305

the greater ones as well, to the same course. The telling of these
stories with brevity and point practically necessitated dialogue, as
one can see by examining the exempla of the Speculum Ecclesiae,
in which the collection’s most conspicuous instances of direct quo-
tation are found. Honorius tells the story, later incorporated into
the Alphabet of Tales, of the miserly tax-gatherer who was saved
from hell by his one act of unmeaning charity, and who lived to
see Christ in heaven wearing the cloak he had given an unworthy
beggar.! He cites the familiar examples, also, of the harlot con-
verted by a priest, and of the dead man who returned to divide
his property wisely and to tell what he had seen in the other
world.2. These stories are very unobtrusively introduced by Honorius
for the exemplum had not then attained its full popularity; yet he
allows the characters to speak for themselves. In another twelfth-
century compilation, the story that Jacques de Vitry told of the
devil’s giving eight of his daughters in marriage to representatives
of eight different classes of society, but leaving the ninth, Lust, to
enjoy the freedom she desired, was more fully developed.? So it
was, as one would expect, that these illustrative narratives proved
readily adaptable to dramatic rendering in the pulpit.

Not, however, in these anecdotal excrescences, but rather in
sermons on the most serious and exalted themes, did dialogue find
its fullest opportunity. After learning to rehearse the simple dialogue
contained in the Scriptural lesson of the day, preachers took soon
the next obvious step, and simulated as real a more extended
dialogue that might plausibly have been carried on by Bible char-
acters. To add to the reality of the words, some brief description
of the scene could be added, or more effectively developed, and
the preacher would then be virtually reciting, as men were supposed
during the Middle Ages to have read in public the comedies of
Plautus and Terence, a religious play. Professor Cook has called
attention to three homilies of Grecian churchmen composed in this
dramatic form, and to a fourth attributed to Augustine—all on the
_Annunciation and Incarnation.’ So great was the dramatic impulse of
the age that preachers of the Latin Church, as early even as the

1 Nos. 316, 297.

2 Jacques de Vitry, No. 257; Alphabet of Tales; Patr. Lat., 172. 889,
892-94, 897-98, 881-82.

8 Printed by Bourgain, 220-23. The same story is in Jubinal, Nouveau
Recueil, 1. 288.

4 Journal of Germanic Philology, 4. 421—51.

306 Elbert N. S. Thompson

tenth century, used without scruple the artifice of dialogue for the
very framework of their most important sermons.*

The Blickling homilist, in his sermon on The Story of Peter and
Paul, retained the abundance of dialogue that he found in his apo-
cryphal source, giving it, however, a prominence that determined
the nature of the whole discourse.? After a short introduction, he
states the theme of his drama—the contention of the two Apostles
with Simon Magus when they were brought before Nero to face
the sorcerer’s accusations. The preliminary situation is then ex-
plained by the author. But immediately, as the accused are
brought before the emperor, Simon in person prefers his charges.
“Hear me, worshipful emperor; I am the Son of God, who came
down from heaven, but I have up to this time suffered great injury
from Peter.” Thereafter the story is carried on largely by the
characters themselves. Nero asks for explanations; the accused and
the accuser recite facts and submit charges; the tests that are to
establish the false pretensions of one party or the other are pro-
posed and carried through, till finally Peter’s prayer dashes the
presumptuous magician to death. Some of the speeches are long
and devoid of action; but there is a good deal, also, of brisk,
natural conversation. “Then said Simon the sorcerer, ‘These are
the disciples of the Nazarene Saviour.’... Nero said, ‘Who is the
Nazarene?’ Simon replied, ‘There is a city in the land of Judea,
called Nazareth, from whence came their teacher.’ Then said Nero,
‘God instructeth and loveth every man; why persecutest thou these
men?’ Simon said, ‘These are the persons who frustrate all my
works, so that folk should not believe in me.’ Then said Nero,
‘Why were ye two or your kin so faithless?’ Then said Peter to
the sorcerer, ‘Thou wast able to teach thy false crafts to all other
persons; but God through me convicted them of falsehood... thou
couldest not overcome me.’?” The sermon, as one sees, is virtually
a dramatic narrative.

Equally notable for its dramatic form and spirit is the sermon on
the Assumption of the Virgin in these same tenth-century homilies.‘
Here the progress of the dialogue is just as effective, and the sug-
gestion of action even more clear and dramatic. The angel brings
Mary a palm sprig; Mary dresses herself in preparation for the end;
the Apostles are conveyed miraculously to the scene; the procession

1 Bourgain, 211-12, regards the practice as peculiar to the twelfth
century.

2 Apocryphal Gospels, Acts, and Revelations, 256—78.

Ss V4. 4 136-59.

The Enghsh Moral Plays 307

is formed; the Jew who would dishonor the bier is smitten from
heaven. These are some of the plainly suggested dramatic situations
that transform the sermon into a little drama.

In exactly the same spirit, Bernard preached on the text, “ Filize
Jerusalem, nuntiate dilecto quia amore langueo.”? After first ex-
plaining the different methods of treating such a subject, the preacher
sketches for his hearers the scene, showing Mary on her sick-bed
with the angels about her. He then rehearses the conversation
that might have passed between them. The angels ask Mary why
she has not been seen recently on Calvary or the Mount of Olives,
or at the tomb. She gives at first a brief reply in the words of
the text, “I am languishing.” “Of what do you languish?” the
angels inquire. “How can sickness trouble the body in which the
salvation of the world has rested?” Thereupon Mary, in longer,
slower speech, tells them that she is dying not of grief or pain,
but for love of her Son, who, she knows, will not forget her. There-
upon the angels, returning to heaven, report to Christ what they
have learned. As the scene thus changes to heaven, with one of
his customary transitions, “Quid putamus Jesum nisi tale aliquid
locutum?” the preacher returns again to dialogue, as Jesus sup-
posedly assures the angels that he, whose gospel is love, will not
forsake his own. Perhaps this brief outline will indicate how dra-
matic in spirit the sermon is; it contains a definite suggestion of the
scene, brisk dialogue, and an effective close.

The fact is too little noted in the study of the origins of the
sacred drama that at the time tropes were bringing the dramatic
portrayal of sacred history to the altar, sermons were being delivered
on the same themes and in exactly the same spirit.2 But these
narrative sermons in dialogue were not restricted to Bible story ;
one significant example of an original dramatic situation is found
in Bernard’s address on Saint Clement. The speaker reminds his
hearers that the saint was ready to sacrifice his worldly position

1 The source of this sermon is the apocryphal De Transit Mariae.

2 Cantic. 5. 8. Patr. Lat., 185. 190-93. Bourgain, 211, attributes the
sermon to Guerrie d’Igni. Bourgain, 373—83, prints a sermon by Anselm
on the Resurrection.

* The sermon, once attributed to Augustine, in which the prophets,
one after another, rehearse on the request of the preacher their testimony
of the Christ to come, was read as a part of the Christmas service. It was,
then, not a sermon in the sense in which we are using the w ord. See
Sepet, Les Prophétes du Christ, 3. 10.

* Guvres Completes, 3. 468—70.

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 21 Marcu, 1910.

308 Elbert N. S. Thompson

and disregard his mental attainments, to win the love of God. At
this point Bernard fancies that Satan is before him, muttering be-
tween his teeth as of old, “ All that a man hath will he give for his
life,” and accordingly the preacher turns to show Satan that Clement
had offered even his life for Christ.1 Bernard almost feels that the
saint had actually despised his body, until Clement assures him in the
words of Paul, “no man ever yet hated his own flesh.”? But some
one of the auditors is here supposed to object that he, too, could
show the same fortitude were the time of persecution not passed,
and thus is introduced Bernard’s homily on steadfastness in minor
trials. In this original sermon, Bernard has obliterated all distinc-
tions of space and time to bring together a number of characters,
the devil and the saint, Bernard himself and a member of his con-
gregation, in a conversation purely didactic in character. Here, then,
is a very significant example of the homiletic rendering of little
dramas that bear a strong resemblance to the moral plays.

But the clergy found not only its medium of communication in
the widespread dramatic impulse of the age; they found in it
as well their expository method; for the use of allegory as a means
of embodying moral principle, which is the distinctive feature of
the moralities, sprang directly from the inability of the mind to con-
ceive sheer abstractions, and the consequent tendency to represent
them as living beings. The essays of the Alexandrian philosopher
Philo, dealing with subjects like Justice and Sobriety, undoubtedly
gave an incentive to psychic study. But the poets imbued these
qualities with human life. One of the popular fables of Phaedrus
relates the experiences of two travelers, Truth and Falsehood.’
In the Metamorphoses of Apuleius, likewise, Terror and Fear appear
as servants of Minerva at the judgment of Paris, just as in the story
of Cupid and Psyche such characters as Sobriety and Solicitude
take their parts. The poet Claudian, of the fourth century, was
especially fond of such personifications, introducing freely virtues
and vices as human beings. Such a method of personification
immediately recommended itself to Christian writers. Poets and the
authors of religious and educational treatises were soon using alle-
gory as their means of exposition. The preachers, therefore, who
would place their teaching on the stage, found at hand a popular,
and, on the whole, an effective, method of vivifying the abstract
principles of their faith.

1 Job 2. 4. 2 Ephesians 5. 29.
3 Hervieux, 2. 189-40. * See Ebert, 1. 287—88.

The English Moral Plays 309

. Two religious treatises of the second century may be taken to

\ illustrate how quickly the allegorical method was absorbed into
Christian literature. The more important, perhaps, is 7he Pastor of

< Hermas, a strange piece of apocalyptic literature which for three
centuries enjoyed a popularity that seemed destined to fulfil the
hopes of its unknown author, who wrote in order that erring
Christians might be reclaimed. In the first vision the dreamer sees,
among other things, seven women, who are introduced by the ex-
positor as the seven Christian virtues, Faith, Self-Restraint, Sim-
plicity, Innocence, Moderation, Knowledge, and Love. Some of these
same personifications appear again, with others, in a later vision,
where they seek to build on the solid rock, the Son of God, the
high tower that typifies the Church. Other women, representing
vices, comely in form, but dressed in black, and with disheveled
hair, Carry away the imperfect stones, while the virtues stand guard
in the completed structure.1_ The apocalyptic element of 7he Pastor
of Hermas predominates over the allegorical; but the interpretation
of the visions gives a suggestion of material abundant enough to
form an extensive and vigorous piece of allegorical narrative.

The same device of depicting the Christian virtues as young
women was employed by Tertullian. Among the several treatises
that he wrote on such abstract themes as modesty, idolatry, and
penitence, that on patience, De Patientia, is the most significant.
Towards its close the author draws the likeness of his subject.
“Her countenance is tranquil and peaceful; her brow serene, con-
tracted by no wrinkle of sadness or of anger; her eyebrows evenly
relaxed in gladsome wise, with eyes downcast in humility, not in
unhappiness; ... her clothing, moreover, about her bosom white and
well fitted to her person, as being neither inflated nor disturbed.”?
This suggests no complete allegory, as the Pastor of Hermas does;
but, elaborating pictorially one allegorical conception, is of equal
importance. Both works forecast plainly what was to come.

The tendency toward allegory found in these two treatises
soon became dominant in Christian literature. The Christian al-
legorist devised many forms for the expression of his imaginings.
Virtues and vices appeared as living beings, and the progress of the
soul in righteousness or unrighteousness was unfolded as a material
history, marked by crises, sudden reversals of fortune, and eventual
defeat or victory. In the telling of this story, certain episodes.

1 Part 3, Similitude 9, especially chaps. 9 and 15.
2 Cf. Philosophy in Boethius.

310 Elbert N. S. Thompson

such as the conflict between the virtues and the vices, the debate
between the body and the soul, the coming of Death to summon
man, and even the Judgment scene itself, were widely accepted.
Most of the didactic poems and treatises that handle these themes
seem to-day inexcusably long and tedious; many were strictly aca-
demic in purpose. But the allegory that they contained could be
used just as effectively in plain sermons and popular religious
manuals, where it proved itself an indispensable aid in the trans-
mission of religious truth.

In their allegorical sermons churchmen used dialogue just as
naturally as in their recital of historical or biographical fact, and
thus recited dramatic scenes that were really moral plays. In a brief
bit of dialogue in one of the Bliickhing Homilies, “The End of the
World is Near,” a man who stands at the grave of a lifelong friend
is informed by the bones that nothing remains but “a portion of
dust, and the relict of worms,” and is urged to incline his heart to
good counsel and prayer.' Still more significant are Hugo of Saint
Victor’s and Bernard’s sermons on the intercession of Mercy and
Peace for the sinner whom Justice and Truth would condemn, for
these discourses, which will be shortly outlined, place fictitious words
in the mouths of these allegorical characters—the essence of the
moral plays.”

A very similar moral allegory was carried by Peter of Blois to
a conclusion that marks his sermon still more emphatically as the
forerunner of the English moralities. It is based on the verses,
“Who will rise up for me against the evil doers? or who will
stand up for me against the workers of iniquity? Unless the Lord
had been my help, my soul had almost dwelt in silence.” In the
spirit of these words the preacher loses at once his own identity.
“What can I, poor man, do,” he exclaims, “unless God aid me
against the evil doers!”* His little drama halts a while to permit
the discussion of three books, the Book of the Way, the Book of
Conscience, and the Book of Life, which man will see at Doomsday.

* S. Victor, Patr. Lat., 172. 621-25, and Bernard, Guvres Completes, 3.
340-48. See below, chap. 5. In one of the most interesting exempla of
the Alphabet of Tales (No. 496) Righteousness, Truth, Peace, and Mercy
figure as characters. One of Bozon’s exempla (No. 3) introduces the
same type of character.

3 Sermo ad Populum, Paér. Lat., 207. 750-75.

2 Ps. 94. 16-17.

The English Moral Plays 314

ment-seat, whither man has been brought to answer the accusations
of his adversary, Satan. The charges that man has been guilty
of infidelity to the sacraments, of treason, and of theft, the accuser
supports with a fulness of evidence and a force that would char-
acterize a trained advocate. The prisoner can respond but feebly
when called upon for his defense, and since Conscience, in spite of
the prisoner’s questioning the legality of a woman’s testimony, con-
firms the charges, the case for him seems lost. But, opportunely,
the three daughters of the judge, Faith, Hope, and Charity, inter-
cede for him under the leadership of Faith, whom the preacher
introduces in the words of Prudentius, “Prima petit campum sub
sorte duelli Pugnatura fides.”1 The controversy, though, that she
enters, is not the open conflict of the Psychomachia. Satan asks Faith
why she is soiling her purity by defending the sinner, and offers the
specious argument that, since faith without works is dead, and
since a man who sins in expectation of pardon is accursed, the
prisoner deserves none of her sympathy. But Faith, who is too
thoroughly cognizant of his wiles to trust his plea, can justify her
actions. Their part as intercessors, she shows, is in strict accord
with justice and divine will, while his efforts to thwart their pur-
pose is both a usurpation and perversion of divine law. Turning
then to the sinner, she depicts the punishment that awaits him if he
dies unrepentent, and thus leads him to profess his belief in the
Trinity and the doctrines of the church as expounded by the
Fathers and the preachers, and to promise amendment. Such
doctrinal instruction as a prelude to forgiveness was common in the
moralities, and this sermon seems in this respect full of significance.
The Virgin and the court then join the sisters in their prayers for
mercy, and God grants the accused full pardon.

Is it assuming too much to regard these sermons in dialogue on
allegorical themes as the forerunners of the morality plays? If
ministers in the pulpits were accustomed to present such dramatic
situations, the next step would be to enact them professedly as
dramas. Already dramatically conceived incidents from sacred story
were being presented by churchmen at the altar; it was therefore
no great innovation for churchmen to act, or encourage others to
act, the deeds that these allegorical sermons in the pulpit outlined.
Of course, these themes, not being based on the sacred text itself,
would find no place in the mass. But if a churchman like Stephen
of Bourbon could justify a telling story in the pulpit as a “sermo

1 Psychomachia, 11. 21—22.

312 Elbert N. S. Thompson

corporeus” that “passed readily from the sense to the imagination,
and from the imagination to the memory,”! preachers would re-
cognize the same efficacy in the allegorical play, and willingly
give it their support. Thus it happened that the precepts of the
pulpit became the stock property of the theater; that the sermon
supplied the matter and the spirit of the moral play.

CuHapterR I].—Tue Most Typican Moran Puay.

The moral teaching that the church saw fit to intrust to the
stage, and the means most commonly used to embody such intract-
able material in dramatic form, are best illustrated by the earliest
of the extant English moralities, The Castle of Perseverance. This
long play of almost four thousand lines, truly a “ sermo corporeus,”
depicts the ceaseless struggle between sin and holiness for the
soul of the hero, Mankind. Although he at the start represents
himself as a naked infant born but the night before to the “woo
& wepynge” of the world, the play cannot strictly be said to
begin the story with the follies of his youth, as some moral plays
did, for immaturity either in thought or act is nowhere noticeable.

Since, however, the matter of the Castle of Perseverance is so
full and varied, it may fairly be called a “full-scope” morality.
It may also be called the model play. The spirit that pervades
it responds exactly to the spirit of the medieval church; the
doctrine taught is in strict accord with ecclesiastical teaching; and
the experiences through which the personified abstractions pass
represent the favorite episodes of medieval allegory. In all these
respects, Zhe Castle of Perseverance is the most typical specimen
of the morality play.

At the beginning, Mankind is brought face to face with the great
problem of life. His reference to his weakness and inexperience,
it seems, has no dramatic significance, and, in view of the pur-
pose of the play, offers no real inconsistency. The churchly
author would simply have us understand that even the infant is
subject to temptation, and morally responsible for his acts. Con-
sequently, two angels accompany Mankind, Good Angel sent by
Christ to guide the boy, and Bad Angel delegated by Satan to
tempt him; for

1 Etienne de Bourbon, 5, Prologue.

EE ————

The English Moral Plays 313

swyche to, hath euery man on lyue,
to rewlyn hym & hys wyttis fyue.! (310-11)

The responsibility is fully realised by Mankind, who prays that he may

folwe, be strete & stalle,
be aungyl bat cam fro heuene trone. (316—17)

But the tempter is insistent, and the sway of the evil powers, the

World, the Flesh, and the Devil, who are seated on their thrones

upon the stage, very near. The misguided soul, accordingly, is

easily brought to forsake his true guide in order to seek in the

world the base pleasures that Wealth and its privileges can give.
Disregarding, then, the warnings of Good Angel,

a! nay! man! for Cristis blod,
cum a-gayn be strete & style!
be Werld is wyckyd, & ful wod,
& pou schalt leuyn but a whyle.
What coueytyst bou to wynne?
man! bynke on byn endynge day
Whanne pou schalt be closyd vnder clay!, (403—09)

and heeding the counsel of Bad Angel,

With be Werld pou mayst be bold
tyl bou be sexty wynter hold.
wanne pi nosé waxit cold,
panne mayst bou drawe to goode, (418—21)

Mankind chooses his own course:

I vow to God, & so I may
Make mery a ful gret throwe;
I may leuyn many a day;
I am but zongé, as I trowe,
for to do pat I schulde. (422—26)

He is first introduced by Bad Angel to World and his attendants,
Folly and Pride, who promise him for his submission the carnal

1 In one of his sermons Jacques de Vitry told this story of Bonus
Angelus. A man who has committed a heinous crime is led to confess
to the Devil who has disguised himself as a priest. The Devil bids
the man never mention the crime again, and when the man dies he
claims his soul on the ground that his sin has never been confessed to
a proper priest. Bonus Angelus appears just in time to insist that the
man’s good intentions should be sufficient to save him. Exempla, No. 303.

314 Elbert N. S. Thompson

pleasures he desires. Backbiter volunteers to teach him the way
to the Seven Deadly Sins, and Covetousness inflames him with
greed. One after the other the Seven Deadly Sins instil their
poisonous teachings into his heart. Pride, for example, urges him
to despise his fellows, and, lest they take him for a goose, to
jag his clothing, wear long-toed shoes, and in all other respects to

put holy pyn hert in pride. (1073)
Sloth, in his turn, advises him to forget his religious duties for ease.

whanne pe messé-bellé goth,
lye stylle, man, & take non hede!
lappe pyne hed panne in a cloth,
& take a swet, I bee rede;
Chyrche-goynge pou forsake. (1215-19)

Led by such invidious counsel, Mankind is apparently lost, and the
sorrowful Good Angel, who has witnessed what he could not pre-
vent, foretells his fate:

alas! Mankynde

is bobbyt & blent as be blynde!

In feyth, I fynde,

to Crist he can nowt be kynde.

alas! Mankynne

is soylyd & saggyd in synne!

he wyl not blynne,

tyl body & sowle parte a-twynne. (1289-96)

Grieving thus over Mankind’s sorry predicament, Good Angel is
discovered by his friend Shrift, to whom he explains the cause of
his sorrow. Shrift, however, sees a chance of a quick amendment
if only Mankind can be brought to confess his sins. Accordingly
they seek him, and, with the aid of Penance, readily bring him to
see his wrong-doing and ask for forgiveness:

I haue synnyd many a browe
In be dedly synnys seuene,

bope in home & halle... .
be x comaundementis, brokyn I haue;
& my fyue wyttis, spent hem a-mys;
I was banne wood, & gan to raue:
mercy, God! for-geue me pys!...
now, seynt Saueour! Ze me saue,
& brynge me to Zour boure of blys!

The Enghsh Moral Plays 315

1 can not allé say;
but to be erthe I knele a-down,
bobe with bede & orisoun,
& aske myn absolucioun. (1477—95)

Shrift then has power to absolve Mankind:

I bee a-soyle, with myldé mod,
of al bat pou hast ben ful madde,
In forsakynge of byn aungyl good,
& pi fowle flesche pat pou hast fadde,
be werld, be deuyl bat is so woode,
& folwyd pyne aungyl pat is so badde.
to Jhesu Crist pat deyed on rode,
I restore bee a-geyn ful sadde ;
noli peccare!
& all be goode dedys bat bou haste don,
& all pi tribulacyon,
stonde bee in remyssion:
posius noli viciare. (1523-35)

Thus the conflict between man’s good and evil inclinations was
| represented concretely on the stage. The subjective forces that in
reality belong to man himself in the most personal sense were
transformed by the poet into visible, external forces operating upon
man as they obeyed, on the one hand, the call of God, or, on the
other, the interests of the World and the Flesh. Such a transform-
ation, although not congruous to the truest understanding of sin,
was essential to the allegorical method of exposition, and was
therefore widespread in the didactic literature of the Middle Ages.
Many abstract treatises, to be sure, were written in which the
analysis and synthesis of ethical traits, such as the “seven gifts of
the Holy Spirit,” were carried to the last degree. This was the
method of Thomas Aquinas, whose Summa Theologica remains the
greatest monument of this sort of composition. But the more vital
mode of treating such themes was the allegorical. The motives
and impulses of man’s own heart were taken from him, and,
clothed in flesh and blood, given him again for companions.

This extended moral play, however, does not stop, as many did,
with this one general representation of the struggle that rages in
man’s heart. The story of Mankind’s life is carried further through
a series of allegorical episodes which had been early popular in
Christian didactic poetry. The first is a more specific embodiment
of the conflict between virtue and vice. Mankind, after gaining

316 Elbert N. S. Thompson

absolution, seeks refuge in the Castle of Perseverance, where he
hopes to escape his tempters. But the vices rally about the
standard of Belial, and advance in a body to assault the castle. Of
the actual engagement that follows only the most meager de-
scription is given by the churchly author. Pride confesses himself
beaten by Meekness:

I weyle & wepe, with wondys wete;
I am betyn in pe hed.
my prowde pride a-doun is dreuyn,
so scharpely Mekenes hath me schreuyn,
pat I may no lenger leuyn;
my lyf is me be-reuyd. (2203—08)

Envy, in turn, reports herself repulsed by the roses that Charity
has thrown from the walls. This paucity of narrative detail, how-
ever, is amply made up for by an extreme fulness of preaching ;
the battle, in short, was the theologian’s. Before the assault is at-
tempted, the seven virtues fortify Mankind with effective little
homilies. Industry urges him:

In besynesse, man, loke pou be,

with worbi werkis goode & pykke!

to slawthé, if bou casté pee,

it schal bee drawe to bowtis wyckke.
Osiositas parit omne malum;

it puttyth a man to pouerte,

& pullyth hym to peynys prycke,

Do sum-what al-wey for loue of me,

pou pou schuldyst but thwyte a stycke;
with bedys, sum tyme bee blys!

Sum tyme rede, & sum tyme wryte,

& sum tyme pleye at pi delyte:

be deuyl bee waytyth with dyspyte
whanne pou art in Idylnesse. (1644—56)

Meanwhile, the vices are considering what means each one, ac-
cording to his nature, has of regaining their escaped prisoner:

help we, Mankynde fro Zone castel to keuere!
helpe! we mon hym wynne.

schete we all at a schote,

with gere bat we cunne best note,

to chache Mankynde fro zene cote
In-to dedly synne. (1955-60)

a

The English Moral Plays 317

Even when the champions of good and evil have actually met in
pairs, Pride with Meekness, Wrath with Patience, Envy with
Charity, and so on, the sermon obscures the narrative. In response
to Pride’s threats, Meekness comments on the cause of Lucifer’s
fall and on the humility of Christ, garnishing her discourse with the
Psalmist’s reflections on the fate of the proud. So, too, Patience,
in utter disregard of the “styffe stonys” with which Wrath pelts
her, draws a moral from Christ’s example:

whanne he stod meker banne a chylde,
& lete boyes hym betyn & bynde:

& zyt, to deyen he was glad,

us, pacyens to techyn & lerne. (2128—38)
And against Envy’s threat,

let Mankynde cum to us doun,

or I schal schetyn to pis castel town
a ful fowle defamacyon, (2157-59)

Charity replies:

pou pou speke wycke & falsé fame,
be wers schal I neuere do my dede.
who-so peyryth falsly a-nober mans name,
Cristys curs he schal haue to mede:

ve homini illi per quem scandalum venit.

(Matt. 18. 7.)
who-so wyl not hys tunge tame,—
take it sothé, as mes crede,—
wo, wo, to hym, & mekyl schame!
In holy wrytte pis I rede;
for euere bou art a schrewe. (2161-69)

Thus the battle becomes ecclesiastic exposition, with no headway
in action. The second assault would have failed as the first did,
had not the enticements of Covetise finally drawn Mankind, in spite
of Generosity’s earnest pleadings, again to forsake his friends for
illicit pleasures with his carnal enemies.

Mankind’s second experience in the toils of sin needs no analysis.
Since he has been endowed by God with freedom of the will, he
must be left, the virtues declare, to suffer the punishment of his ill-
advised choice. The time, however, is short in which he can
enjoy the wealth that Covetise gives him; for * drery Dethe” soon
appears to call him to judgment. The bringing of this summons

318 Elbert N. S. Thompson

to the various classes of society was a favorite subject for the
mural painters and the didactic poets of all Europe. Hence the
messenger who at this point introduces himself to Mankind was
a familiar figure to the audience, and his message but repeated the
oft-heard warning of the clergy:

drery is my deth-drawth ;
a-geyns me may no man stonde;
I durke, & down I brynge to nowth,
lordys & ladys in euery londe.
whom-so I haue a lessun tawth,
onethys sythen schal he mowe stonde;
In my carful clothys he schal be cawth,
ryché, poré, fre & bonde:

whanne I come, bei goo no more.
where-so I wende in any lede,
euery man of me hat drede;
lette I wyl, for no mede,

to smyté sadde & sore. (2792—2804)

Just as familiar were the reproaches that Mankind’s soul at this
crisis heaps upon him:

body! pou dedyst brew a byttyr bale,
to bi lustys whanne gannyst loute ;
pi sely sowle schal ben a-kale;
I beye pi dedys with rewly rowte;
& al it is for gyle.
euere bou hast be coueytows,
falsly to getyn londe & hows;
to me pou hast brokyn a byttyr jows;
so welaway be whyle! (3013—21)

Again the play might have closed with this version of the Dance
of Death, and this suggestion of the strife between the Body and
the Soul; but yet another scene could be borrowed from ecclesi-
astical literature to turn again the scales of fate. Mercy hears the
appeal of Mankind’s soul, and is moved to pity. Justice, however,
protests that Mankind should expect no pardon:

& euery man pat wy! Fulfyll
be dedly synnys, & folw mysdede,
to graunte hem mercy, me pynkyth is no skyl;
& berfore, systyr, zou I rede,
lete hym a-bye his mysdede. (3156—60)

The English Moral Plays 319

This harsh judgment is sustained by the third sister, Truth. But
Peace, the fourth, rebukes these advocates of unmitigated punish-
ment, and persuades them to carry their dispute to their father,
God. Accordingly, they present in full their arguments before his
throne. Truth asserts that Mankind deserves damnation for his
sins. But, Mercy interposes, Christ’s sacrifice has made forgiveness
possible. Such lenity, however, Justice objects, runs directly counter
to divine law, and would be subversive of the whole moral order.
Yes, adds Truth, Mankind never fed the hungry, or clothed the
poor, or showed kindness to the unfortunate; let him therefore
suffer. Thus the dispute progresses till Peace interposes. She re-
conciles the sisters, and together they beg God to spare the con-
demned sinner. In response to their united appeals, he orders
Mankind to be carried from hell to heaven.

Thus the play ends with a dramatic rendering of the allegory
suggested by the eighty-fifth Psalm. Like the allegory of the
struggle between the virtues and vices, of the Dance of Death,
and of the Debate between the Body and the Soul, this was one
of the commonest themes of medieval literature. Combined as
they are here, the four motives give in full the varied course of
Mankind’s career, from his first day, when Good Angel and Bad
Angel stand on either hand asking his allegiance, through all his
sinnings and repentings, to the last scene before the tribunal of
God. The long story is told with but little respect for dramatic
climax, and with a tedious prolixity; but underneath it all lies one
plain moral:

Evyr at be begynnynge
Thynke on zoure last endynge! (3648—49)

The reader thinks at once of the Blickling homily, “The End of
the World is Near,” and, possibly, of the still closer parallelism
with a homily attributed to Ephraem, the Syrian.1 It warns man
to keep ever in mind the hour when soul shall be separated from
body, and the great fear and the great mystery of life shall be
consummated. At that hour, angels and demons will flock about
the dying man, and struggle to possess him. If he has lived a
good life, observant of the virtues, they will then become his
Angeli bont, protect him from the demons, and lead him to a land
of rest and joy. But if he has wasted his life, the vices to which
he has yielded will. become demons and seize his soul and carry

1 De habenda semper in mente die exitus vitae, 6. 356—57.

320 Elbert N. S. Thompson

it to unending misery. How closely the dramatist has followed
the warning of the church!

The Castle of Perseverance, it is clear, should not be considered
primarily from the dramatic standpoint. Its influence in the growth
of the English drama can not be disregarded, it is true, by the
literary historian. But he who would appreciate the type of
which The Castle of Perseverance is the truest representative, should
remember that its author and its first audiences knew nothing of
the drama gua drama, and should study it first, according to its
intention, as a piece of didactic literature, a “‘sermo corporeus.”
The student then realizes that the contents are not original with
the English author, and that the primary sources should never be
sought through the channels of secular literature, whether English
or French, but rather in ecclesiastical literature, which knew no
national bounds. If this be true of The Castle of Perseverance, it
is equally true of the type it so perfectly represents. Here, then,
is a Clue for the investigation of the sources of the morality plays;
and for a surer and fuller means for their intimate appreciation.

CuHapter II].—TuHe PSYCHOMACHLA.

Thus the conception of spiritual life as a conflict between the
forces of good and of evil, terminating in death and the final
reward or punishment before the judgment-seat of God, constitutes
the theme of the typical moral play, as it was devised to popularize
and enforce the practical moral lessons that the Church had to
teach. As the theme of conflict was obviously first in order of
presentation, so it was first, without doubt, in order of devel-
opment. The conception of life as an armed combat is as old
as Christianity itself. It underlies many of the New Testament’s
warnings against temptation, especially the appeals of that virile
apostle Paul. “For we wrestle,” he wrote, “not against flesh and
blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers
of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high
places. ... Stand, therefore, having your loins girt about with truth,
and having on the breastplate of righteousness; And your feet
shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; Above all, taking
the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all
the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation,

144 Ce

The English Moral Plays 321

and the sword of the spirit, which is the word of God.”! Clearly
the spiritual life meant to Paul a struggle not unlike the clashing
of foes in battle.

The vivid picture that Paul here drew of militant Christianity
was never forgotten. It was very plainly in the mind of that
vigorous controversialist and ardent reformer, Tertullian, as he
attacked the impurities of the Roman theater.? “ Would you have
also fightings and wrestlings? Well, of these there is no lacking,
and they are not of slight account. Behold unchastity overcome
by chastity, perfidy slain by faithfulness, cruelty stricken by com-
passion, impudence thrown into the shade by modesty; these are
the contests we have among us, and in these we win our crowns.”

With a still more lifelike personification and a more specific in-
dication of the nature of the assault, this same conception was
handled by Tertullian’s follower, Cyprian. “What else in the
world,” he wrote, “than a battle against the devil is daily carried
on, than a struggle against his darts and weapons in constant
conflicts? Our warfare is with avarice, with immodesty, with
anger, with ambition; our diligent and toilsome wrestle with carnal
vices, with enticements of the world. The mind of man besieged,
and in every quarter invested with the onsets of the devil, scarcely
in each point meets the attack, scarcely resists it. If avarice is
prostrated, lust springs up. If lust is overcome, ambition takes its
place. If ambition is despised, anger exasperates, pride puffs up,
wine-bibbing entices, envy breaks concord, jealousy cuts friendship ;
you are constrained to curse, which the divine law forbids; you
are compelled to swear, which is not lawful.” ?

Of almost equal significance is the following excerpt from the
Divine Institutes of Lactantius, the great churchman of the third
and fourth centuries:

God, who created men to this warfare, desired that they should
stand prepared in battle array, and with minds keenly intent should
watch against the stratagems of open attacks of our single enemy,
who, as is the practice of skilful and experienced generals, endeav-
ours to ensnare us by various arts, directing his rage according
to the nature and disposition of each. For he infuses into some

1 Eph. 6. 11-17.

2 34, See Thompson, Controversy between the Puritans and the Stage,
13-16.

3 On the Mortality, 455. See also Ephraem, the Syrian, De Pugna
Carnis, 5, 232-34.

322 Elbert N. S. Thompson

insatiable avarice, that, being chained by their riches as by fetters,
he may drive them from the way of truth. He inflames others
with the excitement of anger, that while they are rather intent upon
inflicting injury, he may turn them aside from the contemplation
of God. He plunges others into immoderate lusts, that, giving them-
selves to pleasure of the body, they may be unable to look towards
virtue. . . . Moreover, those whom he has seen to be pious he involves
in various superstitions. . .. Thus he has blocked up all the approaches
against men, and has occupied the way, rejoicing in public errors;
but that we might be able to dispel these errors, and to overcome
the author of evils himself, God has enlightened us, and has armed
us with true and heavenly virtue.?

These three passages indicate how the Church Fathers, visualizing
clearly the conception of St. Paul, came to understand and portray
the soul’s resistance to temptation as a struggle between the forces
of good and of evil. Such an idea, thus sanctioned by the New
Testament and the immediate successors of the Apostles, could not
be barren to an age already inclined to allegorical interpretation.
Very readily the moral qualities that the apostle would set to oppose
temptations, and the virtues and vices that Cyprian brought face to face,
became living warriors engaged in hand to hand conflict with weapons
of war. Most often the struggle was depicted as a conflict, epic
in character, in open field. Sometimes, however, the more strictly
religious writers, for reasons that will be explained, chose to re-
present the virtues in the act of defending their citadel, the soul,
against the vigorous assault of the vices. With this possibility of
variation, the theme spread rapidly and widely through the homo-
geneous intellectual world of the Middle Ages in Latin poems,
sermons, and moral treatises, and more than any other one influence
determined the character of the morality plays.

Each branch of the theme in the fourth century received its first
treatment at the hands of the poet-churchman, Prudentius. He
narrated in the Psychomachia the battle between the armies of sin
and holiness, and sketched less fully in the Hamartigenia, as Cyprian
had done, the siege of the soul. The former, after a preface ex-
plaining the typological significance of the history of Abraham,
opens with words that remind one strongly of Tertullian and Cyprian:

“ Tell us, O Christ, ... our king, with what soldiery the mind may
seek to drive the sins from the cave of the breast. When sedition
arises to disturb our spirit, and sin wearies the mind with combat,

1 Divine Institutes, Bk. 6, chap. 4.

The English Moral Plays 323

what guard have we to insure our liberty, what battle-line can best
withstand the furies that have penetrated our hearts? For you,
good Leader, have not exposed Christians to destroying vices without

giving them great virtues and courage to endure. You yourself
- order the defending hosts to fight in the besieged body; you your-
self arm the spirit with strength to contend powerfully in your be-
half, and to overcome the lusts that battle in the heart.

The actual combat then begins in a way natural to the fourth
century, when heresy and sedition still menaced Christianity, and
to an author familiar with the burning appeals of Tertullian. It is
Faith who first takes the field, neglecting in her eagerness for glory
in new battles to arm herself with the javelin, or cover her un-
protected shoulders with a corslet. Idolatry at once assails her,
but Faith smites the hostile head bound with crime, bearing to the
ground the bleeding mouth, and trampling on the glazed eyes.
Her victorious retinue, recruited from the thousand martyrs, exults,
while Faith rewards all, according to their deserts, with floral wreaths
and purple robes.

Next Chastity in gleaming armor meets on ii grassy field the
attack of Sodomite Lust, who tries to smirch her face and blind
her eyes with the black smoke of her pitchy torch. But the unter-
rified virgin strikes the torch from Lust’s hand with a stone, and
with her sword cuts the throat of the disarmed courtesan. Black
vapors rising from the bloody wound pollute the air, while over
the lifeless body of the great tempter—‘“ vexatrix hominum ”—the
victorious queen, after the copious epic fashion, exults in her triumph,
which she likens to that of Judith.

At once attention is drawn to Patience, as she stands unmoved
in the midst of the tumult and slaughter of battle. Wrath sees
her from afar, the “ Martis spectatrix libera nostri,” and with ugly
threats hurls his spear. It falls, however, harmless from the breast-
plate that the provident goddess has put on, and Patience remains
undisturbed, a living embodiment of the virtue that Tertullian had
so exalted. Then Wrath grasps his sword, and smites her helmet;
but the blade is shattered, and in the fury of defeat Wrath slays
himself with a spear which he snatches from the ground. Well,
then, may Patience boast that, in her own peaceful way, without
resort to weapons, she has triumphed over her foe. Meanwhile,
her faithful supporter Job ceases from combat—such slight hints
suggest the struggle raging about the protagonists—and together
they pass through the army and leave the field.

In spite of these reverses, the vices continue to force the fighting.

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 22 Marcu, 1910.

324 Elbert N. S. Thompson

Pride, clad in lion’s skin and linen mantle that bellies in the wind,
dashes up on a fiery steed. The few ill-armed troops that Humility
and Hope have gathered arouse only her scorn, and, riding out
between the lines, she heaps ridicule upon them for daring to face
her, and boasts that she will trample them down—Justice, poor
Honesty, meager Sobriety, spare Fast, Shame, Simplicity, and all
the rest. These threats and scoffs Pride utters as she spurs her
unbridled steed wildly between the lines, hoping thus to terrify her
humble foes and override them. But suddenly her charger stumbles,
and falls headlong into a trench, which Fraud, to entrap the moving
squadrons, has dug and cleverly concealed beneath branches and
turf. Hope, seeing her enemy’s plight, runs hastily to Humility
with a sword, and Pride’s head is soon hanging by the bloodwet
hair. ‘Cease to boast,” cries Hope to her followers, “for God
humbles the proud.” Leaving this as her final message, the virtue
flies on golden wings to heaven.

Thereupon Luxury, unmindful of her tarnished name, leaving a
gluttonous feast, drives up in a chariot built of gold and silver,
and studded with precious stones. A strange warfare this drunken,
perfumed temptress, with her alluring eyes and languid voice, comes
to wage. Instead of arrows and javelins she bears violets and roses,
which she scatters from baskets among the Christian troops. Their
limbs are weakened by the sweet odors, and they are ready to
surrender, longing to serve under the debauched mistress and to
be held by her lax, carnal laws. But Sobriety, smarting at such
easy surrender, fixes the banner of the cross in the ground before
the troops, and rouses their courage with reproaches and entreaties.
Thus made mindful of their high lineage, and the greatness of their
ancestors, the Jewish patriarchs, they advance. Luxury’s horses rear
and overturn the chariot, and she herself is caught in the whirling
wheels. As Sobriety kills her with a stone, her frightened followers
flee—Jest and Illwill throwing away their cymbals, which have
served as weapons, Love casting aside its arrows, and Pride its
splendor. The valuables thus discarded are left untouched, at
Sobriety’s command, to be trodden under foot.

But Avarice, attracted by the plunder, greedily gathers up the
fallen treasure with her hooked hand, filling not only her ample
bosom, but the money-bags and the basket that hangs by her arm.
Care, Famine, Fear, Anxiety, Perjury, Pallor, Deceit, Falsehood,
Sleeplessness, and Uncleanness, follow their mother like wolves; for
with one or another of these children Avarice assails every class
of men to its ruin. The priests of God, whom she dares to tempt,

The English Moral Plays 325

are saved by reason from total subjection; but easily, by concealing
her dread countenance under the guise of Moderation, she draws
the unsuspecting soldiers into her toils. Rendered thus uncertain
as to friend and foe, they give way, until Charity, although unarmed,
attacks her. The virtue strangles her opponent, and stripping the
booty from the corpse, gives it to the poor.

Having thus slain the parent of so many evils, Charity expounds
the lesson which man should learn from the sparrows’ simple trust
in God. Immediately all care leaves the virtues, as the terrors of
war vanish; the sword rests in its scabbard, and the field shines in
the purple light of liquid day. The victors, led by Concord, return
to camp singing joyful hymns, such as Israel sang when their pur-
suers were swallowed up in the Red Sea. The victory, apparently,
has been won. But just as Concord is about to enter the strong-
hold, an enemy that has been lurking in the crowd of soldiers
suddenly strikes her with his sword. The assailant is Discord, or
Heresy, who has followed with murderous intent. Her attempt is
foiled by the virtue’s armor, and it only remains for Faith, the queen
of virtues and the first combatant, to pierce the tongue of the blas-
phemer with her spear, and to deliver her to the soldiers to be
torn to pieces and thrown to the dogs and birds of prey. The poem
then closes with addresses by Faith and Concord, and by a prayer
of thanks to Christ for his aid, and a look forward to his second
coming, when sin shall be finally vanquished.

The literary value of this poem and its relation to classical epics,
need not concern the student of the moral plays. To what degree
and in what manner, though, it expressed the ethical ideas of the
fourth century, and what its influence was on the late Middle Ages,
are of great importance. In the first place, its conception of the
virtues and the vices was very characteristic ofitstime. The struggle
of Paganism against Christianity was as yet unfinished, and con-
sequently the first of the theological virtues plays the leading role.
It is Faith, remember, who begins the combat, and brings it to a
close. The conception of Patience, moreover, corresponds closely
to Tertullian’s ; and Charity, in accordance with the prevailing theo-
logy, is depicted both as almsgiving and as love of God. In the second
place, Prudentius gave these personitications a symbolic realism that
kept them long alive in letters and art. The final ascent of Hope to
heaven; the hooked hand of Avarice; the unruffled self-control of Pa-
tience ; the pomp of Luxury—all were too truly suggestive to be for-
gotten. They became the common property of poets and theologians,
and proved readily adaptable to the needs of sculptors and painters.

326 Elbert N. S. Thompson

The influence of the Psychomachia on later allegorical literature
can hardly be overestimated, though now and again it may be
traceable only in a brief allusion. A sermon, for example, in which
the vices are said to attack man from the rear, while the temp-
tations lure on from the van, owes its thought, more or less directly,
to Prudentius.1 Other works borrow and adapt more freely. A
significant instance of such detailed imitation is the Ayticlaudianus,
a Latin poem of the twelfth century in which in_de Lille com-
bined the epic account of the spiritual combat with an allegorical
treatment of man’s intellectual qualities and of the seven liberal arts.
It is at the end of the eighth book that the “divinus homo” whom
God has created in response to entreaties of Reason and Prudence
and to whom Nature has given a body, is assailed by the familiar
forces of evil. Discord, supported by such vices as Livor, Rabies,
Furor, Impetus, Ira, and many more, leads the assault, while Pride
advances with her army. Meanwhile the virtues prepare to defend
man. Discord, who makes the first attack, is decapitated, and her
followers either perish or flee. Then in turn other vices attack and
are vanquished, Luxury by Sobriety, Lust by Reason, Imprudence
by Prudence, Fraud by Faith, and Avarice by Generosity. Thus
all the vices are repelled, and the Golden Age, when man and
nature are without blemish, is ushered in. The combat occupies
but a part of this poem, in which pagan influences and medieval
scholasticism do not conceal the dominating influence of the Psycho-
machia.

More complete and more interesting, possibly, than the Anti-
claudianus is the thirteenth century poem, Li Tornotemenz Antecrit.
It is also more strictly theological, for the author, Huon de Meri,
wrote to attack the Albigenses, who regarded Christ as the great
impostor, and, like the Jews, awaited the coming of the true Savior.
In the poem, the approach of Antichrist is heralded by his chamber-
lain, Bras-de-fer, who prepares the stronghold Desesperance for his
lord’s reception. There Antichrist feasts his evil followers, and enter-
tains them with Satanic minstrelsy. Next day his army is assembled
for battle; Jupiter, Mars, Neptune, and other “barons of hell” ad-
vance in company with Beelzebub and the long familiar vices of
Christian allegory. No enumeration of their names could suggest
the pains that the author gave himself to picture the soldiers of
Antichrist, their numbers, their arms and banners. At the same time
the army of Christ, composed of angels and all the other celestial

&

The English Moral Flays 327

orders, is marshaled in the city of Esperance. With the leaders,
Michael, Gabriel and Raphael, are Mary herself, who has come to
guard her chevaliers ; Virginity, with a few followers; Chastity, with
a numerous retinue; and the other moral virtues supported by all
the chivalry of France.

Then the battle begins.!. Quarrelsomeness laces on his armor, and
with his standard-bearer, Frenzy, attacks Silence, but only to meet
defeat. Anger is captured by Gentleness, while Frenzy succumbs
to Patience. Hate and Discord fall before Peace and Concord, and
Falsehood is put to flight by Truth. From both sides hordes of
combatants mingle in the fray; for here the story is not confined,
as in the Psychomachia, to the deeds of the few great leaders.
But in the confusion of battle the conflict between Virginity and
Chastity on one side, and Fornication and Adultery, aided by Venus
and Cupid, on the other, draws more than passing notice. Of still
greater interest is the struggle of Faith against Heresy, at which
point the author reaches the heart of his theme. The pagan gods,
of course, fight on the side of Heresy, and Antichrist himself rides
madly to his aid. But he is overcome by Saint Michael, and his
army is routed. The virtues return triumphant to their city, where
Penitence and Confession heal their wounds, and all join in the
great feast spread by Generosity and Courtesy.

It would require an extensive monograph to follow the course of
the Psychomachia through medieval literature. In the seventh
century Aldhelm described the combat between virginity and the
principal vices, whom he represents as military leaders.* Peter of
Blois, in introducing Faith as man’s advocate against the accuser,
Satan, borrowed his picture of the virtue directly from the words of
Prudentius.t Raoul de Houdan told how the pilgrim, as he journeys
toward Paradise, is threatened by Temptation, and how he is saved
from the attack of the vices only through the armed intervention
of the virtues. As the theme was thus developed, it lost its
distinctively ecclesiastical tone. The French poet, Rutebeuf, retold
the conflict briefly, less from a churchman’s point of view than from
the satirist’s, and without any apparent moral purpose ; ® and Lydgate
introduced it in a tediously prolix narrative poem, where the pagan

1 2098 ff. 2 2767 ft.

3 De Laudibus Virginitatis, Patr. Lat., 89. 110-13; also De Octo Prin-
cipalibus Vitis, Jbid., 281, and Bonaventura, De Pugna Spfiritual?, contra
Septem vitia capitalia, 6. 21—27. 4 See above 311.

5 Songe de Paradis, 141—92, 541—98.

® La Bataile des Vices contre les Vertus, 20-36.

328 Elbert N. S. Thompson

and the Christian are mingled in strange confusion.! Insufficient as
they are, these few references will show how widely, and with what
a variety of motives, the story of the Psychomachia was transmitted
through medieval literature.

Without any additional evidence from sources more remote, it is
interesting to read the same story of the opposition of vice to
virtue as it was written in stone by the sculptors of the cathedrals.
On account of the medium in which they worked, their rendering
of the moral struggle was static, gaining its effect by visible contrast
rather than by action. The virtues and vices are grouped in pairs,
the former represented as dignified women, sitting composedly, as
though filled with the peace of God, the latter as men or women
under the sway of some uncontrolled passion. For example, Faith
is seated on a bench holding a shield emblazoned with her sym-
bols, a cross and a chalice. Opposite her is Idolatry—a man worship-
ing a monkey-shaped idol. Charity is represented in the act of
giving her clothing to the poor, while Avarice greedily fills her
treasure-box. Still more directly did the sculptors draw from the
text of the Psychomachia for their image of Pride, whom they
represented falling from a stumbling horse. In a second group of
allegorical medallions on the north portal of the cathedral of Chartres,
the triumphant virtues stand over the prostrate forms of their van-
quished foes, as if in illustration of the close of the separate combats
of the Psychomachia. So the contrasted virtues and vices are
depicted in pairs on the facades of the great cathedrals, virtue being
represented in its essence, and vice by its lamentable effects.”

For this method of contrast, which at first seems peculiar to pic-
torial art, one can find theological authority. In the instructions for
the adaptation of discourse given in the Pastoral Care, Gregory
placed side by side the psychological extremes—the lowly nature
with the haughty, the peaceful with the quarrelsome, the kind with
the envious. In a more vivid manner Isidore of Seville contrasted
the virtues and the vices in pairs, Abstinence and Lust, Envy and
Charity, and the like, with a brief exposition of each. Likewise in
the treatise, De Conflictu Vitiorum et Virtutum, which has been at-
tributed to a half-dozen different churchmen, the author enumerates
the full list of opposed virtues and vices. He then steps aside to

1 Assembly of Gods, especially 603 ff.

2 See Male, 182-59. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the
vices as well as the virtues were personified instead of being represented
by their effects. See Male?, 2. 1.

3 Sententiarum Libri Tres, Patr. Lat., 83. 638 (2. 37).

The English Moral Plays 329

permit the contention to go on. Pride, the mother of vices, reminds
the hearers that they are superior to most men in knowledge and
position, and urges them to show a proper disdain for the lowly.

But Humility at once interposes her warning. “Remember,” she
admonishes, “that you are dust and ashes, a worm. Are you
stronger than the first angel? ... If he for his pride fell from his seat

of eminence, how can you, if proud, hope to rise thither from
a lower level?”! In this debate, however, there is a dramatic
movement that recalls us from the purely static exposition of Isidore
and the sculptors to the action of the Psychomachia, and reminds
the reader that in all these many versions of the one theme the
influence of that poem is directly traceable.

There was, though, a second method of presenting allegorically
man’s inward struggle. Instead of risking their safety in the open
field, the virtues, entrenched in their stronghold, the soul, resist the
assault of the vices. This variation was especially popular with
theologians in whom the moral inclination dominated the literary.
To be sure, between the battle and the siege there is no essential
distinction. The opening lines of the Psychomachia allude to such
a siege, and Rutebeuf gave as much attention to one as to the
other. But, since the fall of Jerusalem was commonly interpreted
as an allegory of the downfall of the human soul before temptation,
theologians were likely to select the siege as the fittest symbol of
the nature of temptation.?

References more or less plain to the siege that the virtues are
forced to undergo can be found in Cyprian and The Pastor of
Hermas. But for a suggestion of action such as can make alle-
gory of lifelike interest, one must turn again to Prudentius, who,
even before writing the Psychomachia, had given in the Hamartigenta
a dramatic sketch of the assault upon the soul. In that poem
Prudentius traces the origin of evil, not to a god as did Marcion,
but to a Satanic power whom he brands “the slave of hell.” It is
he who with enticements to evil leads the assault upon the soul,
like a powerful robber besetting the troubled minds of men. Ire,
Superstition, Grief, Discord, and kindred vices lead his cohorts,
while other forms, misshapen and terrifying, press to their aid.
“Relying on such strength, the destroyer subdues the minds of men
and beguiles them to bend their necks to the yoke.”* These

1 See Patr. Lat., 83. 1131—44.
2 Hugo de S. Victor, De Civitate Sancta Jerusalem, Patr. Lat., 177.
999-1003. 3 389—449.

330 Elbert N. S. Thompson

lieutenants who fight under Satan are sexless, but they are truly
allegorical, and must have given precedent for the symbol of the
besieged soul.

Despite the influence of Prudentius, no ecclesiastic for many years.
adopted for extensive treatment the idea here expressed. It may
be just as significant for the future, however, that it is found per-
vading a great work like Gregory’s Morals of the Book of Job, as
naturally as though it were essential to the Christian faith. In his
preface Gregory explains that Job was beset from without by mis-
fortune, and from within by the insidious counsel of wife and
friends—Satan, as it were, leading an army to assail him with the
battering-ram of temptation. Again and again he recurs to the
idea! Each separate sin, he asserts, lays siege against the mind,
as its enemies besieged Jerusalem. Even if only one point is left
unguarded Satan will find entrance, as he did in the heart of the
proud Pharisee. But to fall in that way is really inexcusable; for
to combat each vice man may find a specific virtue that will
keep the city of the soul unshaken. Thus Gregory perpetuated
the idea that Cyprian and Prudentius expressed, without the use of
allegorical figures, to be sure, such as appear in the Hamartigenia,
but with an increased emphasis laid on the distinctive character of
the allegory—the siege.

We can not hope to trace the development of this branch of the
allegory. Two instances will show how Gregory’s teaching was
given a more dramatic and sustained treatment by great churchmen
of the twelfth century. Hugo of Saint Victor, in preaching on the
watchfulness that the Christian should maintain against temptation,
likens the goodman of the house, whom Luke mentions, to the
mind; his home to the conscience; and his family to his five
senses and his outward and inward acts. The great enemy or
thief is the Devil, who, however, is not alone, for in opposition to
each virtue is a vice. It therefore behooves the goodman to
fortify his house against these thieves, placing at the first gate
Prudence, then Bravery, and, well within the walls, Justice. These
three must maintain a constant watch, lest the thief assail them
unawares.”

The dramatic possibilities of this theme were much enhanced
by combining it with the parable of the Prodigal Son. Especially

1 Bk. 3. par. 12, Bk. 8. par. 8, Bk. 20. par. 53.
2 Patr. Lat., 177. 185. On Luke 12. 39. See also Bernard, De Tribus
Inimicis Hominis, 5. 528-29.

The English Moral Plays 331

significant for the student of the moralities is the version variously
attributed to Hugo or Saint Bernard, in which a considerable portion
of the parable is given in dialogue. A mighty king has endowed
his son with all blessings. But the son abuses the greatest gift,
the knowledge of good and evil, and, falling into the power of
Satan, is chained in the prison of despair. The father, however,
does not forget him, and although his first messenger, Fear, ac-
complishes nothing, he sends a second, Hope, who finally rouses
the prisoner from the deadening grasp of sin and the fetters of
bad habit. Helping him to mount the steed, Desire, and furnishing
him with the saddle of Devotion and the spurs of Good Example,
Hope encourages him to flee, while Fear drives him on. But,
because a bridle is lacking, the flight becomes uncontrolled. Pru-
dence and Temperance have then to check their rash haste, and
supply the bridle of Discretion to make possible a more orderly
retreat. Thus they advance, Hope leading the Prodigal Son, Force
protecting, Prudence guiding, and Justice advising, till they reach
at last the castle of Wisdom, within whose moat and walls they
find refuge.

But Satan, like Pharaoh following the children of Israel, has been
in close pursuit, and with his hosts at once besieges the castle.
They mine the fortifications, they cast burning brands over the
walls, they place ambuscades. The defenders are seized with fear,
and Prayer, on the advice of Prudence and Wisdom, is hurriedly
dispatched to the father for aid. Charity, who returns with the
relieving party, arrives just in time to save the city from surrender.
The son is then conducted to his father’s home, where he is received
with great rejoicing.?

The siege, then, as a symbol of the strife in man’s heart between
the inclinations to good and to evil, was just as widely accepted
as was the theme of combat.? It seems to have been preferred
by the more strictly religious writers, and therefore, though tangible
evidence is insufficient to warrant such a deduction, may have
been more commonly used in the didactic plays. The reader
already knows how seriously the earliest extant morality handles
the siege. The same episode appears again in the late play, Mary
Magdalene, which is half miracle-play and half morality. It is true

1 Bernard, De Pugna Spiritual’, Guvres Complétes, 4. 102-19. Grober,
2. 1, 202, offers no conjecture as to the true author. Bourgain, 216,
attributes the parable to Hugo de 8. Victor.

2 The Pilgrimage of the Life of Man, 11769 ff. and 15489 ff., and Piers
Piowman, Passus 19—20.

332 Elbert N. S. Thompson

that the text of that play barely alludes to the assault; it tells
simply that Mary sought refuge in her castle, where she was be-
sieged by the vices under the command of the World, the Flesh,
and the Devil. But the stage directions state explicitly, “Her xal
all be vij dedly synnes be-sege pe castell.” This, apparently, was
the cue from which the actors were to carry through a scene long
familiar on the stage.1

In no early play is there a representation of the epic combat
in the open—the psychomachia proper. An interesting survival,
however, of the popular motif, is found in the late fifteenth-century
play, Wature. After the vices have gained control over Man, and
while Reason is laboring to save him, Wrath and Envy present
themselves before the five remaining vices “defensibly arrayed”;
for they have heard rumors of a coming “fray” between Reason
and Man. But the other sins are not so ready to enter the fray;
from their characters, why should it be expected of them? Bodily
Lust declares campaigning to be extremely irksome and fatiguing to
him; Gluttony, though armed with a bottle, announces that he will
stand well “out of danger of gun shot”; and Sloth takes to his
bed, and pleads sickness to excuse him. Even Envy is not keen
for fight, and in a spirit of mischievous malice persuades Pride,
who appears late on the scene with a retinue for whose equipment
he has mortgaged his estates, that the battle is already done, and
that men accuse him of cowardly desertion. In this travesty of the
Psychomachia the reader sees that Medwell, the author, had been
so touched by the spirit of humanism that the old story seemed
dramatically weak and uninteresting. Quite fittingly, Anger might
thirst for battle; but it would be inconsistent for Sloth or Gluttony
to desire any sort of exertion. Hence Medwell burlesqued the
battle, and introduced Age to stifle man’s lust and so reconcile the
opposed forces. Never, though, would he have adapted the old
theme in this way had it not been well known in its original form.?

*In a French morality, the Church is assailed by Heresy, Simony,
and Scandal. Petit de Julleville, Repertotre, 66. In The Contention between
Liberality and Prodigality, Prodigality attempts to enter Fortune’s bower
by a ladder; but she “claps a halter about his neck” and he falls, fortu-
nately breaking the halter. This interesting scene probably owes nothing
to these early plays. The play was printed in 1600.

2 In a French morality, Honneur des Dames, Danger, Envie, and Male-
bouche attack Honneur des Dames and are defeated by her protectors,
Franc Vouloir and Ceur Loyal. This is clearly a reminiscence of the
struggle in the Roman de la Rose. Répertoire, TA.

The English Moral Plays 333

But it would be blind to measure by these few direct survivals
the influence of the Psychomachia upon the moral plays. The ac-
tual narrative of the poem was not dramatized any more frequently
than the Dance of Death or the debate of Mercy, Truth, Righteousness,
and Peace. One therefore calls Prudentius the father of the morality
not because he supplied an episode for the allegorical plays of a later
time, though that too he did; but because he established, if he did
not actually create, the idea upon which all those plays were based.!
The feeling that life is a spiritual combat between man’s good and
evil impulses, on whose outcome depends his destiny—that the
Middle Ages owed to him. Furthermore, his method of dissociating
those qualities from the soul, and bringing them as human beings
into a visible opposition, offered the churchmen who would carry
their precept to the theater the readiest means of dramatization.
The hero, Man, was brought upon the stage, and surrounded by a
number of men and women who represented the states of his inner
life; he was deceived and debauched by the vicious characters,
and aided, and usually saved, by the good. The dramatic method
took the place of the narrative, and the realism of everyday life
was substituted for the romance of the outworn epic; but in spirit
and in general plan the morality plays were only a retelling of the
fourth-century allegorical epic.

CuapteR 1[V.—THEOLOGY IN THE Morat Ptays.

Thus the whole Christian world came to think most intimately
of man’s spiritual welfare as dependent upon the triumph of the
cardinal virtues over the deadly sins. The story of the Psycho-
machia was transferred without essential modification to the stages
of England, and in an equally direct, though less open, manner in-
fluenced the moralities at their very inception, by virtually creating
the allegorical i is the distinctive mark of the type. But
in addition to supplying the allegorical conception of life as a
combat, the poem also determined the character of the doctrinal
lesson that the earliest known moralities sought to teach. To ex-

11t is wrong to stress, as Ramsay does (Magnificence, cli), the fact that
the Psychomachia lacks the central figure around whom the moral play
centered. The opening lines of the poem, as they have been quoted above,
make in plain that the combatants are the impulses that dwell in man’s
soul, and that the story is a soul’s history.

334 Elbert N. S. Thompson

plain in detail how the allegory of Prudentius influenced the church’s
understanding of one of the corner-stones of its faith, will gather
together all that has been thus far said of the influence of the
Psychomachia, and of the alliance between the pulpit and the stage.

Very curiously, it may seem to the modern mind, the seven
petitions of the Lord’s Prayer, like the first seven Beatitudes, were
connected with Isaiah’s vision: “And the spirit of the Lord shall
rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit
of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and piety, and the
spirit of the fear of the Lord shall fill him.”? Augustine explains
how the petitions of the Pater Noster call for this “sevenfold
operation of the Holy Ghost,” beginning with the last, which as
the lowest in rank is the first for man to acquire, and leading up
to those that concern the heavenly life.2 The thought was universally
adopted by the church, to be incorporated into such widely in-
fluential encyclopedias of doctrine as the G/ossa Ordinaria, and
such treatises as the Speculum Ecclesiae.* Thus the separate clauses
of the prayer came to stand very definitely for seven spiritual traits ;
but, in view of this, they could not fail to be regarded also as
antithetic to the seven deadly sins. Churchmen taught that thes
first petition was a call for protection against pride, the second
against envy, and the others in order pleas against wrath, sloth,
avarice, gluttony, and lust. Accordingly, the figures of these seven
virtues and seven vices hovered before the eyes of the children
of the church, suggesting more or less vividly, according to the
personal equation, the battle of Prudentius’ poem. Here, then, one
finds how directly the influence of the Psychomachia inspired the
interpretation of one of the most fundamental portions of Christian
instruction.

Even this superficial synopsis of medieval commentary will il-
lustrate the nature and origin of the earliest known morality plays
both in England and France. In 1384 Wiclif mentioned “be pater-
noster in englizgsch tunge, as men seyen in be pley of York.”®
This piece is described by the records of the gild that had its per-
formance in charge as “a play, setting forth the goodness of the

‘ Isaiah 11. 2. I translate from the Vulgate.

2 Our Lord’s Sermon on the Mount, Bk.1, chaps. 3, 4; Bk. 2, chaps. 10, 11.

3 Strabo, Glossa Ordinaria, Patr. Lat., 114. 100—08. Spec. Eccl. Ibid.,
172. 819.

* Hugo deS. Victor, Al/egoriae in Novum Testamentum, Patr. Lat., 175. T4—
87. Lib. 2, chaps. 3-14.

5 York Plays, XXvViii—Xxxix.

The English Moral Plays 335

Lord’s Prayer... in which play all manner of vices and sins were
held up to scorn, and the virtues were held up to praise.”! Like-
wise in the Pater Noster plays at Beverley and Lincoln the craftsmen
of the towns represented on a series of pageants the cardinal sins,
as they bore, it must be inferred, on the petitions of the prayer.
The representation of Gluttony, for example, was fittingly assigned
to the bakers, vintners, innkeepers, cooks, and tilers.2 In France,
also, the earliest known morality, performed at Tours in 1390,
concerned the deadly sins. Thus as early as the time of Wiclif,
assuredly, the church’s exposition of the Pater Noster was displayed
concretely on the stage, “for the health and amendment of the
souls as well of the upholders as of the hearers.” 4

As evidence of the importance attached by medieval churchmen
to the teaching of the Lord’s Prayer and the sacraments, no more
conclusive or timely document can be cited than the Constitutions
issued in 1237 by Grosseteste, the reforming bishop of Lincoln.
This episcopal charge was modeled to conform to the Constitutions
framed by Edmund Rich and the bishops in attendance with him
at the Council of London, and to the canons of the third and fourth
Lateran Councils in 1179 and 1215.5 But while they specified in
a more or less general way the qualifications that appointees to
the different grades of clerical service should have, stressing especially
the need for a thorough understanding of the sacraments, Grosseteste
gave the most explicit commands. In the first of the forty-five
articles of his charge, he stipulated that the clergy should be com-
petent to instruct their parishioners in the Decalogue, the temptations
of the deadly sins, the Articles of Faith expressed in the three
creeds, and the significance of the sacraments. These points of
doctrine were promulgated not only in formally declared ‘“ Con-
stitutions,” but in treatises like Archbishop Rich’s Mirror of the
Church and the widely translated Somme des Vices et des Vertues® ;
in religious poems like Grosseteste’s own Chasteau ad’ Amour and

1 English Gilds, 137 ff.

2 Leach, 220-21. The first of the eight pageants at Beverley was
given to “Viciose.” Chambers conjectures (2. 154) that this figure
was the representative of “ frail humanity,” who became the central figure
of the later morals. See also Ramsay, Magnijicence, cliii.

3 Petit de Julleville, Repertorre, 137.

* English Gilds, 137.

’ Stevenson, 132-38; Mansi, 22. 217 ff., 998 ff.; Lyndwood, 8-10,
55—56.

6 Petit de Julleville, Hzsto’re, 2. 178-82. Date 1279.

336 Elbert N. S. Thompson

Lydgate’s Pilgrimage of the Life of Man‘; and in actual sermons,
of which that of Archbishop Thoresby of York may be taken as
representative. Through all these channels, the points of doctrine
that ecclesiastical councils declared most essential were conveyed
to the masses of the people.

It is not surprising that the citizens of these ancient midland and
northern cities should have undertaken to spread these doctrines
through allegorical representation in the sacred plays for which
they had received a long preparation in liturgical performances.
The earliest of these moral plays, the Pater Noster play, the Sacra-
ment play, and the Creed play, originated, significantly, in the

\ region where these Constitutions were most ardently proclaimed
by reformers like Grosseteste.2 The Play of the Sacrament is not
strictly a moral play, for its method is neither allegorical nor ex-
pository, but it should be mentioned as an indication of the popular
interest in these subjects. The York Creed play, as far as can be
told, more nearly resembled the Pater Noster play. Although noth-
ing definite concerning it is known, save the fact of its performance
once every ten years by the Corpus Christi Gild, the conjecture
is not unreasonable that it was acted by twelve men representing
the Apostles, to whom the twelve separate portions of the Creed
were traditionally assigned by the theologians of the time. If so,
it was then but another dramatic piece devised to supplement the
efforts of the pulpit.

These Creed and Pater Noster plays were presented by religious
gilds under municipal supervision while the allegorical drama was
as yet in its earliest development. The matter, though, that they
contain was not soon dropped from the players’ repertoire. The
sixteenth-century play, The World and the Child, an abbreviated
“full-scope” morality clearly modeled upon the general lines of
The Castle of Perseverance, contains a systematic portrayal of the
deadly sins, the Decalogue, and the Articles of Faith that were pre-
scribed by the Constitutions of the early thirteenth century.

The hero appears first as a naked infant, and develops with in-
credible haste through boyhood and youth to manhood and old age.
But after the brief account of the pranks of the boy and the temp-

' 6580—7036.
2 In Religious Pieces. For similar French sermons see Lecoy de la
Marche, 276.

3 The northern versions of the Cursor Mundi contain these same doct-
rinal points, but the other versions, as far as I know, do not.
4 Davies, York Records, 272—%73, n.

The English Moral Plays 337

tations of the youth, only the general allegory of sin and conversion
that is found in the first part of The Castle of Perseverance, without
the combat or the judgment, is presented. Thus the action of the
play was made shorter and more direct, without essentially changing
its didactic method; for the same direct relation between the play
and the teachings emphasized in the Constitutions is apparent.

World is represented as giving his seven servants, the Deadly
Sins, to be the companions of Man. But Conscience, after thought-
fully introducing himself to the spectators, undertakes to expose these
vices in their true light. His doctrine is sound, but a trifle weari-
some, and on his exit poor Man exclaims:

yea, come wind and rain, (177).
God let him never come here again.

Such feelings render him an easy prey to Folly’s enticements, and
he straightway experiences the carnal pleasures that the heroes
of these plays so often crave. But since Conscience is not so
straight-laced a moralist as to condemn rightly moderated pleasure,
he and Perseverance are able to convert the rapidly aging sinner.
Perseverance tells him how Peter, Paul, Mary Magdalene, and Thomas,
after sinning grievously, repented and became saints. He declares,
too, that for attaining salvation it is necessary to have rightly
ordered both the five bodily and the five spiritual senses, as well
as to accept the twelve Articles of Faith, which he enumerates, and
to observe the Ten Commandments, which Conscience has already
explained.t With this well-meant advice, the good counselors leave
the hero with a prayer for Christ’s mercy upon the audience. The
World and the Child, in short, is a late morality, more dramatic,
presumably, than the ancient Creed and Pater Noster plays of York,
but written for the same end of enforcing the doctrinal teaching
that Grosseteste and his fellow bishops considered so imperatively
necessary for all men.

In a field of dramatic literature so completely dominated by the
church, it is obvious that no one phase of its ecclesiastical spirit
would appear to the exclusion of another. Hence, although the
purpose of the Pater Noster play was primarily doctrinal, the in-
clusion of the seven vices gave opportunity for ethical instruction.
This would be but natural; for one of the distinctive features of
medieval religious thought was its twofold character. It embraced,
on the one hand, a great body of doctrinal philosophy, whose end,

1 Manly, 383.

338 Elbert N. S. Thompson

it may be said, was largely faith, and, on the other, an equally
large body of homiletic teaching, whose end was mainly works.
Churchmen could with equal facility expound the powers that be-
long in particular to each of the members of the Trinity, or point
a simple moral against idleness. Upon the useless subtlety and ex-
treme impracticability of the theological speculation, our contem-
poraries are too prone to insist, even when they are most blind to
the practical moral teaching that went hand in hand with it. A
reminder, then, is often needed that in medieval religious thought
there was this union of theology and morality, of the impractical
and ephemeral and the practical and enduring, of faith and works.

The best single example of a play so combining doctrinal theo-
logy and practical ethics is the Macro morality, Wisdom Who ts
Christ. The first portion of the play is strictly theological; the
second, which is not of present concern, is suggestive of con-
temporary society ; the third is ethical.!_ In the first division, Wisdom
introduces himself to the audience as a quality present in each
member of the Trinity, but especially in the Son. She then explains
to Soul how a man’s psychic nature is composed of two parts,
sensuality, as ruled by the five senses, and reason, the image of
God. It is supplied with three distinct powers, Mind, which brings
man to a knowledge of the Father; Understanding, which reveals
Christ; and Will, which inspires love for the Holy Ghost. These
senses and powers the dramatist has completely externalized in his
allegory. The five senses appear as virgins singing a psalm; the
three powers play leading roles; the soul itself appears, first in
a white robe adorned with gold, then, after the powers have
sinned, “in pe most horrybull wyse, fowlere pan a fende.” In thus
humanizing his abstractions, however, the dramatist has not for-
gotten his theology. The soul is still to him a psychic entity,
doomed to suffer for Adam’s sin, and saved only by Christ’s Pas-
sion and by his own baptism. From its three powers come re-
spectively Faith, Hope, and Charity, and opposed to them are the
World, the Flesh, and the Devil. Above all else the soul has
freedom of the will.

After Wisdom has expounded this orthodox psychology, Lucifer,
in the disguise of a gallant, tempts Mind, Will, and Understanding
by persuading them to despise the contemplative life, and to regard
work as preferable to meditation and prayer. He even urges them
to marry, and to enjoy riches and good clothing, for “Gode,” he

1 1—552, 552-877, 877—end.

The English Moral Plays 339

says, “lowyt a clene sowll & a mery.” These are mild temptations,
it seems to-day, but they were regarded then as sufficient to lead
the powers to actual sin.

Thus the discourses of Wisdom and Lucifer, one laying the foun-
dations of the whole play, the other getting the action started, are
purely theological, and the characters are very far from being real
beings. Pollard, therefore, calls the play intellectually weak. It is
such only if we are willing to call all medieval theologians intel-
lectually deficient, and one can regard it as such only through
misunderstanding. Let us take from the play a single illustration.
To be sure, the church did value most highly for those few superior
minds the life of contemplation. For some, then, celibacy, self-
renunciation, and other-worldliness, which Lucifer derides, were ur-
gently insisted on. But for the world in general the active life was
not disparaged. Augustine taught that both were essential, and that
in pursuing the life of contemplation a man should not neglect the
service due to his neighbor.1 Bernard, likewise, exhibited the
relations that bind together the two modes of life, and insisted that
one should be able to turn from contemplation to action without
succumbing to sin.2 This doctrine was repeated in England by
Richard Rolle of Hampole.*? The harmonizing of the two. courses
of life is also beautifully rendered in stone on the north portal of
the Chartres cathedral. Two large statues that once symbolized the
active life and the contemplative life have been destroyed; but
underneath still remain twelve little statues representing with the
most naive and expressive realism certain typical duties that each
may demand. On the left, six statues represent women cheerfully
at work washing and combing wool, and preparing flax, by breaking
and carding, for the spinning and the winding on skeins. On the
right, six other statues show women praying, opening a_ book,
reading, meditating, teaching, and sunk in a mystical revery. In
the vaulting, apart from the series, but as a final expression of the
contrast, are seen a shoemaker at work and a monk at study.
Into these records of daily toil the sculptors could put all their
creative force; for, though the church urged upon the few the
transcendent joys of contemplation, it never slighted for the many
the necessity of labor, or sought to depreciate it. All this would
be a commonplace to the spectators who witnessed the performance

* City of God, Bk. 19. chap. 19. See also Gregory, Morals, 2. 433.

2 Guvres Completes, 6. 101—02; 7. 270-74.

ao 25.

‘Trans Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 23 Marcu, 1910.

340 Elbert N. S. Thompson

of Wisdom; by them, therefore, the theological teaching of the
play would not be misunderstood.

For the practical, ethical instruction that closes the play no such
commentary is needed. Wisdom re-enters, and by earnest warnings
seeks to reclaim the three erring powers of the soul. He speaks
effectively of the necessity of contrition and prayer for forgiveness,
and shows the futility of self-torture for winning salvation, as com-
pared with the observation of nine simple duties most pleasing to
God. These are: charity to the poor, sorrow for Christ’s suffering,
patience under reproof, watching for love of God, pity for the sick,
restraint in speech, a feeling of responsibility for a neighbor’s soul,
prayer, and the love of God. By this simple homily the three
sinners are reclaimed. If the teaching in the first portion of the
play seems impractical, here, at least, is much good advice for
right living. This contrast between the practical and the unpractical
is very characteristic of medieval theology and homiletics, and it
has been reflected plainly in the morality plays.

For the propagation of some specific doctrine and of piety in
general, wealthy, play-loving cities like York and Lincoln could
make permanent arrangements on an elaborate scale. But in a less
pretentious way, any churchman could arrange for a simple dramatic
entertainment to illustrate the truths that he was teaching. Such,
doubtless, were the plays of whose performance in the open air on
Sunday afternoons Bishop Bale bears witness. One specimen of
such dramatized sermons the simple moral play, Saint John the
Evangelist, has been assumed to be. It opens with a discourse by
the Evangelist on the contemplative life, which he terms “the
sweetest life.” Almost immediately he returns to preach again on
the Crucifixion, and at the end, giving little chance for any im-
portant action to intervene, he delivers a longer homily on the
parable of the Publican and the Pharisee at prayer. From this he
draws the identical lesson on the contrast between pride and hu-
mility that is found so universally in medieval commentary. The
Pharisee’s presumption in beginning his prayer with thanks rather
than with confession; the fact that the three sins of which he
boasts himself innocent really embrace all sin; the inevitable ruin
that such pride brings—these were the common teachings of the
church, just the simple lessons most suitable for short, open-air
services. And indications are not wanting in the text that the play,
like the sermons it would imitate, was given in the open. As John
finishes his first homily, Eugenio makes the comment, “methinks
I have heard you preach or this at Paul’s Cross.” Later, Evil

The Enghsh Moral Plays 341

Council ventures the opinion, without any reference to an edifice,
“we shall have a sermon or night.” The inference is that this
simple religious play was used as a substitute for the sermons so
often preached in the open air on Sunday afternoons.

The substance of this chapter may now be briefly summarized.
As the ecclesiastical playwrights drew from the Psychomachia the
allegorical conception of spiritual life that prevailed in every play,
so from it they derived also the understanding of the Lord’s Prayer
that they sought to expound in the earliest known play. Other
similar lessons, especially those emphasized by Robert Grosseteste,
were dramatized in exactly the same spirit. To the doctrine thus
introduced to form the bone and sinew of the Pater Noster plays,
Wisdom and other early moralities, as well as later plays like John
the Evangelist, remained true. In thus holding close to the text-
book of the church, the morality plays reflect truly and adequately
the spirit of medieval theological thought.

CHAPTER V.—CoNTRIBUTORY ALLEGORIES.

Although the Psychomachia established the conception of spiritual
life as an open conflict between the externalized and allegorized
traits of man’s soul, and determined, too, the special teaching of
the earliest Pater Noster plays, that poem was not the only influence
upon the allegory of the rising religious drama. The taste for
allegory was so literally part of the web and woof of medieval
thought that other themes were adapted in the same way for
dramatic presentation. But where the Psychomachia must rank as
a creative force, these others should be regarded as secondary or
contributory. The medieval debates—d¢bats—gave only an indirect
stimulus to the revival of dramatic literature, and certain allegorical
themes drawn from the religious thought of the age to furnish
episodes for the drama seem distinctly dependent upon the theme
of conflict. Ramsay believes that these themes, the Dance of Death,
the Debate of the Body and the Soul, and the dispute between
Mercy and Truth, Peace and Righteousness, at first occupied a
position equal in importance to that of the Psychomachia.’ But
they serve, in substance, as sequels to the theme of conflict, and
do not stand naturally alone. Those few plays, like Everyman, not
actually grounded upon the conflict, are at least dependent upon it.

1 Magnificence, cx\viii.

342 Elbert N. S. Thompson

The comparative frequency of these other themes, therefore, in the
few extant early plays should not lead to the displacement of the
Psychomachia from the position to which its general historical im-
portance, its influence on the earliest known morals, as it has been
shown, and its evident influence upon this whole dramatic type,
have raised it, in favor of these other religious topics which were
added to the fundamental theme to extend and diversify it.

The dghate, which should be regarded as the least direct of these
secondary influences, came to the Middle Ages from the secular
literature of classical antiquity. In the pastoral poetry of Theocritus
and Virgil it had become a stereotyped form, and in the work of
the philosophers a recognized means of instruction! This alone
would have given it the seal of authority for the Latinists of the
Middle Ages, who ranked Virgil so highly. But the debate was
handed on not alone through the channel of established literary
tradition, but also along the devious paths of popular minstrelsy.?
This type of poem, therefore, was widely disseminated through
Europe, both in the formal] literature that would bow to the tradition
of Virgil or the philosophers, and in the popular poetry that re-
sponded to the tastes of the people. One understands, then, how
certain themes, like the debates between the Body and the Soul,
Winter and Summer, and Wine and Water, made their way into
so many different literatures; and one can easily see that this sort
of poetic dialogue, as adapted especially by the minstrels, would
unquestionably figure in the renaissance of the drama.

The universal vogue of the debate in medieval literature Causes
some scholars to regard it as the broad type of which the moral
combat was only a specialized form. Between the two, indeed,
existed a sort of kinship in dramatic potentiality, and an adaptability
for allegory. But the inspiration of Prudentius came in matters of
literary form from the classical epic, in spirit from the New Testa-
ment and the Fathers; and as long as the theme of allegorical
combat retained its original seriousness, it withstood noticeable
modifications from the debate. The two literary traditions were
advancing along closely adjacent, but parallel, courses. Only when
the machinery of the Psychomachia was applied to themes more
and more trivial was cross influence felt. This is not plain in
the Bataille des Sept Arts, for at a time when ignorance as well
as sin were attributed to Adam’s fall, Henri of Andeli’s theme was

1 Jantzen, 2—4. 2 Thid., 22.
3 Gaston Paris. 176 -77.

The English Moral Plays 343

not altogether alien to the matter of the Psychomachia. But the
Bataille d’Enfer et de Paradis, in which the principals are represented
by their respective champions, the cities Arras and Paris personified,
and especially the Bataille de Karesme et de Charnage, which may
be called the mock-heroic of this literary genre, owe, I think, less
to the Psychomachia than to such pieces as the debate between
wine and water. These trivial combats, however, are plain per-
versions of the theme; serious combat-literature, which alone had
influence on the early morals, was unaffected by the debate.

One illustration may make the matter clear. In the Bataille that
we call the mock-heroic two great barons meet at court, one Ka-
resme (Lent), the other Charnage (the period when flesh may be
eaten). Lent is haughty and insults Flesh-Time, and, when he
retorts angrily, orders him from the palace. But the supporters of
each are hot-headed, and blows follow words, so .that the poem,
which promised at the outset to be a mere debate, becomes a
chronicle of actual conflict, in which the whale, the herring, and
all the other “chevaliers de mer” fight with Lent, while choice
cuts of beef, pork, and venison, rally to Flesh-Time’s aid. The cat-
alogue of combatants is tediously drawn out, the poet being evidently
a gourmand with no taint of Fletcherism. Suffice to say, the battle
is long and hard—so the reader is told—and Lent is decisively
worsted, largely because Christmas with her “ bacons,” the Bluechers
of the day, arrive in time. Lent is forced to come to terms of sub-
mission, and becomes the vassal of Lord Flesh-Time.

Such was the contamination that the theme of moral conflict
suffered from the debate; but, since the contamination did not affect
the serious moral combats that alone would inspire the early mo-
ralities, the debate should be studied as an independent influence
upon the drama. The form of the debate is essentially dramatic.
In some poems the author himself reports a controversy that he
professes to have heard; in others, the contestants themselves carry
on the dispute, debating vigorously the pros and cons of a question
that one puts formally to the other. The subject-matter was varied
—though not so much as one would expect; but whether it was
secular or religious, trivial or significant, the form was always in
essence dramatic, necessitating the use of dialogue, however crude
or tedious, and giving opportunity for a suggestion of complication
and action. Unquestionably, therefore, the debate must have furthered
somewhat the rise of the regular modern drama.

Many debates, of course, were too simple to reveal any of the
dramatic possibilities that were latent in the class. What these

344 Elbert N. S. Thompson

possibilities might really be is shown in the Debate of the Carpenter’s
Tools. A mutiny arises in the shop when half the tools declare
their master to be too shiftless and unsteady to deserve their support.
The other tools, however, although they cannot deny that their
master

loves gode ale so wele

That he berfore his hod wyll selle,

Fore some dey he wyll vii? drinke, (75—77)

are still true to his interests. This simple dramatic complication
is thereupon carried by the poet to a distinct climax when, after
the “crow,” the “pleyne,” and the “squyre” have decided to seek
a better master, the carpenter’s wife breaks in, with curses on the
priest who bound her “ prentys,”

And i myght, so wold 1. - (266)

A fuller knowledge as to the minstrels’ methods of reciting these
popular pieces might possibly disclose a connection between the
debate and the drama in matters other than form. There is slight
evidence here and there in contemporary records that some minstrels
used gestures, facial masks, and, wherever ecclesiastical law was not
rigorously enforced, clerical robes to aid them in impersonating the
participants in the debates.!. There is also no reason for rejecting
as impossible the assumption that sometimes two or more minstrels
carried on the debate. Jantzen, moreover, calls attention to several
early German plays that are simply slight modifications of debates,
and I shall point out bits of similar literature embedded in English
morality plays.2. But traces of such direct borrowing are rarely
found; for the substance of the typical debate was too trivial to
serve the serious didactic purpose of the drama, and the larger part
of the repertoire of the minstrels has been lost. Nevertheless, since
these same minstrels were also agents in spreading the seeds of
the actual drama, one can realize the strength of the debate’s un-
seen influence in charging the spirit of the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries with dramatic instinct.

In this same general way the debate contributed to the rise of the
morality plays. It had always shown a capacity for personification.
The Adyos dixacos and Aoyos &dixos of Aristophanes’ Clouds are embodi-
ments of moral abstractions like those which acted on the medieval

1 Chambers, 1. 81—83.
> Jantzen, 92-95. See below 346, 354.
3 Tbid., 22; Herford, 22.

The English Moral Plays 345

stage. These personifications sometimes leave their trivialities in order
to debate themes strikingly similar to the subjects of the moralities.
The Synagogue and the Church, for example, in one Old French
poem, and the Jew and the Christian in another almost identical
piece, after a few rude personalities, argue seriously on the proper
interpretation of Isaiah’s prophecy and on the significance of Christ’s
Passion.! In the latter debate the Jew is converted to the true
faith. If these poems suggest comparison with those plays which,
with a more or less liberal admixture of abuse, conveyed instruc-
tion in points of doctrine, often with immediate good results, the
dull little piece, Marguet Convertie, offers resemblance to some of
the more purely ethical sacred plays which deal with the contrast
between the unlicensed desires of youth and the experience and
premonitions of age. The young woman who at first taunts an old
man for his physical weakness, is finally brought by his warnings
to see her wrong-doing and repent. Finally, to offer but one more
example, the Debate of the Body and the Soul, in its simple yet
noble piety, would have given inspiration to the best of the morality
plays. In general, the religious debate and the moral play enforce
the same doctrine, the same warnings, and the same faith.*

This correspondence, however, in spirit and subject-matter between
certain debates and the typical moral play does not indicate that
one was derived from the other, for the same correspondence marks
all phases of medieval religious feeling. For instance, the last lines
of The Body and the Soul, the closing scenes of many moralities,
the carvings on the portals of the cathedrals, all tell the same
story of the fate of the damned. Giving direct expression, as they
do, to the teachings of the church, they naturally are in agreement.
This is all that can be postulated as to the connection between the
religious debate and the moral play: as the debate in general,
apart from the few instances of direct influence now known, encouraged
the use of the dramatic form, so the debate on sacred subjects must
have done something to spread the lessons of the church, and thus
to supplement and strengthen the teachings of the moral plays. But
this indirect support was hardly necessary, so familiar were the
authors of the plays with their proper subject-matter, and at most
the debate’s influence on this branch of the drama was slight.

The influence of John Heywood, however, established a clearly
marked cross-influence between the debate and the less serious

1 See Bibliography, and Ht. Litt., 23. 216-17.
2 For the controversial debate of the sixteenth century see chap. 6.

346 Elbert N. S. Thompson

moralities of the sixteenth century. His interludes, Witty and Witless
and Of Gentleness and Nobility, which are only dramatized dialogues,
were not too remote from the allegorical plays to exert upon them
an influence. In the Play of Love, one of the characters takes the
familiar part of the vice, and the contention carried on by The
Lover Loved, The Lover not Loved, The Woman Beloved not
Loving, and Neither Loving nor Loved, was doubtless imitated by
the author of A// for Money in the strife among Learning without
Money, Learning with Money, Money without Learning, and Neither
Money nor Learning. Other more significant specimens, though, of
the debate are to be found in these plays. The two characters
Wealth and Health, in the play that bears their names, carry on a
perfectly obvious dispute in which one belittles the other and praises
himself, and then come to an agreement in time to scoff at the
pretensions of Liberty, who would uphold his own title to prece-
dence. Formal judges are sometimes appointed by the disputants.
In Magnificence, Liberty debates with Felicity to prove that he
should not be subject, as Felicity has maintained, to external control,
and Measure, who has been appointed judge, decides against his
claims.t In several plays it is the vice who starts the dispute, and
acts as arbiter. Contempt, the vice of The Coblers Prophecie, brings
the three representatives of the social orders, Landed Gentry, Courtier,
and Scholar, into argument; in Like Will to Like, Nicholas New-
fangle hears Tom Tosspot and Ralph Roister debate their claim to
the title, ‘the verier knave.”* But even these formal debates play
no essential part in the plays. For this reason the dispute in King
Darius is of greater importance. Told to name and defend what
they regard as the strongest influence upon man, one disputant
suggests and upholds wine, a second, the king, and the third, woman.
The last contestant is awarded the decision because he has spoken
without flattery or deceit-—-a moral ending of the incident which
Equity and Charity carry further in a final admonition and a
religious song. But even here, where the debate is fused with the
didactic lesson, it cannot be said to influence largely the action of
the play.

Of the religious motifs that were tributary to the main current
of the allegorical drama, the least important and the most remote
from the theme of the Psychomachia is the_legend_of Antichrist.
The legend, to be sure, foretells a great world-struggle with
Antichrist, the incarnation of all the vices. But it is because the

1 24162. 2 317-26.

The English Moral Plays 347

most complete dramatization of the story is also the earliest play
in which allegory is used, that it deserves consideration here.'

The origin of the legend of Antichrist is hidden in remotest an-
tiquity. It certainly was not, as its name may seem to indicate, an
outgrowth of Christian eschatological speculation; for at the hands
of Jewish theologians it had received full development before the
beginning of the Christian era.2 Nor may one suppose that the
legend is no older than the writings of the Old Testament; for,
hypothetical as are some of the theories of Gunkel and Bousset,
they come little short of proving that it is only an anthropomorphic
version of the old Babylonian myth, the story, transformed, of the
dragon who waged war on the gods in heaven.’ It would be
futile, however, in this connection to follow in detail these ex-
cursions into Oriental folk-lore; the Christian interpretation of the
legend grew from certain prophetic writings of the Old Testament,
and from certain incidents in the history of the Jewish people.* It
is enough, therefore, for a student of medieval religious teaching to
know the belief regarding Antichrist that prevailed among the later
Jews and early Christians.

The earliest versions of the legend in the Bible represent Anti-
christ not as a single personality, human or superhuman, but as
a power for evil lodged in a hostile rival nation. By these heathen
foes the chosen people, for their faithlessness toward God, are as-
sailed and oppressed until God himself sends relief. “It shall come
to pass at the same time when Gog shall come against the land of
Israel, saith the Lord God, that my fury shall come up in my face.
... Surely in that day there shall be a great shaking in the land of
Israel.”®> Such is Ezekiel’s conception. It was soon transformed in
certain essential respects by the subjection of the Jews to the rig-
orous persecutions of Antiochus IV.6 The pagan races were then
no longer depicted as instruments of vengeance in the hands of
Israel’s angry God; they were made to appear as a power for

1 There were other dramas on Antichrist, not allegorical. A play on
Antichrist in the Chester cycle was assigned to the dyers. Another
English miracle-play on the subject has been printed by Collier (see
bibliography). I have read, also, a German play of the fifteenth cen-
tury, Des Entkrist Vasnacht.

2 Jewish Encyclopedia. 3 Bousset-Keane, 13, xi—xxvi.

4 Realencyklopedie, from which I adopt the threefold division of the ‘
history of the legend.

5 Ezekiel, 88. 18,19. See the whole of chaps. 38, 39.

6 See Encycl. Brit. for details. Date, 2e4 century B. C.

348 Elbert N. S. Thompson

wickedness opposed to the purposes of God. In this spirit Daniel
foretold the coming of that “fourth kingdom,” the kingdom of
Antiochus, that should “devour the whole earth,” and the might
of the Romans, by which the righteous should “fall by the sword,
and by flame, by captivity, and by spoil... Thus the legend was
modified by the hardships and humiliations that the Jewish nation
experienced. But Daniel, like Ezekiel, still expected the oppression
of Antichristian might to come, not from a single Satanic individual,
but from some neighboring heathen kingdom or kingdoms.

This the first stage in the Biblical treatment of the prophecy was
greatly modified as the Jewish people were taught to await the
advent of a personal Messiah. For if God, instead of coming in
person to relieve them, was to send his son as Saviour, then nat-
urally Satan would be expected to delegate his powers to a lieutenant
in all respects the counterpart of the Messiah.2 Consequently, if
the Messiah was conceived as a victorious king, an Antichrist was
foreseen who should assail Israel in armed battle. When, however,
the prophetic, law-giving character of the Messiah was emphasized,
the popular conception of Antichrist underwent a corresponding
change. Moses and Balaam, the false prophet, became then the
types of Christ and Antichrist. And when the Jews finally ex-
pected not simply a king or a prophet, but a heavenly being, then
Antichrist became to them an emanation of the Devil.? Such an
understanding of the nature of Antichrist was made easy by the
prominence given in the prophecies to Gog and Antiochus as
leaders of heathen foes; it was rendered inevitable by the faith in
a personal Messiah.

This belief, that the world immediately before the second com-
ing of Christ was to be dominated by the terrible will of an Anti-
christ, is carried by the writers of the New Testament through its
third and final stage. The most characteristic feature of the second,
to be sure, was retained by the author of the Apocalypse, who
predicted that Antichrist would come in the form of Nero, or some
one Neronic emperor, and by Paul, who, whether or not with any
historical personage in mind, thought always in the singular of “the
man of sin.” But even here the influence of Christianity left its
impress in an intensifying of the antithesis between the Messiah and
his great opponent.’ In other respects the New Testament made

1 Daniel, 7. 23; 11. 33. Also chap. 8,
2 Realencyklopedie. 3 Schneckenburger, 408-11.
4 Realencyklopedie.

The Enghsh Moral Flays 349

more important alterations in the story. Both Christ and his fol-
lowers gave up the idea that the evil power was to come from
some remote land, in order to impress upon their disciples the im-
manence of the evil principle in their very midst. -It was also
natural that, as the teaching of Christ dissociated the interests of
the kingdom of God from those of the Jewish theocracy, the
tradition should lose much, if not all, of its political significance,
and assume a purely spiritual import. Therefore, although Christ
grounded his warning of coming woe on the political prophecy of
Daniel, the Antichrist that he foretold was to be no foreign king,
destined to humiliate and overthrow the Jewish theocracy, but
a false prophet sprung from the Jews themselves, and not one, but
many.! For, as the tradition was thus spiritualized, the Antichrist
again lost his personal identity, making himself felt, however, at
this time not vaguely in some foreign enemy, but intimately in all
Jews who gave themselves to evil. The Johannine epistle, in which
the name Antichrist is first used, plainly states that all who deny
the Father or the Son become themselves Antichrist.2, Thus John
gave his authority to a distinctly new conception of the Antichrist,
and, as Paul was the last great Biblical exponent of the older idea
of a single Antichrist, John became the virtual founder of another
school of thought. But both these great Christian leaders were at
one in emphasizing, as earlier thinkers had not done, the moral and
ethical meaning of the legend—the opposition of sin to holiness.
These two understandings of the nature of Antichrist were carried
on in the teaching of the medieval church. Origen, among the
Fathers the most influential follower of the Johannine exposition,
was by no means alone. But in the western church the more
concrete understanding of the Satanic power exerted the greater
influence, though what of the legend’s political significance was
retained was entirely changed. Only the Jews, through their un-
ending hatred of Rome, preserved the tradition that Antichrist was
to spring from that empire. The Christians, on the contrary, after
the conversion of Constantine, forgot entirely the historical application
of the visions of the Apocalypse, following, as Bousset suggests, an
older version of the legend that antedated Rome’s persecutions of
the new religion, and looking for the coming of Antichrist to the

1 See Matt. 24. 15-31. Here and elsewhere the New Testament is
said to preserve the tradition of a non-political, purely eschatological,
Antichrist (Bousset, 182-88).

2 John 2. 22, 4. 3.

3 See quotations in Jewzsh Encyclopedia.

350 Elbert N. S. Thompson

Jewish people... He was to be born in the city of Babylon of a
Satanic woman of the tribe of Dan. In his thirtieth year he would
go to Jerusalem, where he would rebuild the temple and proclaim
himself king. Through gifts, or force, or miracles, he would compel
the whole world to acknowledge him the Christ. But after three
and one half years of this rule, the angel Michael would be sent
by God to slay the impostor, and to usher in the short period of
peace that would precede the end of the world.

It was of course the concrete, rather than the psychological,
interpretation of the prophecy, that proved most suitable for art.?
Of the several dramatic versions of the story, only the twelfth-
century Ludus de Antichristo, the earliest play in which allegorical
characters appear, need be considered. Being based on the treatise
of Adso, it embraces all the incidents mentioned above, but shows
in its political signification modifications due to the revival of the
western empire.? This historical bearing of the plot has been clearly
analyzed by Creizenach,‘ and it remains to point out only the re-
spects in which the play seems a forerunner of the morality.

In the Ludus de Antichristo there are seven strictly religious or
ethical personifications, Mercy and Justice, Hypocrisy and Heresy,
Heathenism, Synagogue, and Church, and in addition one or two
historical personifications, such as Babylon. In word and deed they
resemble the similar characters of the moralities. Notice in the first
place that the religious teaching of the play is presented by these
abstractions as though such matter were perfectly suited for the
drama. The play opens with this characteristic combination of dra-
matic action and moral instruction. Heathenism and Babylon enter
singing, but their theme is a strictly argumentative defense of poly-
theism. To believe in one God is to suppose foolishly that from
a single source emanate all those widely different manifestations
of divine power that man experiences. Gifts as diverse as the
blessings of peace and the horrors of war force one in all reason
to recognize deities of unlike will and power. In the same fashion,
Synagogue and her party of Jews express in song their faith in
one God, but their distrust and detestation of the self-professed
Saviour of men who could not save himself. And so also Holy
Church, who appears as a queen in armor, attended by Mercy with

1 Bousset-Keane, 128-30, 184-87. Wadstein, 125-36, gives a good
review of the church’s teaching.

2 Cf. the painting of Signorelli at Orvieto.

3 Bousset-Keane, 131, and also 47—50.

+1. 81-86.

The English Moral Plays 351

the cup of oil, and by Justice with sword and scales, sings a song,
indicated in the text simply by the words, “alto consilio,” which,
from her attendants’ response, “ This is the faith that gives life and
overpowers death; those who believe it are not damned,” must be
a recognition of the Trinity. Such attempts to convey abstract
truth on the stage are characteristic of the morality plays.

Equally characteristic of the moralities are the parts assigned to
the personifications in the development of the plot. Hypocrisy
undertakes to seduce laymen, and Heresy to mislead the clergy.
With them is associated the group of Hypocrites, who represent
half allegorically a type. On the other hand, at the end of the
play Holy Church receives the mortals who have been rescued by
the two prophets from their subjection to Antichrist, and brought
back to the true faith. On either side, these are the parts soon to
be conventionalized in the morality play. Had the legend been
more often handled in this way by the dramatists, it would rank
as one of the more important influences upon the allegorical drama ;
as it is, it may be regarded as a slight, but independent, contributory
influence.

The other religious allegories that were incorporated into the
morality plays, usually in dependence upon the theme of the Psycho-
machia, may be handled in chronological sequence. The first is the
motif of the Dance of Death, which was so widely used in the
literature and “art of medieval Europe. The coming of Death to
summon to judgment King and Bishop, Courtier and Scholar,
Merchant and Peasant, was painted on the walls and windows of
churches, as at Liibec and Salisbury, on the walls of graveyards,
as in the Dominican convent at Basle, in illuminated service-books,
and in Switzerland even on bridges and the facades of private
houses. The earliest known treatment of the Dance of Death is a
short Latin poem of the early fourteenth century, in which re-
presentatives of the different orders of society, in due order, utter
complaints on death and go to suffer the ordeal. Death itself does
not appear, yet the poem reminds one of the medieval dramas, like
the Prophet Play, whose actors come upon the stage one by one,
speak their parts, and disappear.! It is thought that the literary
treatment of the theme had its origin in the fab/eaux vivants that
were so popular during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries in
France and Flanders.2 The earliest extant texts, it seems, enable

1 Male?, 390-91. MaAle’s whole discussion of the Dance of Death should
be read as the latest treatment of the subject.
2 Seelmann, 11-21; Creizenach, 1. 461—62.

352 Elbert N. S. Thompson

the scholar to postulate a French version of the legend dramatic
in form. In these texts, Death gives his summons in the first line,
and receives the answer of his victim in an eight-line stanza. To
this Death replies in the first seven lines of the next stanza before
turning in the eighth to the second victim. By this arrangement
there is provided but a single figure for Death, instead of one for
every scene as in the pictorial representations of the allegory, and
this one figure was the moving force and the center of a bit of
truly dramatic action. From this comes the deduction that the
earliest Dance of Death was a dumb show or tableau accompanied
by simple words of warning. But, according to Male, this drama
had its roots in medieval homiletics. He shows that several early
mural representations of the Dance of Death depict first, before
Death is painted, a preacher as he addresses a group of worship-
pers, and then Adam and Eve as they eat the forbidden fruit. Male
concludes that the drama had its origin in a sermon on death which
the preacher illustrated by simple acting.’ If so, another line of
connection between the stage and the pulpit has been found.

Appreciating the forcefulness of these earliest mimetic representa-
tions of the Dance of Death, especially as a warning of the sequel of
an ill-spent life, the authors of the moralities gave it their attention.
“Here begynneth a treatyse how the hye fader of heuen sendeth
dethe to somon euery creature to come and gyue a counte of theyr
lyues in this worlde and is in maner of a morall playe,” reads the
title of our finest sacred play. Upon the closing scenes of man’s
earthly life the author focuses attention. The homiletic exposition
of the sacraments and of confession is reduced to a minimum, and
the early part of Everyman’s life of pleasure is given only by sug-
gestion. With a sense of unity rare at that time, the play dwells
on its one theme—death.

The grim messenger sees his victim:

Lo, yonder I see Everyman walking:

Full little he thinketh on my coming:

His mind is on fleshly lusts and his treasure ;

And great pain it shall cause him to endure

Before the Lord, heaven’s King. (95)

In vain the victim seeks to escape, or to find a companion:

Oh, to whom shall I make my moan,
For to go with me in that heavy journey ?

h
}
N

The Enghsh Moral Plays 353

First Fellowship he said he would with me gone;
His words were very pleasant and gay,

But afterward he left me alone.

Then spake I to my kinsmen all in despair,

And also they gave me words fair,

They lacked no fair speaking ;

But all forsake me in the ending.

Then went I to my Goods that I loved best,

In hope to have found comfort; but there had least:
For my Goods sharply did me tell,

That he bringeth many in hell. (107—8)

It is his fortune, at this crisis, to meet Knowledge, Confession, and
other virtues who prepare him for his end. As he dies, an “ Angel
is heard speaking”:

Now thy soul is taken thy body fro,
Thy reckoning is crystal clear;
Now shalt thou into the heavenly sphere. (121)

Yet even Everyman, confined as it is to this one situation, is not
without dependence on the theme of conflict. To depict the sequel
of a misspent life, a losing struggle with the vices, the author has
selected from a variety of possible characters, good and bad, that
this allegory usually embraced, the wild gallant whose career best
served as warning. Turn from virtue to vice, as Everyman did, and
only a repentance like his, a turning again to the virtues as in the
typical combat-play, can save you, is the moral of the piece.

I would not press too insistently for this play the dependence on
the Psychomachia that is more evident in the earliest English
morality of which any part remains. In The Pride of Life it is the
King who is seized by Death after a life of wilful disregard of God's
law. Conscious of his power, and trusting in his two knights, Might
and Health, he has disregarded Death. When the queen has re-
minded him that all men must die, and that every one, therefore,
should

loue god & holy chirche

& haue of him som eye [reverence], (187—88)
the King but boasts more proudly of his power. At the request of
the queen, the bishop then reproaches him, warning him that the
world has turned to evil, and that the fear of God has been lost
in falsehood, treachery, and oppression. But hell awaits the wrong-
doers, he adds, where, without any chance for bail or a stay of pro-
ceedings, as in earthly courts, unending woe is prepared for kings

354 Elbert N. S. Thompson

as well as common people. Even this warning is wasted, for the
king calls the bishop a babbler, and urges him to learn to preach
better. Here the text breaks off; but the prologue tells how Death,
after first sending a messenger, wrestles with the king, and overthrows
him, and gives his soul to the devils.?

The vivid conception of the coming of Death with his summons
to judgment, gave rise to another closely allied allegorical motif,
the Debate between the Body and the Soul. The popularity of this
theme, however, in the lyric poetry of Europe did not gain for it
any important place in the drama.?_ In only two English moral
plays are traces of it found. Toward the close of The Pride of Life,
the Virgin begs Christ to allow the King’s soul to dispute with his
body, and thereby gets a reconsideration of his sentence, and his
eventual release from the hands of the devil. Of the incident, un-
fortunately, there remains only the outline in the prologue. Another
trace of the same theme is found in The Castle of Perseverance,
when Soul crawls “from beneath the bed under the Castle,” and
reproaches Body for his sins.

body! pou dedyst brew a byttyr bale,

to pi lustys whanne gannest loute ;

pi sely sowle schal ben a-kale;

I beye pi dedys with rewly rowte;

& al it is for gyle.

euere bou hast be coueytous,

falsly to getyn londe & hows;

to me pou hast brokyn a byttyr jows;

so welaway be whyle! (3013-21)

The debate in both plays follows the mission of Death, and with it
covers one crisis in the spiritual life of man.

But no one of these three important English plays that represent
allegorically the coming of death closes the story of man’s life with
that point. As that incident looks back, implicitly at least, to the
record of a misspent life, a losing struggle with the vices, so in
Christian dramaturgy it could not but look forward to the possi-
bility of salvation. Another episode, therefore, was necessary to give
the last stage of the pilgrim’s progress. For this, the dramatists

‘ The theme is similarly treated in Zhe Castle of Perseverance. See
above, 318. Death appears in the French morality, Les Blasphémateurs,
(Repertoire, 42), and in the Hegge play, Zhe Slaughter of the Innocents.
For later appearances of Death on the stage see Langlois, 1. 291-307.

2 See above, 345.

The English Moral Plays 355

found at hand in ecclesiastical literature of all sorts a fully devel-
oped allegory based upon the verse, ‘Mercy and truth are met to-
gether; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.”! This
naturally dramatic theme became the third part of the moral trilogy.

To trace the development of this allegory from the beginning,
the student must go to the old rabbinical exegesis of the book of
Genesis known as the Bereshith Rabbah, which was compiled and
edited in approximately its present form as early as the sixth or
eighth century.2 According to the commentary, God, before the
creation, sought counsel of his angels. In the discussion that ensued
some favored the creation, others opposed it. ‘Mercy and truth
thrust at one another. Justice and peace fought together.” Mercy
said, “Create him, because he will practice mercy.” Truth objected,
“for he will be full of lies.” Justice and Peace were likewise of
opposite views. God at last threw Truth to the earth (Daniel 8. 12);
and the angels who begged that she be allowed to rise, finally left
the decision to his judgment.

The story of the dispute in heaven passed from the Midrash into
Christian literature, where it was transferred in point of time from
the creation to the more suitable period’of redemption. In that
connection, Hugo of St. Victor introduced the incident in his com-
mentary on the Psalms.’ Shortly after, Bernard retold the story in
more detailed and dramatic fashion in the sermon on the Annunciation
already cited as an example of homiletic dialogue.* Man, the sermon
runs, was originally endowed with four virtues: mercy to guard
him, truth to teach him, justice to rule him, and peace to cherish
him. But, faring like the man who fell among thieves on his way
to Jericho, he lost justice when he listened to the temptations of
the serpent, mercy when he burned with carnal desires, truth when
he yielded to them, and peace when he gave himself thus to
wickedness. But Mercy and Peace, opening the dialogue, beg God
to pardon the sinner, and both parties in the dispute are summoned
before the judgment seat. Mercy opens the case in court with her
plea, and Truth answers, insisting that God’s laws be carried out.
At this point, Christ, under the name of Solomon, the type of
wisdom, is summoned to sit as judge, and Truth continues her
argument that the granting of Mercy’s request would destroy the

#2Ps. 85. 10:

2 Traver, 7-8, 13-14. Jewish Encyclopedia, 8. v. Midrash, and Bereshith
Rabbah.

® Pair. Lat., 17. 621—25.

4 Guvres Completes, 3. 340—48. See above, 307.

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 24 Marcu, 1910.

356 Elbert N. S. Thompson

authority of God. Peace pleads for a reconciliation. Then the
judge renders his decision, writing on the ground, “Haec dicit,
‘Perii, si Adam non moriatur’; et haec dicit, ‘ Perii nisi misericordiam
consequatur.’ Fiat mors bona et habet utraque quod petit.” The
supporters of both policies are surprised; how can the sinner die
and at the same time enjoy mercy? The judge accordingly explains
that it can come about only by the voluntary death of some inno-
cent man. But Truth among all the mortals on earth can find no
innocent person, while Mercy in heaven can find no one with enough
love for man to make the sacrifice. Peace then declares that only
God himself can do it, and the plan of redemption is decreed.

It would be beyond the scope of this book to trace the progress
of Bernard’s dramatic sermon through medieval religious literature.
Bonaventura in the Weditationes, Robert Grosseteste in the Chasteau
ad’ Amour, the author of the Cursor Mundi, and many other churchmen
in homily, treatise, and poem, copied it either at first hand or in-
directly. It descended, therefore, as a heritage to the sacred drama.!

Of the ten French plays which contain the dispute, the most
complete is Amould Gréban’s Mystere de la Passion. After a
preface narrating the creation, the fall of Lucifer, and the sin of
Adam, the long play opens with a scene in Limbo, where Adam
and Eve in company with the prophets wait with lamentation and
entreaty for the coming of the Son of God. Then the scene
changes to Paradise, where Mercy, Truth, Justice, and Peace are
met to determine the fate of man. Their argument hinges mainly
on the relative degrees of culpability of Lucifer and of Adam. All
agree that Lucifer’s crime is unpardonable; but Mercy shows that
man sinned not through lust of power, as did Satan, but in ignorant
craving for knowledge. Justice, however, declares that both Adam
and Lucifer rebelled against God’s power. In this opinion Truth,
‘““a woman very wise and prudent,” concurs. But Mercy, encouraged
by God’s reminder of his grace, insists that man’s inherent nobility,
and his condition of ignorance and weakness at the time of the
fall, entitle him to a lenity that Lucifer can not claim. The six
grounds on which she bases the distinction convince Justice and
Truth that man’s punishment should not be eternal; but what
should it be? On this point Mercy defers to the deeper wisdom

1 In her full history of the allegory, Miss Traver discusses ten French
plays: Mercadé’s, Mystére de la Passion, Gréban’s Passion, Viel Testament,
Le Mistére de la Conception, the Valenciennes Passion, La Rouen Jncar-
nation, La Vengeance Nostre Seigneur, L’ Amour Divin, La Moralité de Na-
ture, and Le Laz d’Amour Divin. See Traver, 70—124.

a ee owen ae

The Enghsh Moral Plays 357

of Sapience, who says that man can be redeemed only by his
Creator, and that of the members of the Godhead the Son is the
fittest for the task.’ Here the dispute ends. But in a poem of
such vast dimensions as Greban’s, this, the central incident, as it is
represented, of human history, could not be at this point finally
dropped. As Christ prays in the garden that the cup may be
taken from him, God begs the four virtues to reopen the case and
find some milder form of atonement. Here, though, Justice remains
obdurate to Mercy’s entreaties, and the original verdict is carried
to its fulfillment—the Passion. Finally, after the Resurrection and
the Ascension, God summons the sisters for the last time, reviews
the cause of the dispute, and gets their admission that full recompense
has been rendered by the Son.”

Thus the miracle-plays and the Passion plays introduced the al-
legory as the forerunner of the redemption. It formed the basis,
for example, for the pageant of Zhe Salutation and Conception in
the so-called Coventry cycle. There Contemplacio calls upon God to
end speedily for prophet and patriarch the long imprisonment in
hell. But against the Father’s inclination to forgive, Truth brings ob-
jection, and the debate results. Peace effects a reconciliation, and
Filius, at her suggestion, offers himself as the required sacrifice.®

The debate was adopted also by the authors of the English moral
plays, but in a different manner. The miracle-plays accepted the
incident as an historical fact, the precursor of the central point in
the world’s history. The homilists of the moralities, on the con-
trary, who to an erring humanity held out the hope of salvation,
brought the theme forward from its historical setting in the past
to the present, in order to exhibit it in its eternal significance.
They regarded it not as a single occurrence, but as the ever
recurring ordeal that decides the destiny of every mortal man. In
this way the English moral play suited the allegory to its purpose.*

The dispute between Mercy, Truth, Righteousness, and Peace
appears in three extant English moral plays, but only once in its
true form. Respudblica removes it from its true setting, and strips it
of its inherent beauty, to render it serviceable in a political drama
whose interests were largely secular. In response to Respublica’s
prayers for help against her civil enemies, Mercy is sent to earth

1741-3378. 2 18812 ff. and 34088 ff.
’ Reprinted by Manly, in part by Pollard, and also in the edition of
the cycle.

+The three French moralities, which I have not seen, treat it as a
separate incident.

358 Elbert N. S. Thompson

to bring relief. The goddess calls her sister, Truth, to her aid,
for the two are here to meet in full accord rather than in strife,
and the evil counselors of the queen, who have been ravaging the
kingdom, are exposed. Justice and Peace are then summoned, the
one to defend and the other to preserve order, and the four op-
pressors, Avarice, Adulation, Insolence, and Oppression, are sentenced
to punishment.1. In a second play, Mankind, the allegory is in-
directly alluded to by Mercy, who assures Mankind that Justice will
be abrogated at his trial, and Truth checked in his “streyt argu-
ment,” and that her counsel will prevail.2. In the portion of The
Pride of Life now lost, fuller justice was doubtless done the theme ;
but only in The Castle of Perseverance is it given in full. In that
typical morality the triumph of Mercy and Peace, and the release
of man’s soul from the power of the Devil, close the story of man’s
career.

Through three great crises, then, the complete English moral
play, the so-called futtsctope morality, carried the story of man’s
life and destiny. The earliest crisis, which sprang from the al-
legory of Prudentius and the early Fathers, formed the foundation
for the type; without a moral struggle based_on the doctrine_of
freedom of the will there was no true moral play. But the Middle
Ages lived in faith of a future. So, to show the urgent need of
warfare against carnal and spiritual vices, the sacred dramatists
embodied concretely the sure approach of Death and the fruitless
appeals of the soul; to give hope, though, even to the sinner, they
displayed by means of this debate in heaven the clemency of God.
In this dramatic trilogy the full account of human destiny was
embraced; a dramatic narrative of real value in itself as an ad-
monition, but a web also, as it were, into which might be woven
the doctrinal teachings regarded as most essential for the common

man. None of this matter, however, was original with the drama, ,

or in any sense even new; it was the old, essential story that the
church would restate. Yet beyond this familiar material the legit-
imate moral play could not advance far. To dwell too fully on the
nature of the temptation confronting man introduced a coarse

* Act 5. See below, 370. We note a somewhat similar seculari-
zation of the dispute in the Collogue Social de Paix, Justice, Miséricorde et
Veriteé, which was written, if not played, in 1559 to celebrate the treaty
framed by the kings of France and Spain. Peace complains to God that
she is being oppressed on earth by Mars. God restores her to her rights.
Justice, Mercy, and Truth bring Peace word that Justice and Truth will
again prevail. See Holl, 41—42. > 882-35.

7
Y

The English Moral Plays 359

realism that ean submerged the ethical purpose of the play. Even
the story of the Dance of Death introduced among the abstractions
real characters—the king, the queen, and the bishop, in our earliest
play—which also would eventually lead to the disintegration of the
type. Similar, too, was the trend of the other lines of development
that will be discussed in the next chapter. For these reasons the
moral play was destined to disappear in the freer spirit and broader
knowledge of the Renaissance. But as long as men were moved
by allegorical representation of human life, as long as they were
satisfied with old religious truths slightly seasoned with the spice
of realism, the theme of conflict, extended and diversified by these
other contributory allegorical incidents, gave matter sufficient for
a popular drama.

CuHapter VI.—PuLays oF THE REFORMATION.

But in the sixteenth century the Revival of Learning brought to
England new interests that broadened the mental horizon, reawakened
the artistic instinct in literature, and thereby challenged the ab-
solute sway of religion in the world of thought. Henry was the

1 The French drama admitted a wider range of allegory. The nar-
rative of a pilgrimage along the way of life was given dramatic form in
Bien-Avisé, Mail-Avisé, one of the most worthy of the French plays, and in
other moralities. The theme was doubtless taken by the playwrights
from Raoul de Houdan’s Songe d’Enfer and Voie de Paradis, poems of the
late thirteenth century ; but its ultimate source, of course, is in strictly
ecclesiastical literature and the New Testament. Lactantius, in the Divine
Institutes (Bk. 6, chap. 3), compares the course of human life to the letter
Y; for every youth comes to such a fork in his progress, where he must
choose to follow either good counselors along the road to salvation or
evil advisers along the way to hell. Later writers gave the lesson in
allegory. A religious treatise of the thirteenth century, De Z7ribus Dietzs,
marks out the road from Penitence to Paradise in three relays, or detae,
Contrition, Confession, and Satisfaction, in connection with the story of
the Prodigal Son (cf. Dante, Pur. 9. 94 ff. and Peter Lombard, Sen. 4. 16 A.).
If the treatise was originally a sermon, as Lecoy de la Marche conjectures
(97), we may postulate another direct influence of the pulpit upon the
stage. It is strange that this strictly Biblical allegory was not used by
the English dramatists. Other themes employed by the French play-
wrights are not religious at all. Za Condamnation des Banquets is purely
worldly, a tract of the dietarian ; Honneur des Dames is romantic, showing
the influence of the Roman de la Rose (see Repertoire, 47,73). Such themes
were not known on the English stage.

360 Elbert N. S. Thompson

patron of the New Learning as well as the Defender of the Faith.
The change could not but be reflected in the moral play—for the
first time with any degree of force in Skelton’s long play, Wagurf-
icence, The author was himself a priest, familiar with the trad-
itions and institutions of the church; but he was also an educator
and /itterateur who lived only a few years before the full glory of
the early Renaissance in England. Skelton’s play, therefore, combines
the old and the new. It retains the form of the typical morality,
but in content and style gives evidence of the disintegration of the
religious drama in the new currents of thought."

Skelton in this play abandoned the role of theologian to take
up that of moral adviser; the lesson he teaches is not holiness, but
prudence; the end he seeks is not salvation in the world to come,
but happiness and prosperity in this. The story tells how King
Magnificence is persuaded to cashier Measure for a new adviser, Lib-
erty, and to follow the evil counsel of four base courtiers, Coun-
terfeit Countenance, Crafty Conveyance, Cloaked Collusion, and
Courtly Abusion. By them the resources of the country are impaired,
and the honor of the king tarnished. Finally, however, the king is
reclaimed by four virtues, Good Hope, Redress, Circumspection, and
Perseverance. For the material of this ethical-political play Skelton
had to look away from the writings of churchmen to those of
philosophers and satirists. His sources were twofold—the Ethics of
Aristotle and the Narrenschiff of Brandt. The former he used freely,
as it was modified in the English versions of the pseudo-Anistotelian
Secreta Secretorum, in Occleve’s Regement of Prynces, or perhaps
in Skelton’s own Speculum Principis. Striking peculiarities of the
play are directly traceable, as Ramsay has shown, to these royal
handbooks. Skelton’s second source, the Warrenschiff, had already
served as model for his Bowge of Court, and he turns to it again
in those passages of the play that exhibit the abuses of the court.
He found in his source even the names of the four courtiers. But
more important still, as Herford has shown, he learned from Brandt
to substitute for the allegorical character types of real men and
women. Magnificence, then, marks the beginning of the break-up
of the allegorical drama.?

But the drama was not yet to be wholly lost to religion; before
its vogue was outlived new need for its service arose. The church

1 The best study of this play is that of Ramsay, who has edited it
for the E.E.T.S. His introduction contains also much matter on the
general history of the plays.

2 Ramsay, Introduction, Pt. 1, sect. 7. Herford, 350—52.

|
:
|

The English Moral Plays 3614

universal, whose doctrines and exhortations it had long been the
drama’s mission to popularize, was shattered by the great schism of
the sixteenth century, and a long religious war was begun between
Rome and the reformers. More than ever before, argument and
invective entered into ecclesiastical literature. Naturally, the moral
play was remodeled to meet the changed conditions. Where
it had been before simply the support of religion in general and
right living, it now became, without any radical diversion of purpose,
a weapon used alike by both parties in the controversy. Despite
the innovations of Skelton, therefore, the play remained a while
longer the obedient servant of the church, and allegory on the
stage was saved from disuse.

The new tendency in its early stage is well exemplified by John
Bale’s Three Laws. As in the miracle-plays, God himself appears ;
but it is to establish at the beginning the authority of the three
Laws, and to restore them, at the close, to their ordained spheres.
To these ends the presence of God was at least felt in all true
moralities. The other characters are strictly allegorical, and the
action involves the familiar struggle between the good and the
evil. Indeed, in this play three conflicts instead of one, in three
separate episodes, are carried through. God has ordainéd the Law
of Nature, the Law of Moses, and the Law of Christ as his emissaries
on earth. But Infidelity corrupts the first through his children,
Sodomy and Idolatry; the second, through Avarice and Ambition ;
the third, through False Doctrine and Hypocrisy. -In the action
itself, none of the temptation and none of the fruits of sin are
exhibited. The three Laws in due order state didactically their
mission in the world, the Law of Moses, for example, expounding
the Commandments; they are answered by the vices sent to tempt
them ; finally Infidelity announces their fall. Although the traditions
of the morality have been thus altered, The Three Laws adheres
in the main to the structural and didactic principles of the type.
At the end, the powers of evil are overcome and punished by
Vindicta Dei, and God restores the Laws to their original power.

Bale, however, while keeping easily within the bounds of tra-
dition, has used the morality for a new purpose—not primarily
as a sermon on holiness, but as a weapon in religious contro-
versy. His play is a coarse and bitter attack upon the Papacy. At
the end, in reviewing the course of events, the author states that
the Laws were corrupted respectively “by the Sodomites, Pharisees,
and Papists most wicked.” The truth, however, is that his religious
bigotry so got the better of his sense of historic truth that all the

362 Elbert N. S. Thompson

evil characters of the play are represented as children of the Roman
church. Infidelity upholds the time when men never read the Bible
or talked of Paul, and the corrupters of the Law of Moses, declaring
that the clergy and the people must be kept in ignorance, frame
a new, and supposedly Popish, creed. But Bale directs his attack
not primarily against the “draffish ceremonies” of the Roman
church, or the political opposition of Reginald Pole to the policies of
the admired King Henry; with a coarse vituperation that has never
been exceeded, he assails, without much concern for truth, the gross
immorality of the Roman priests. This is the new mission that the
old-time morality was now given to perform—the new wine poured
into the old bottles.

The moral play, however, as it continued its activity in religious
controversy, could not long retain unmodified the traditions of the
sacred drama. The Reformation was a broad movement which in-
volved political and ecgnomic, as well as religious, matters; espe-
cially in England, such questions as the disposition of church pro-
perties, the reception of Papal legates, the very authority of the
King, were made the points at issue. Hence the plays that under-
took to support one side or the other were forced to admit a con-
sideration of secular things, where before abstractions had been
supreme. Accordingly, the dramatists substituted for the indefinite
scene and occasion of the older plays a more definite setting; they
surveyed for criticism the policies of real men. In these ways the
allegorical drama underwent secularization.

Ramsay has expounded very consistently the historical significance
of Skelton’s Magnificence. Magniticence is in general intended to
represent the characteristics and tendencies of King Henry—generous,
open-hearted, but susceptible to evil counsel. The six evil advisers
who encourage him in his course to ruin embody the traits and
policies of Wolsey, whose extravagance emptied the treasury and
humbled England abroad. The saner characters represent the
leaders of the old nobility, who stood in opposition to the upstart,
and Circumspection is supposed to represent King Henry VII The
allegory is by no means manifest; but doubtless the audiences of
the time saw readily the political drift of the plot.

By a modification of the type somewhat similar to that already
discussed, Bale made his King John half morality and half chron-
icle history. Instead of localizing the plot in the England of his
own time, as Skelton did under the cloak of allegory, Bale selected

1 Magnificence, Introduction, Pt. 1, sect. 9.

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The English Moral Plays 363

as an example of the antithesis between good and evil the struggle
of King John against the Papacy, exalting the ill-starred king, for
the enemies he made, into the champion of right, and typifying in
the Pope all the political and religious corruption of his own time.
In harmony with this historical setting, real characters take part in
the action, and the allegorical personages represent less moral than
political concepts. Sedition, Dissimulation, Usurped Power, and
Treason, are the emissaries of the Satanic pope, who corrupt Clergy,
set Nobility against his sovereign, and weaken Civil Order and
Commonalty. Against the wrongs suffered at the hands of Clergy
and Nobility, the widow England protests, and wins from the King
a promise of assistance, which only the influence of Sedition and
Dissimulation over his rebellious nobles renders him impotent to
fulfil. He is forced to see his subjects led further into crime, and
in the end, opposed by Stephen Langton and the Papal legates,
he is excommunicated for his resistance of*evil, forced to abdicate,
and finally poisoned.

As an exponent of Puritan dogma the play, of course, could not
remain true to its historical setting; Bale simply set back the schism
of his own day into those troublous times, where he could find
suitable types, without modifying at all the character of the Pro-
testant revolt. John brands the church a “hepe of adders of Ante-
christs generacyon,” and exposes boldly the evils that it breeds:

Than for Englondes cawse I wyll be sumewhat playne.

Yt is yow, Clargy, that hathe her in dysdayne:

With yowr Latyne howrs, serymonyes, and popetly playes,

In her more and more Gods holy worde decayes ;

And them to maynteyn, unresonable ys the spoyle

Of her londs, her goods, and of her pore chylders toyle.

(413—18)

All this Dissimulation corroborates :

To wynne the peple, I appoynt yche man his place:

Sum to syng Latyn, and sum to ducke at grace;

Sum to go mummyng, and sum to beare the crosse ;

Sum to stowpe downeward as ther heades ware stopt with mosse ;
Sum rede the epystle and gospell at hygh masse;

Sum syng at the lectorne with long eares lyke an asse.

Of owr suttell dryftes many more poyntes are behynde;
Yf I tolde you all, we shuld never have an ende.
(697-720)

364 Elbert N. S. Thompson

It was such an organization to which Nobility and Civil Order
resigned their independence, and by which poor Commonalty was
rendered impotent. In attacking the evil, the bitter controversialist
touches upon the political as well as the religious questions involved
in England’s Reformation, defending the divinely appointed suprem-
acy of kings as well as assailing the power of Rome. King John,
then, illustrates the development of the morality during the course
of the sixteenth century. Contrast the political personifications of
the play with the stereotyped figures of the seven deadly sins;
its historical background with the indefinite setting of its predecessors ;
and the heightened reality of its action with the slow movement
of the older play, and one sees at a glance the progress toward
the real drama that the morality here made. Bale was the most
original, as he was the most vigorous, of the Protestant dramatists
of England.!

The playwrights may have learned their first lessons in the al-
legorical treatment of contemporary politics in the preparation of
royal pageants. At a “disguising” at court during the visit of
Charles V to London in 1523, an unruly horse, intended to typify
the French king, was tamed by Amitie, in the interests of the
alliance between Charles and Henry.? This, the earliest known ex-
periment in the application of dramatic allegory to contemporary
affairs, was soon followed by more serious essays. In 1527 the
members of Gray’s Inn produced John Roo’s morality play, which
represented Lord Governaunce as ruled by Dissipation and Negligence
in a way that seemed to Wolsey unduly personal and disrespectful.’

These distinctly political plays were soon followed by others that
broached religious issues. In November, 1527, the master of St.
Paul’s, John Ritwise, had his boys give before the French ambassador |
a Latin comedy, “the effect wherof was that ye pope was in
captiuitie & the church brought vnder the foote, wherfore S. Peter
appeared and put the Cardinal in authoritie to bryng the Pope to
his libertie and to set vp the church againe”.t The piece has not
been preserved; but the caste included, besides “the herretyke
Lewtar” and “ Lewtar’s wyfe, like a frowe of Spyers in Almayn,”
and three Germans arrayed in notched clothes, such personifica-
tions as Religion, Ecclesia, Veritas, Heresy, and False Interpreta-

' A Protestant describes an interlude played in Cranmer’s house in
1539 as “one of the best matiers that ever he sawe touching King John”
(Chambers, 2. 221). The prologues of Bale’s miracle-plays are contro-

versial.
2 Chambers, 2. 219. 2 Halls f19: * Hall, 735.

The Enghsh Moral Plays 365

tion. Another play was given the next year to represent the
release of the Pope.’

Even this scanty information concerning these lost Catholic plays
shows that the English religious drama must perforce have come
into close relationship with Continental influences, especially in
Lutheran Germany. The influence that inspired the early moral
plays was largely the teaching of the Catholic church—the church
universal, whose literature knew no national bounds, and responded
to no markedly national trend. The wave of Lutheran reform,
however, shattered this unity, and the Protestant writers borrowed
not from one general source, but from one another. Hence, especially
after Henry VIII’s change of policy had driven many reforming cler-
gymen to Germany as exiles, the English drama was subject to
national influences that it had never before felt to such a degree.

In Germany, where the Lutheran leaders were humanists as well
as reformers, the moral dramatists of the new school found a number
of virile writers closely akin to them in spirit and methods. The
medieval debate, as has been shown, being a literary exercise in
which the thought occupied but an insignificant position, was quite
remote from the proper field of the religious drama. But the
German humanists of the sixteenth century found that the debate
might be more than a literary pastime; that it could be made an
effective weapon in their controversy with the old religious order.
Erasmus and Hutten learned to handle the weapon most deftly and
effectively ; but many others in the early sixteenth century gave to
this medieval-classical form a new vigor that widened immensely
its usefulness.?

The polemical dialogue grew under such treatment to qualities
really dramatic. Instead of introducing, as of old, antithetical per-
sonifications to carry on a perfectly obvious disputation, a greater
number of characters, representing real life as well as abstrac-
tions, were used. “Not merely the ‘rich’ and the ‘poor,’ the
priest and knight, the ‘Lutheran’ and ‘Catholic,’ but peasants,
scholars, nobles, monks, clerks, courtiers, beggars, fools, pedlars,
innkeepers, weavers, tailors, Wurst-buben, women and children, young
and old, pious and froward, pass across the stage.” Inevitably the
writers of dialogue sought more and more to give to these varied
characters and realistic situations a dramatic value.

The effectiveness of the polemical dialogue did not escape the

1 Creizenach, 2. 140; Chambers, 2. 219. 2 Chambers, 2. 220.
§ Herford, chap. 2, “ Polemical Dialogues ”. 4 Tbid. 28.

366 Elbert N. S. Thompson

notice of Tyndale and the other English exiles who, especially
after Henry’s favor was in 1540 turned to persecution, sought refuge
in Germany. Soon the critics of Henry’s reactionary policy were
throwing their arguments into dialogue form. Such controversial
pieces circulated without restriction during Edward’s reign, and
exerted a wide influence until the Marian oppression checked their
activity, and the progressive spirit of Elizabeth rendered them
unnecessary.

To a certain extent the Catholics used the dialogue to defend
their church from its assailants; but not till late in the sixteenth
century, and with only half-hearted zeal.t. More’s undramatic dia-
logue in reply to Tyndale’s book on the mass was the one work to
reach any degree of excellence. But the Protestants struck with
vigor at the points most in controversy, both religious and politi-
cal. A priest opens one dialogue with a long lament for the death
of Mass in Strassburg. His two servants discuss the death-scene,
and wind up with a bitter attack on Wolsey and his party. Another
dialogue between a Gentleman and a Husbandman gives a picture of
the oppression each class suffered from the clergy. Finally, in 1548,
William Turner, who had passed a long exile in Germany, issued
his Endightment against Mother Messe.2 Two Protestants, Veryte
and Knowledge, bring accusations before Wisdom that lead to the
arrest of the sorceress, Mother Messe. She is brought before Judge
God's Word, where Knowledge presents the indictment, and, in
spite of Covetous’ defense, obtains against her a verdict of exile.

The breadth of this last-mentioned dialogue, its dramatic pos-
sibilities, and its allegorical framework, naturally encouraged the
use of the religious drama in the struggle. This incentive was then
still further augmented by the actual dramas of controversy that
Englishmen came to know on the Continent. The Neo-Latin drama
that arose in Holland about 1530 sought to give to Biblical plays
a Terentian structure, and at the same time to inject into the his-
torical narrative a considerable amount of contemporary interest.*
The Protestants eagerly made use of this rejuvenated and extended
sacred play to further their cause. The best known drama of this
type is Thomas Kirchmayer’s Pammachius, a Protestant adaptation
of the old legend of Antichrist, in which the Pope is represented
as the Satanic ruler whose sway is terminated by the triumph of

‘ Herford, 46—48.
2 Tbid., 65—66.
3 Chambers, 2. 217.

oN Sa ol heres Pe & ‘he

Aa.

The English Moral Plays 367

the Reformation. Similar plays were produced by other reformers
in Germany, Holland, and England.?

These Neo-Latin plays from Holland and Germany were known
to Englishmen, and some of the most important were put into
English. Bale translated the Pammachius, and the play in some
version was produced at Cambridge.? Palsgrave translated the
Acolastus in 1540, and other translators and imitators, among them
John Foxe, followed. The English never used the dialogue as
freely as did the Germans, but all the evidence indicates that they
handled the allegorical drama with vigor and freedom in the re-
ligious and political turmoil of the Tudor reigns.

These controversial religious plays in England kept in the main
within the bounds of the old morality type. The medieval mind
recognized no innate disparity between the allegorical and the real;
medieval literature and art placed both in conjunction. Hence the
historical characters of the Reformation could easily be introduced
side by side with abstractions, and the actual events of the struggle
mingled with the imaginary episodes of the moral conflict. We
have already seen how one play, The Three Laws, held pretty
close to the old model, and how another by Bale, A7zng John, marked
a decided advance toward historical tragedy; the story of the
development may here be continued.

The title of Woodes’ long and tedious play, The Conflict of Con-
science, reminds the reader that the original motif of our morality
was not altogether forgotten when it was diverted from ethical in-
struction into the swirl of doctrinal controversy. The scene is laid
in England just after the restoration of Catholicism, and Hypocrisy,
Avarice, and Tyranny are out in search of reformers. They meet
a clergyman with a Scottish dialect extremely suggestive of the
schismatic; but he readily proves his orthodoxy by a dense igno-
rance, a contempt for the Testament, and a thorough familiarity
with The Golden Legend. He informs, however, against a neighbor,
Philologus, who is forthwith haled for trial before the Cardinal.
There he states his reasons for doubting the primacy of Peter and
the whole theory of Apostolic succession, and questions the Cardinal’s
authority for the doctrine of the real presence, Hoc est corpus meum:
with a Puritan’s readiness in disputation:

1 Herford, 119-29. Creizenach handles the Latin drama (2. 1—181).
There are monographs by Cloetta and Bahlmann.

2 Herford, 129-32. See below.

§ Herford, Chap. 3. 4 Schnaase, 1. 1. 96-97.

368 Elbert N. S. Thompson

You ask me in what sense these words I verify,

When Christ of the bread said, ‘This is my body.’

For answer herein I ask you this question:

Were Christ’s disciples into salt transformed

When he said, ‘ Ye are the salt of the earth every one,’
Or when the light of the world he them affirmed? (84)

But in spite of his bold avowal of these truths before the hos-
tile court, Philologus is ensnared by the picture of carnal pleasure
that Sensual Suggestion exhibits in a mirror. Conscience, Spirit,
and Terror seek to restrain him, and a controversy ensues between ~
Conscience and Suggestion which, although reminiscent of the
earlier plays, is greatly abbreviated to allow space for the twenty
pages and more of exhortation that Theologus and Eusebius address
to the sinner. They get him to state the belief that he once held
through study of the epistles of Paul and James, and when he
mentions the necessity of good works, they hasten to show him on
Biblical authority the superiority of faith. It is such Protestant ex-
hortation of the Puritan stamp that finally recalls Philologus from
popery, and brings him to a Christian end.1

Again in New Custom sectarian controversy makes up the bulk
of the play. Perverse Doctrine, to be sure, is unexpectedly con-
verted at the end, and becomes Sincere Doctrine; but the conflict
has been used only as an occasion for disputation. Perverse Doc-
trine, the old Popish priest, condemns in strongest terms the new
theologians who read and discuss the Testament familiarly and deny
the doctrine of transubstantiation. Such a one, Ignorance replies,
is New Custom:

I am sure he hath not been in the realm very many years,
With a gathered frock, a polled head and a broad hat,

An unshaved beard, a pale face; and he teacheth that

All our doings are nought, and hath been many a day.

He disalloweth our ceremonies and rites, and teacheth another way
To serve God, than that which we do use.

But he commands the service in English to be read,

And for the Holy Legend the Bible to put in his stead,

Every man to look thereon at his list and pleasure,
Every man to study divinity at his convenient leisure. (163—64)

* The plot was suggested by the conversion of Francis Spira, an
Italian lawyer who lived in England about the middle of the century
(Ward, 1. 138).

The Enghsh Moral Plays 369

All these heresies, in fact, New Custom bluntly avows when he
meets the priest upon the stage immediately after this introduction.

I said that the mass, and such trumpery as that,
Popery, purgatory, pardons, were flat
Against God’s word and primitive constitution. (171)

On these points they bicker with no apparent evangelistic pur-
pose and without result; the good character is not even set in the
stocks, and reenters at once with Light of the Gospel to discuss
the Protestant dogma of justification by faith. This Genevan doc-
tor, in fact, upholds against Catholicism the moderate Puritan
position of Elizabeth’s early reign.t

Very similar in spirit and teaching is Wever's Lusty /uventus.
Good Counsel and Godly Knowledge brand the traditions of the
older generation as vain and its teachers as ignorant and false.
They teach a truer doctrine, with the result that the Devil is forced
to admit that although the older people followed his laws, the
younger generation will not, seeking to live instead “as the Scripture
teacheth.” So Juventus becomes in Hypocrisy’s eyes a “New
Gospeller,” or in his own “an earnest professor of Christ’s gospel.”
Both these Puritan plays were written under the influence of Bishop
Bale. The characters Light of the Gospel and Assurance were
suggested by Evangelium and Fides Christiana of Bale’s Three
Laws, God’s Merciful Promises was derivative from Bale’s God's
Promises, and Hypocrisy from his Three Laws?

The Catholic party was not so ready in this form of argument
as their aggressive opponents, and of the plays they wrote only

1 There were other anti-Catholic plays. Henry Cheke’s /yeew7l/ was
a translation from the Italian of Nigri da Bassano (Schelling, 2. 60).
There is record of a play Zhe Burning of John Huss (Schelling, 1. 72).
Thomas Wylley, a clergyman of Suffolk, in a letter to Cromwell in 1557
wrote: “The most part of the priests of Suffolk will not receive me
into their churches to preach ... since I made a play against the Pope's
counselers, Error, Colle Clogger of Conscience, and Incredulity.. .. I have
made a play called a Rude Commonalty. I am making of another
called the Woman on the Rock, in the fire of faith affyning and a
purging in the true purgatory.” (Letters and Papers. Foreign and
Domestic. Henry Vill. 12. 1. 244). A physician of London, named
Luke, wrote during Henry’s reign the Zvterlude of John Bon & Mast
Person, a dialogue against the doctrine of transubstantiation. These
Protestant plays are alluded to in the poem, 4 Pore Help (Strype, Zec/.
Mem., 2. 2. 333-39).

2 Brandl, Quellen, |xiv.

370 Elbert N. S. Thompson

one, Respublica, has been preserved. In that long and serious play,
Avarice ingratiates himself into the favor of Respublica, calling
himself Policie, and introduces his three friends, Adulation, Oppres-
sion, and Insolence, as Honesty, Reformation, and Authority. Together
they oppress People, whose complaints are all in vain; for Res-
publica is so completely deceived by her evil administrators that she
overlooks the wasting of her revenues.1 Yet Avarice openly boasts
of his schemes for blackmail, perjury, and the sale of benefices,
and shows how he has long cheated the king of his customs
duties, exported wheat and other commodities illegally, depreciated
the currency, and wasted the public forests. Of these evil practices
People tries to complain, but is driven off by the oppressors.

In the fifth act Mercy comes from God with assurances of redress
for poor Respublica. It is an easy matter for Truth, who accom-
panies Mercy, to disclose the perfidy of the four evil administrators,
and for Justice and Peace, the other reformers, to bring them for
trial before Nemesis, who represents Queen Mary.” Following the
suggestion of Mercy and Truth, Nemesis, because of the good
service that Adulation might render, places her upon probation,
but she commits Insolence and Oppression to custody, and orders
that Avarice restore all that he has gained by fraud. Thus a happy
state is prepared for Respublica.

The above outline should show that Respublica gives very little
attention to the theology of the Reformation; People protests only
against injustice and oppression, and Nemesis’ reforms look only to
honest government. In this, Respublica owes much to Lindsay’s
Scottish morality, Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaits. Of the tedious
prolixity of this play no mere outline can give any idea. The cen-
tral character is King Humanity, whose intent it is to rule according
to God's will. But three vices, Wantonness, Placebo, and Solace,
bring him into the power of Sensuality, and three evil counselors,
Flattery, Deceit, and Falsehood, who pose in the guise of Devotion,
Discretion, and Wisdom, delude and debauch the “three estates”—
the clergy, the nobility, and the commons.? Consequently, Good
Counsel, who hopes to reform the king, is driven into exile, and

1-3. 3. 2.5.18, 3.

8 There is nothing original, as some critics have supposed, in this
idea of the disguise of the vices as virtues; the thought was common
in medieval homiletics. Gregory the Great, for example, declared that
the vices do not present themselves in their naked wickedness, but
assume a fairer appearance, cruelty presenting itself as justice, anger as
righteous zeal, fear as humility, and so on (Morals, 3. 54446). There-

—

aye a

The English Moral Plays BY

Truth and Chastity, repudiated alike by all three estates, are set
in the stocks. Only Divine Correction is strong enough to overcome
the evil advisers, to free the prisoners, and to induce the king to
summon Parliament for the redress of grievances.

In the second part of this long play redress is made. There is
withal ample room for some reflection of Scotland’s religious re-
form. The ignorance and vice of the clergy, especially of the
pardoners, is ruthlessly exposed; steps are taken to expel all lazy,
ignorant, and vicious priests, and to abolish the order of nuns; and
good clergymen are found, from one of whom the audience is
favored with an exemplary sermon on the Passion and Atonement,
and with a Protestant version of the Apostles’ Creed. But all this
is overshadowed by the call for civil reform. The plea of Pauper
for justice to himself and his motherless children, and the protests
of John Commonwealth, lay bare the corruption of the state. The
Parliament is summoned, and passes legislation looking to the
establishment of justice for all, the fair rental of lands, the main-
tenance of an intelligent and moral clergy, and the prohibition of
pluralities and other forms of oppression. There is little distinctly
Protestant theology in the play, little that is not found in the
satires of Heywood and Chaucer; but there is loud protest against
economic and political abuses.

Owing to the course taken by the Reformation in England, the
English controversial drama necessarily dealt largely with such
public questions. The moral play, Godly Queen Hester, uses Biblical
narrative, after the fashion of the miracle-plays, to enforce the lesson
of humility. But the play is near of kin to the political moralities ;
for in it are plain references to England’s sumptuary laws, the
abuse of pluralities, the treatment of the Jews, and the political
controversies of Tudor times as waged in

The slanderous reports, the lies that be made,

The feigned detractions and contumelious,

The rhymes, the railings so far set abroad,

Both painted and printed in most shameful wise. (269)

In the report of the troubles between the lords and the Cardinal,
to which most space is given, Dr. Grosart has shown that there is
much that is suggestive of the career of Wolsey.

fore, he continues, we should scrutinize apparent virtues as money-
changers examine coins, to see if they be really genuine (I. c., 611; see
also Pastoral Care, Part 2, chap. 9).

1 262—64, 269.

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 25 Marca, 1910.

372 Elbert N. S. Thompson

George Wapull followed the example of these plays in his late
morality, Zhe Tyde Taryeth No Man. But where those plays
preached reform on national issues that were the concern of the
Court and Parliament, this later play handles civic abuses that fell
within the jurisdiction of the aldermen and the Council. The
proverb that stands as the title is misinterpreted by the vice,
Corage, as an excuse for selfishness and greed, and by it he in-
cites his followers to a covetousness that brings suffering to faithful
London tenants, to a greed that drags spendthrift gallants into the
toils of usurers, and to a disobedience that hurries young girls into
imprudent marriages. The editor of the play pertinently calls
attention to the recognition of these abuses by reformers like
Stubbes and Lodge. But the means employed by Wapull were
those long familiar to the moral dramatist. Christianity is re-
presented as dishonored and enervated by the abuses of the
citizens; she complains against the wrongdoers; and eventually is
rescued by the intervention of Faithful Few, who represents sound
middle-class citizenship and authority.

The fragments that remain of two plays of this same intent’ may
give place in this discussion to the later plays, The Three Ladies
of London, and The Three Lords and the Three Ladies of London.
The allegorical characters who appear at the opening of the first of
these plays are not markedly different from the characters of other
moralities. Dissimulation, Fraud, Usury, and Simony go to London,
and there make suit to the three ladies, Love, Conscience, and
Lucre. But the play soon introduces civic questions. In their
service of Lady Lucre the four inaugurate, or at least contribute
to, certain economic evils that England was then burdened
with. They connive at the exportation of necessary commodities
in exchange for the most frivolous baubles; they raise the rents
in London till Englishmen have to crowd into tenements, as the
people of France and Flanders do; they incite tradesmen to petty
dishonesty, and lawyers to grosser frauds, and in general sow
corruption in the state.2 The movement of the play suggests a
great city pageant rather than a morality. The scenes where the
three Lords of London, the three Lords of Spain, and the three
Lords of Lincoln—all allegorical—respectively offer themselves as
suitors to the three Ladies, whom Judge Nemo has reclaimed, are

1 Albion Knight, and Somebody, Avarice, and Minister. Both fragments
have been reprinted. See Chambers, 2. 461; Brandl, lix.
2 278-79, 305—6, 326—44.

The English Moral Plays 373

pageant-like. The Lords’ retainers, their escutcheons, and their display
of costume, would be especially suitable in a civic show. The clash
between the Lords of London and the Lords of Spain, which clear-
ly typifies the defeat of the Armada and the glory of London,
has the statuesque nature of a charade.' Here again is a marked
departure from the typical religious play.

But already in these two long Elizabethan plays a point has been
reached well beyond the heat of the controversy. The plays handle
public matters, but without the bitterness of the controversialist ;
and poor Simplicity’s humorous plea for the three absurd reforms
apparently travesties such characters as Pauper and John Common-
wealth. It is therefore time to close this chapter with a brief ac-
count of the attitude of the government toward these plays of
reform.”

It must not be supposed that Tudor sovereigns let pass unnoticed
this interference of the dramatists in the management of church
and state; there was the doctrine of the divine right of kings to
be maintained. Henry still stood ready to sanction “plays and
enterludes for the rebukyng and reproching of vices and the setting
forth of vertue,”’ but he soon learned how troublesome those were
that meddled with “interpretacions of scripture, contrary to the
doctryne set forth or to be set forth by the kynges maiestie.” #
To follow the measures of repression and regulation that were
authorized by royal proclamation and act of Parliament is not easy.
Plays of one religious stripe were as useful, the different sovereigns
felt, as those of the other were obnoxious; Henry at first saw a
difference between plays that handled religious affairs and those
that bothered with kingship. Discrimination on the part of the
rulers was therefore necessary, and evasion, in consequence, was
accepted by the players as their privilege. History, then, is not
altogether clear.

The first repressive measures of which the records bear trace
were taken by Cardinal Wolsey in 1526 to bring to punishment
those responsible for the performance at Gray’s Inn of John Roo’s
morality, Lord Governaunce and Lady Publike-Wele.2 Taking it as
an attack upon his public policy, Wolsey “in a greate furie sent
for the said master Roo, and toke from hym his Coyfe, and sent

1 461—75.

2 Simplicity is one of the few genuinely humorous characters of the
morality plays.

$ 34 and 35 Henry VIII, c. 1. 1543. * Chambers, 2. 220.

* Hall, 719.

374 Elbert N. S. Thompson

hym to the Flete, & after he sent for the yong gentlemen, that
plaied in the plaie, and them highly rebuked and thretened.” So
also objection was taken to a play in 1533 that offered “ defamation
of certain cardinals.”! But in the same year Wolsey and the De-
fender of the Faith looked with equanimity upon John Ritwise’s
play, already referred to, that handled to his discomfiture “the
herretyke, Lewtar.”? It mattered much whose ox was gored.

The most serious agitation was caused in 1537 by the performance
at Cambridge of the noted anti-papal play, Pammachius. A half
dozen letters passed between Bishop Gardiner and Vice-Chancellor
Parker in reference to the occurrence, the former reporting that
he had heard many protests from the papists, and demanding a
rigorous investigation, the latter assuring the bishop that all offen-
sive passages had been omitted in the performance. But the
bishop still believed that the play had spoken contemptuously of
Lenten fastings, the mass, and, in fact, all ceremonies, although it was
wrong to “mok and skorne the direction of ther prince in matier
of religion.” The official investigation that he ordered brought out
no cause for offense; but the play-book that was forwarded to the
bishop confirmed his suspicions, and on his order the players were
summoned before the college authorities for reprimand and apol-
ogy.?

Nevertheless, at this time Henry seems to have permitted plays
that encouraged religious reform. It was not till Cromwell’s dis-
placement in 1540 that Henry turned his favor from the reformers.
Then the law was passed forbidding plays to meddle with inter-
pretation of Scripture. This of course was repealed by Edward,
who himself, it is said, wrote a comedy, De Meretrice Babylonica.®
A later law forbade on the stage any derision of the Book of
Common Prayer.® But with the coming of Mary to the throne,
royal policy was again reversed by a comprehensive proclamation
making requisite, as a precaution against “sedition and false rumors,”
a license for every play.’ This provision did not altogether forestall
trouble®; but Elizabeth saw fit to renew it, and no plays were

1 Chambers, 2. 220. 2 See above, 364.

3 J. Lamb, A Collection of Letters, Statutes, and Other Documents from the
MS. Library of Corp. Christ. Coll. Wondon, 1838, 49-57. See above, 367.

* Chambers, 2. 220-21.

5 1 Edw. VI, c. 12. Also Chambers, 2. 222.

¢2 and 3 Edw. VI, c. 1.

7 Quoted by Hazlitt, Anglish Drama, 15—18.

* Gildersleeve, 11—12.

The English Moral Plays 375

to be so sanctioned that handled matters of religion or state.
Throughout the whole period the government made determined
efforts to prevent objectionable meddling by the stage.

In this chapter the development of the moral play under the
stimulus of the Reformation has been outlined. It was no radical
innovation to exact of a dramatic type that had long been the
support of religion an alliance with one party or the other; for the
idea of godliness in the sixteenth century was never free from the
taint of partizanship. The moral play, therefore, ceased to be a
plain homily, and became argument and invective. The change of
purpose widened its scope. In handling public questions the play
could no longer confine itself to abstractions; special problems of
statecraft and church, and the policies of real leaders, took their
place with ethical warning on the stage. The spirit of criticism,
the bitterness of invective, the sharp play of satire, entered also
into the play. Thus it was given new and broader possibilities than
it had before enjoyed, and in the development was warped from
the simplicity of its first design. But it still had a serious mission
to perform, and, although marred to our eyes by unfairness and
coarseness of partizan zeal, these controversial plays represented
exactly the religious spirit of their day, just as earlier plays had
responded to the serener and clearer purpose of their churchly
authors.

Cuapter VII.—Puays oF THE RENAISSANCE.

By the religious controversy of the sixteenth century the morality
play was held longer than it otherwise would have been to the
service of the church. In the old field new opportunities were
offered to a dramatic literature already showing a restiveness under
its restrictions. But the call of the Reformation could not wholly
exclude the religious dramatists from the broader interests in life
and literature that even earlier had come to England with the New
Learning. Besides the plays that broached and debated the great
public questions of Henry’s reign, there were others that spoke the
message of Humanism. In so doing they did not altogether forsake
the cause of morality; it was possible to exalt the dignity of secular
learning as a means to the higher end that the old-time moralities
directly reached to attain. It was possible, also, to find instances
of the traditional Psychomachia in the walks of life followed by the
humanists and their disciples. Here again, therefore, the moral
play found an opportunity for rejuvenation and extension.

376 Elbert N. S. Thompson

The earliest, and in many respects the most interesting, of the
humanists’ plays is The Nature of the Four Elements, which was
written about the year 1519 to expound “many proper points of
philosophy natural, and of divers strange lands, and of divers strange
effects and causes.” For this schooling the well-tried machinery
of the morality worked admirably. A central figure, Humanity,
places himself under the tutelage of Natura Naturata and Studious
Desire, and listens to their lectures on the nature of the four ele-
ments, the size of the earth and its position in the solar system, and
the cause of tides and other natural phenomena. Later Experience
is introduced by them as a widely traveled scholar to carry on
the demonstration of the rotundity of the earth, and to exhibit on

“figure,” or globe, “ certain points of ESS TE DY, that Humanity
ei know.

An interested reader can fancy the attention that this geography
lesson would draw from the spectators. It would be to them an
explorer’s tale.

This sea is called the Great Ocean,

So great it is that never man

Could tell it, since the world began,

Till now, within this twenty years,

Westward be found new lands,

That we never heard tell of before this

By writing nor other means,

Yet many now have been there;

And that country is so large of room,

Much longer than all Christendom,

Without fable or guile;

For divers mariners had it tried,

And sailed straight by the coast side

Above five thousand mile!

But what commodities be within,

No man can tell nor well imagine;

Oh, what a thing had be then,

If that they that be Englishmen

Might have been the first of all

That there should have take possession,

And made first building and habitation,

A memory perpetual! (25)

For a play so frankly pedagogic in content and purpose the

author thought best to give some Justification. Accordingly, the

The English Moral Plays 377

Messenger in delivering the Prologue acknowledges, with apparent
reference to the strictly religious play, that

It is a common good act to bring
People from vice. (5)

But religious precept alone he regards insufficient to raise the
ignorant man to a knowledge of God’s laws:

Man to know God is a difficulty,

Except by a mean he himself inure,

Which is to know God's creatures that be:

At first them that be of the grossest nature,

And then to know them that be more pure;

And so, by little and little ascending,

To know God’s creatures and marvellous working.
And this wise man at the last shall come to

The knowledge of God and His high majesty,
And so to learn to do his duty, and also

To deserve of His goodness partner to be. (6)

Or, to put it in prose, the exhibition of scientific truth is a direct
furtherance of religion.

For this view of the relation between knowledge and godliness
the author might have cited volume and page from many an old
theological treatise. Prudentius taught that with Adam’s sin Satan
gained control over man and nature, and wrought in both a sad
transformation. Honorius of Autun develops the idea that ignorance
is a spiritual darkness comparable to the exile in Babylon, and that
wisdom is a light attained by science.? In other words, ignorance
and sin have a common parentage. Vincent of Beauvais, who
gathered in his enormous encyclopedia all the learning of the
doctors, declared that, as bodily labor relieves man of the physical
necessities that have burdened him since the expulsion from Eden,
so knowledge can relieve him of the ignorance that since then has
darkened his mind.? Alain de Lille fancied the union of body and
soul through Arithmetic, Harmony, and Music, and the rise of Na-
ture, Prudence, and Reason to heaven. in a car built of the seven
liberal arts. If, then, the weakness of man’s mind is but another
indication of Satan’s domination, the clearing away of ignorance
must be a step toward God. The author of the Four Elements,
therefore, is thoroughly orthodox in claiming for his play a place
among more strictly religious productions.

1 Hamartigenia, 216 ff. 2 Speculum Leclesiae, c. 1243.
3 Male, 83—84. * Anticlaudianus.

378 Elbert N. S. Thompson

Even though a humanist may have been also enough of a theologian
to appreciate all this, that would do little to recommend his in-
struction to the unlettered audiences of his day. The lessons of
the school were no more popular than those of the church. This
the author seemed himself to realize, for to the title proper he
added the statement: “if ye list, ye may leave out much of the sad
matter,... and then it [the play] will not be past three-quarters of
an hour of length.” To ward off dulness he introduces Sensual
Appetite to interrupt the lecture of Studious Desire with his merry
Wellerism,

Well hit, quoth Hykman, when that he smote
His wife on the buttocks with a beer-pot, (15)

and to draw Humanity to the dissipations so familiar to playgoers
of the day. Not much, it is true, of the Psychomachia remains;
Humanity is one of those easy-going mortals always ready to follow
a chance companion. After having listened attentively to the
pedagogues, he follows Sensual Appetite to enjoy at the inn a
three-course dinner—a term that the taverner fails to understand—
and to revel with Nell and Jane. From the supper that he orders,
Experience is able to draw him back to his lesson, but only to
lose him again before the evening’s dancing and song. These
scenes justify the term “ merry” that the author applies to the play;
in fact, instead of bringing to the action a serious moral conflict,
they serve only as a sort of counter-irritant to the didactic matter
that the uncultured would think “sad.”

The change of spirit that marks this dramatic product of the
New Learning is further traceable in the admission of Natura Na-
turata that Sensual Appetite has its place in man’s character, and
that only its overindulgence is baneful :

Though it be for thee full necessary

For thy comfort sometime to satisfy

Thy sensual appetite,

Yet it is not convenient for thee

To put therein thy felicity

And all thy whole delight. (44—45)

Medieval asceticism here gives way at least a trifle to the sensuous
enjoyment of life that the Renaissance revived. This same point
is more fully elaborated in the earlier morality, Mature, where
Sensuality is represented as an indispensable part of man’s psychic
being, embracing sense-perception and temperate carnal desires.
As Brandl has shown, these distinctive features of the play were

a"

The English Moral Plays 379

plainly derived from Lydgate’s Reson and Sensualyte, or its Old
French original, Les Echecs Amoureux. But Medwell, the author
of Nature, did not subordinate the moral purpose of the play, as
did Lydgate, to the end of humanism, and on the whole gives to
the new spirit a less generous recognition than did his successor,
the author of The Four Elements.

Another significant deviation in these humanistic plays from the
ecclesiastical pattern is noticeable in the nature of the guide or
preceptor chosen for the hero. Instead of Good Angel or Mercy,
as of old, it is Natura and Studious Desire in one play, and God’s
“ minister,” Lady Nature, with Reason in the other, that point the
way to the desired end. The employment of Reason in this office
was continued by John Redford in Wit and Science, and by the
revisers who prepared the play for later audiencés.?

Redford’s play is clothed in the form of romance. Wit, an un-
proved youth, is courting Science, the only daughter of Reason.
Reason is ready to grant his suit if he proves himself worthy of
Science, and he counsels the youth to strive hard to win her. But
Wit scorns the counsel of his guide, Instruction, and, accompanied
only by Study and Diligence, presses forward. Very shortly, though,
he is assailed on the road by the giant, Tediousness, and almost
killed, and later, after Honest Recreation has played the Good
Samaritan, by Idleness. Through her corrupting influence his ap-
pearance and manners are so debased that Science, when they meet,
does not recognize him, and flees. But Reason, still ready to aid,
encourages him to renew his efforts, this time keeping Diligence
and Study under the control of Instruction. So escorted, Wit
passes safely the haunt of Tediousness, whom Gayley has aptly
called the Giant Despair of the moral plays, and is accepted by
Science.

The Marriage of Wit and Science revises Redford’s version to
the improvement of the dramatic structure, but the motif itself re-
mains essentially the same. The youth is impatient of his guides,
and not till Shame has schooled him is he ready to accept their service
and so win his bride. The other modernization, The Contract of
Marriage between Wit and Wisdome, injects into the plot much of
the humorous realism of true comedy. The two soldiers, Snatch
and Catch, who return from Flanders singing,

1 xliii—-xliv.
2 T have been unable to see J. Seifert’s work on this group of plays,
Wit-und Science-Moralitdten, Prague, 1892.

380 Elbert N. S. Thompson

I hath bin told, ben told, in prouerbs old,
That souldiares suffer both hunger and cold, (25)

and then bind and blindfold Idleness to make him the butt of their
pranks; the quest of Constable Search for Idleness, who in the
disguise of a ratcatcher consents to help Search cry the proclamation
for his own arrest; the trouble between Doll and Lob over the
stolen “poredge pot”—these are the prototypes of real comedy.

The romance that distinguishes this group of plays, and indeed
the whole allegorical conception of the various branches of knowl-
edge, owes its origin to a contemporary of Prudentius, Martianus
Capella. He began his long treatise on the liberal arts with a ro-
mance from which the book received its title, De Nuptits Philo-
logiae et Mercuri. According to the story, Mercury, who has fallen
in love with Philologia, the highly cultured daughter of an ancient
family, persuades the gods in council to make her a goddess and
sanction their marriage. The preparations forthe wedding, the
bride’s appearance on the day of the ceremony, the dress and at-
tributes of the seven branches of ¢rivium and guadrivium that ac-
company her, are fully described in this curious allegory. The
seven matrons are then given an opportunity to deliver each a long
discourse on the branch of knowledge she represents. To these
treatises medieval scholars attached great value; they treasured
the manuscript in their libraries, used it as a text-book in their
schools, and freely recommended it to later writers and to the
sculptors who carved the figures of the arts and sciences on the
portals of the cathedrals.}

Although these three plays hark back more or less directly to
this bizarre product of the fifth century, the direct influence upon
the drama of the English humanists came from the Continent. The
teachers and patrons of the New Learning who shortly before the
middle of the sixteenth century revived in Holland and Germany
the comedy of Terence, took a new and professionally inspired
interest in the training of youth. In a style not unworthy of their
Latin model, they sought to display the temptations that draw youth
from the pursuit of knowledge and godliness, and so to combine
the intrigue of Roman comedy with Christian example of the fruits
of idleness and sin. The Asotus of Macropedius, the Parabell of
Waldis, and the Aco/astus of Gnapheus, adapt the story of the
Prodigal Son to this new end, and other plays, like the Redelles of

1 Ebert, 1. 483-85; Male, 98—112.

eel

The English Moral Plays 381

Macropedius and the Studentes of Stymmelius, follow the same plan.
Whatever one may think of The Four Elements and Wit and Science,
it is no far cry from the genuine morality to these that focus upon
the particular problems of student life.

The German school-plays were brought to England through the
same channels that carried the controversial literature. Manuscript
copies of the original texts, for example of the Studentes, circulated
among the cultured; the Acolastus was translated by Palsgrave;
and other plays were reproduced with necessary alterations.2. These
Latin comedies did not employ allegory, as the recognized morality
did, but they resembled that type so closely in spirit that in
England they customarily borrowed the allegorical method.
This they could do without sacrificing at all the desired realism,
for allegory was no longer confined to theological abstractions un-
colored by human life. In The Nice Wanton, an adaptation of
Rebelles, one sees scarcely any distinction between the two allegori-
cal characters, Shame and Iniquity, and their fellows, who sup-
posedly represent real persons Neither the allegorical nor the real
at this time was all that it should be, and they met on almost
middle ground. The English school-plays, then, are only a spec-
ialized form of the broad morality-type.

The Nice Wanton was written during the reign of Edward VI,
it may be by Thomas Ingeland. Its plot is extremely simple. A
fond mother has two sons and a daughter. The elder son, whom
she has brought up strictly, is regular and punctual in his attend-
ance at school, pursues his studies diligently, and quotes the Scrip-
tures with glib, though Pharisaical, fluency. But his brother and
sister, used to every indulgence at home, play truant habitually,
are known in the neighborhood for idleness and profanity, and soon
learn to gamble and riot with evil companions in the public house.
In the latter part of the play, a considerable lapse of time being
assumed, the girl dies a disgraceful death, the boy is hanged for theft
and murder, and the heart-broken mother is kept from taking her
life only by the interference of the elder son.

Both The Nice Wanton and its model, Rebelles, were schoolmasters’
pieces intended to enforce the precept, “Spare the rod and spoil
the child.” In Reéelles the mother is made more directly responsible

1 Herford, 152-58. The French play, Z’Enfant Prodigue, sacrifices in-
struction for unrefined amusement. See Repertoire, 57-59.

* Herford, 108, 158-64. Schelling (1. 64) gives an interesting account
of Palsgrave’s edition of the Acolastus.

382 Elbert N. S. Thompson

by forbidding the master the use of corporal punishment, and at
the end the pedagogue gains a clearer triumph by being allowed
to save the spoiled boys from the gallows and lead them off to
receive their long deserved flogging. The moral in both plays is
the same:

Therefore exhort I all parents to be diligent
In bringing up their children.

O ye children, let your time be well-spent,
Apply your learning, and your elders obey;
It will be your profit another day.

The Disobedient Child repeats this warning for parents and children,
but with somewhat different intent; the lesson it would teach is
prudence and obedience rather than morality. The son will not
go to school, and indeed, if the Elizabethan masters were the brutal
slave-drivers he describes, no one can blame the boy; but instead of
giving himself to vicious pastimes, he marries—and lives to regret
it. He has not money enough to support his wife, and is forced
to peddle fagots from door to door; discord destroys his glowing
illusion of domestic happiness; and the poor fellow is beaten by his
wife as severely as the school-teacher could have done. The theme,
then, is as proper for true comedy as for the moral play. The
Devil, to be sure, survives, from the old caste of characters; and
his final reminder that the world is his son, and the flesh his
daughter, and that his allurements are covetousness, wrath, pride,
lechery, gluttony, envy, and murder, echoes faintly the morality’s
proper theme. Were it not for these traits, which were kept alive
partly through the ethical purpose of the school-drama, The Dis-
obedient Child would belong strictly to a history of comedy.?

Naturally the humanists brought to the enrichment of the didactic
drama new matter and a broader range of ideals. In the school-
play, Misogonus, for example, whose resemblance to Aco/astus Brandl
has pointed out,’ the allegorical garb, and all else distinctive of the
moral type except the sermonizing, have been set aside. Misogonus
is another son gone wrong through parental indulgence, but the
lesson is enforced by methods peculiar to real comedy. The scene
at the dicing table and the dancing are explicitly handled, and

* Cf. the French school-play, Woralité des Enfans de Maintenant.

2 Youth, Lusty Juventus, and Hickscorner are closely related to these
schoo]-plays in that they deal with the temptations of youth.

3 |xxviii—]xxix.

The Englhsh Moral Plays 383

there are a number of truly humorous character-sketches—the loutish
countryman, Codrus, Madge Mumblecrust, who stutters, and the fool,
Cacurgus. To these essays in real comedy the author adds an episode
from the portfolio of romance. A nurse reveals to the heart-broken
father the whereabouts of his eldest son, who was hidden away
in infancy by his over jealous mother, and the youth is brought back
to the home and the inheritance that await him. Naturally, Misogonus,
thus disappointed in his expectations, finds it expedient to reform.
The moral ending, however, does not obscure the fact that this
incident of the finding of a lost son, which the author doubtless
derived from the Menaechmi or the Captivi, makes the Misogonus
the prototype of those many Elizabethan romantic comedies which
end with such a surprise.

Besides giving to the morality a new variety of matter borrowed
from classical sources, as well as more homebred incidents such as
the humorous spelling-lesson, the garbling of Latin sentences, and
the trial scene in local courts, which was so popular in German
dialogue,! the humanistic impulse offered to the dramatists a broader
range of allusion and even a new type of character which hastened
the inevitable secularization of the stage. The author of The Trial
of Treasure introduces his thesis, that the pleasures of the world
are transitory, on the twofold authority of James and Diogenes, and
throughout the play the testimony of the ancient philosophers is
freely adduced. At the end, Time, after introducing himself as
Cronos, the god of the Greeks, plays a more important part in
enforcing the moral than does God’s Visitation. The similar ex-
altation of Reason over the ordinary Christian virtues, which dis-
tinguishes Nature and The Four Elements, betokens the influence
of Aristotle upon medieval thought. This is still more conspicuous
in Magnificence. From the Ethics Skelton derived his conception
of magnificence as a compound of munificence and liberality, and
his belief that felicity and liberty are not inimical one to the other
provided reason be kept in its rightful supremacy. From the same
source the English poet borrowed his characters, Measure and Cir-
cumspection, to represent regulative faculties of the soul.” Schoolmen
like Thomas Aquinas had always recognized a Christian value in

1 See the long spelling-exercise in Wit and Science, 152—56 and in The
Four Elements, 32. In Misogonus, 59, is an instance of the garbling of
Latin phrases. The trial is found in Liberality and Prodigality and in other
plays. These incidents were popularized, if not inaugurated, by the
humanists.

2 Magnificence, XXxXii—XXXvViii.

384 Elbert N. S. Thompson

the philosophy of Aristotle; but in this play the honor accorded it
springs from the intellectual, rather than from the moral, interests
of the time.

The increasing influence of the New Learning upon the sacred
drama left its impress upon the literary style of the plays. The
coming of conscious art into dramatic composition is easily trace-
able. In its easy flow of verse and effective handling of dialogue,
John Redford’s Wit and Science gives promise of the future; Ca-
listo and Melibea, though less of a morality, is still more a work
of literature. But it is in their lyric parts that the later moralities
showed their most decisive advance. The serious plays had trusted
exclusively to Latin hymns for their musical effects; later plays
were furnished with rude songs in the vernacular; the efforts of
the humanists responded to the impulse of the new lyric poetry.
A detailed analysis of metrical structure would be beyond the
scope of this chapter’; it will suffice to refer to the song, Buy a
Broom in The Three Ladies of London, the two-part song of Wit
and Science, the four-part song of Mary Magdalene, and the suc-
cessive lyrics of Tom Tyler, to illustrate the rise of lyric power in
the dramatic poets.

The story of these humanistic plays foretells plainly and unmis-
takably the disintegration of the moral play in the new and broader
_dramatic movement of the Elizabethan age. This will be traced
somewhat in detail in the next chapter. But just as the satirical
political plays were kept from their free development by the call
of the Reformation for a continuance of the old type, so these
humanistic plays were shackled by the adoption of the story of the
Prodigal Son and of the idle pupil as the most suitable material.
Otherwise these early English dramatists would have more often
remodeled with English setting and English characters the comedies
of Plautus and Terence, as the author of Jack Juggler did the
Amphitruo of Plautus. As it was, allegory might give way largely
to reality; the indefinite moral struggle might be made more con-
crete by placing it in the school or home; but the nature of the
parable of the Prodigal Son made necessary the retention of the
serious didactic spirit of the old religious play.

This fact we see exemplified in the latest and best of English
school-plays, Gascoigne’s Glasse of Gouernement, where allegory has
entirely disappeared. Two rich burghers of Antwerp have each

1 Ramsay gives some attention to the metrical structure of the moral
plays (Magnificence, li—|xx).

The Enghsh Moral Plays 385

two sons whom they desire to educate together. Accordingly
they place them in the keeping of the schoolmaster, Gnomaticus
- who has been recommended as “a man famous, for his learning
of woonderfull temperance, and highly esteemed for the diligence
and carefull payne which he taketh with his Schollers.” The four
boys enter the master’s home, and begin a course of study in which
secular learning plays no exclusive part. Gnomaticus would not
“holde in contempt” the instruction they have already received
in the comedies of Terence, in Tully’s epistles and “ offices,” and
in prosody; for in the “ wanton discourses” of Terence are many
“morall enstructions”; yet since “the true christian must direct his
steppes by the infallible rule of Gods word,” these profane authors
are to be used only where they “seeme consonant to the holy
scriptures.” His first lesson, therefore, is a long discourse, called a
chapter, on man’s duty to God. This is followed shortly by another,
expounding in the same way man’s duty to king, country, and
parents. The younger brothers listen attentively to the instruction,
and, in order to master it more thoroughly, turn the precepts
into verse, whose ‘“verie terminations and ceasures doe (as it
were) serue for places of memorie.” But the elder sons find the
moral bent of their master extremely distasteful, for, they hanker
after the life of the university, where besides the “lectures daily
read of all the liberall sciences, of all languages, and of all morall
discourses,” they might have also “choyse company of gallant
young gentlemen.” But soon in Antwerp, while their younger
brothers are engaged in study, they trickily get leave of absence
and seek pleasure in the house of the meretrix Lamia. Their father,
though, hears of this escapade, and the four are forthwith sent
to the near-by university of Douay, a newly founded school, where
“the roote of euill hath hetherto had least skope, and exercise
hath beene (and is) the more streightly obserued.” But even in
that “pelting towne packed full of poore skollers,’ the elder sons
come to grief; what the parasite Echo has done in Antwerp to ruin
them, the faithless servant Ambidexter continues there. While the
less gifted younger sons by diligent application rise to positions
of honor, one becoming a minister at Geneva, and the other the
Palsgrave’s secretary, one of the older boys is hanged for robbery
in the Palsgrave’s court, and the other is whipped in Geneva for
fornication.

Gascoigne’s play is of extreme interest and importance to the
student of the moralities. The author had had a wider ex-
perience than that of most religious dramatists, having become

386 . Elbert N. S. Thompson

acquainted during his university career with the works of the Con-
tinental humanists, and possibly having learned to know their work
more intimately while in the service of the Prince of Orange in
the Low Countries.1. He drops the allegorical element of the Eng-
lish sacred drama, and, like the Continental humanists, deals alto-
gether with human types. He abandons, too, the imperfectly con-
structed verse of his contémporaries, and writes in the style of
the Elizabethan /itterateur a prose that contains marks of incipient
Euphuism. He constructs his drama, finally, in acts and scenes,
with metrical choruses between the acts. The Glasse of Gouerne-
ment, indeed, is more advanced in structure and characterization
than any other play thus for considered. Yet in framework it
resembles Bien Avisé, Mal Avise, one of the oldest and purest of
the French moralities, where, instead of a single central figure,
as in the English pattern, two contrasted characters convey the
moral lesson. One may say, then, that Gascoigne availed himself
of all that the new literature had to teach in structure and style,
and profited wisely from the richer experience and learning of the
Renaissance, without sacrificing any essential element of the Eng-
lish morality except allegory, and none of the essential elements of ~
the Continental religious play. Because their interests thus held
them to a serious didactic theme closely akin to that of the
typical morality, the English humanists did not abandon as readily
as one would expect the dramatic traditions of their past.

CuapterR VIII.—-SecuLaRIzATION AND DISINTEGRATION OF THE Mora PUAy.

The zeal of the controversial playwrights in upholding the pro-
paganda of their churches, and the concern of the humanists in
the welfare of youth, made possible for the time being a partial
conformity with the technique and spirit of the moral play. The
Reformation and the Renaissance bent, but did not at first break,
the line of the drama’s development. Yet even the most serious
of these propagandists’ dramas opened wider the door to tendencies,
already felt to a degree, that were inherently destructive to the
type. Instead of presenting a general, unlocalized allegory of human
life, the controversial play dealt necessarily with the policies of
real men, as well as with dogma, and the educational play with
the interests of the teacher and the school. The one brought to

1 Herford, 159.

The English Moral Plays 387

the drama the affairs of the world, the other the affairs of domestic
life and all the wider interests and richer experience of secular
learning. Consonant with the extended scope of these late moralities
Lupton’s A// for Money presents the three newly-mated associates
—Theology, in a “long ancient garment like a Prophet,’ who
survives from the older type of play; Science, the philosopher, who
speaks for humanism; and Arte, who bears “certeyne tooles about
him of diners occupations” to represent the business of ordinary
life. They meet in perfect harmony, agreeing that

No good order in the lande can be without vs three,

and their lesson is conveyed not through abstract precept, but by
“Plainly representing the manners of men and fashion of the world
noweadayes.” Before the growing power of realism and of learning
neither the religious purpose nor the allegorical method of the old
play could hold its own.

The universal interest in the manners of men had won for real-
ism a place even in the early and yet serious didactic plays. The
godly counselor Mercy of the Macro play, Mankind, is a learned
moralist whom Mischief finds lamentably “full of predycacyon.”
Evidently he was dressed as a preacher, for Mankind recognizes
him at first sight as one able to give “gostly solace.” Be that
as it may, he speaks his “mellyfluose doctryne” at great length,
sowing liberally with ecclesiastical Latin his homilies on the signif-
icance of the Atonement, the value of good works, and the temp-
tations of the World, the Flesh, and the Devil. But the moral tenor
of the piece is submerged in the rude banter and the obscene jest-
ing and song of the tavern and the market-place, and the spiritual
abstractions are boldly elbowed by types from real life. The
author, to be sure, has not given either the vices, Now-a-days,
New-gyse, Nought, and Mischief, or his hero, Mankind, Christian
names, but all belong clearly to a rural community. When the
hero would “eschew ydullness” to please his adviser, he gets his
spade, and, like Piers Plowman, sets himself to husbandry. The
devil, Tytivillus, and the vices torment him, stealing his seed and
hiding obstructions where his spade will strike. Their own status in
the neighborhood is not concealed. New-Gyse, himself a horse-
thief, having barely escaped the gallows, swaggers in with the
broken rope yet about his neck; Now-a-days returns with booty
from a church; and Mischief clanks his fetters as he comes to aid
in making a village criminal of poor Mankind. Their talk is racy
with native idiom and slang, and their songs obscene. Despite the

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 26 Marca, 1910.

388 Elbert N. S. Thompson

eventual conversion at the end, the dogma of the moral play has .
been largely obscured by the spirit of realistic comedy.

More and more boldly, even impudently, the comedy of real life
asserted its right first to recognition, then to equality, and finally,
under new influences, to independent existence. Even later plays
might still profess, as did Fulwel’s Like Will to Like, to exhibit,
‘not onely what punishment followeth those that wil rather followe
licentious liuing, then to esteeme & followe good councel: and
what great benefits and commodities they receiue that apply them
vnto vertuous luing and good exercises”; but the profession rings
false. How much respect did Fulwel desire for prosy Virtuous
Living as he comes into the company of cutpurses and tipplers with
the edifying exclamation, “O gracious God, how wonderful are thy
works?” The dramatist is showing the same weariness of piety
and the same preference for wickedness that later distinguished
Restoration comedy, and his purely perfunctory moral is at once
forgotten.

The forms in which this realism appeared in the morality were
varied. Youth and Hickscorner, after the hero of each has deserted
Charity for Riot, Pride, and his sister Lechery, become stories of
thievery and hanging that merit the title of sixteenth-century
Beggars’ Opera. In Nature realism appears in a breezy sketch of
London’s houses of prostitution, gaming-tables, and the fashions of
the gentleman. In The Life and Death of Mary Magdalene the
fashions of the fine lady, who curses her tailors for the “most
bungarliest tailers in this countrie” that her overgarment should
set so poorly, and her waist appear no smaller, and who talks of
curling irons, hair dyes, perfumery, and the like, attract most at-
tention. The outcome of this growing interest in the world is found
on the title-page of Tom Tyler and His Wife. With the theological
abstractions who acted the earlier plays compare these: Destiny,
a sage person; Desire, the vice; Tom Tyler, a labouring man;
Strife, Tom Tyler’s wife; Sturdy, a gossip; Tipple, an ale-wife ; Tom
Tayler, an artificer; and Patience, a sage person.” Then compare
with the seriousness of the earlier plots the bourgeois simplicity
and vulgarity of the story of this tradesman who would tame his
shrewish, drunken wife.

Here, in fact, the juncture is reached where morality gives place
almost entirely to farce. In France, from the very beginning of the
sixteenth century, the sotie and the farce had been cultivated side
by side with the m7stére and the moralite; the Enfants sans souct,
like the Confreres de la Passion, obtained their letters patent from

The English Moral Plays 389

King Charles VI. But in England the representation of comic in-
cidents from the lives of common people in brief, lively, and entirely
undidactic spirit, was not inaugurated till John Heywood, writing,
it has been proved, under the direct influence of the French farce,
told the stories of John, the Husband, of Wit and Folly, and of the
Four P’s. But when once this type of play was introduced, the
days of the morality were numbered, not primarily because of its
superior godliness, but rather because of its abstention from the
theme most interesting to humanity—human life. The rule of alle-
gory in literature had been long, and its reach wide; it was now
compelled to yield to the reawakened sense of the dignity and the
wealth of secular thought and secular life.

It will be impossible to trace further the secularization of the
moral play without giving some consideration to the forms of
dramatic presentation that then prevailed, for these exercised con-
stantly a greater and greater influence upon the plays themselves.
The Pater Noster play of ancient York, the earliest known moral
play, and the similar plays at Beverley and Lincoln, were presented
after the fashion of the great Corpus Christi cycles by the members
of regularly incorporated gilds on pageants that moved from one
designated playing-place to another. And ina more simple manner
other plays, like Sazut John the Evangelist, were given as a sub-
stitute for open-air religious instruction on Sunday afternoons.’ But
none of the moralities that have been preserved belonged in this
intimate way to the life of a particular city, or the needs of a cer-
tain parish. Apparently they were in the hands of traveling com-
panies, as the so-called Coventry cycle is conjectured to have been,
at first under the supervision of the church, if one may judge from
the contents of the plays, but soon controlled by strictly profes-
sional interests. Beginning, then, on common ground with the
miracle-cycles, the record of the presentation of the moral plays,
keeping pace with the change of content, carries the student into
the field of professional theatricals.

Other plays than John the Evangelist were given out-of-doors.
The prologue of The Pride of Life admonishes the audience to stand
still and listen attentively no matter what the weather might be.
But these out-door performances were not all arranged by ecclesias-
tics as a means of Sabbath diversion, for even a play so thoroughly
didactic in spirit as The Castle of Perseverance was in the hands of

1K. Young, Modern Philology, 2. 97-124.
* See above, 340.

390 Elbert N. S. Thompson

a traveling company that carried it from town to town. Two
heralds went ahead to advertise the play that their fellows purposed

to playe
pis day seuenenyt, be-fore Zou in syth,
At—on pe grene, in ryall a-ray. (132-34)

One may fancy the interest that this proclamation would arouse,
and the crowds that would throng to the green a week later to
watch the stage-hands and the players. Although I imagine that
this early play was given in a well-restricted territory, possibly
a diocese whose bishop encouraged its performance, the first step
toward secularization was here taken. The church could not long
control a drama that was entrusted to traveling players.

The free performance, however, of The Castle of Perseverance
was hindered by its scope. Its long and diversified allegory re-
quired a more elaborate stage than a troupe of professional actors
could readily equip. In the center stood the castle itself as a refuge
for Man from the vices—a turret-like structure spanning a narrow
passage-way in which stood a bed to conceal Man’s Soul. About
this castle, allowing sufficient room for some of the players, at least,
but not for “ouer many stytelerys” (managers), was dug a ditch, or,
where that was impossible, was rigged up some sort of barricade.
Just without this circular enclosure five scaffolds provided conspicuous
seats for God, Caro, Mundus, Belial, and Covetousness, which would
not be too remote from the audience, who stood before the castle.

1 The staging of Zhe Castle of Perseverance, aS illustrated in the sketch
accompanying the text in the unique manuscript of the play, was ap-
parently common. The King in Zhe Pride of Life boasts that his messenger,

Mirth, can
liztly lepe oure pe lake,

Qwher so euer he go. (269-70)

In Ane Satyre of Thrie Esta‘ts, the shrewish wives “stand be the watter
syde”; Deceit runs off with the King’s strong box “ through the water”;
the cobbler’s wife immodestly “lifts vp hir clais aboue hir waist, & enters
in the water”; and John in escaping must “loup the stank, or els fall
in it” (1367, 1571, 1383, 2430). It may be that a ditch proved an effec-
tive means of keeping back a too eager audience, Even more common

was the use of scaffolds upon the stage. The King of Life had his ©

““place”’ upon the stage, called specifically a “ tent,” to which he retired,
and, drawing the curtain, remained unseen while his queen talked with
the bishop (Zhe Pride of Life). So, too, a “ house” was provided in Zvery-
man for Salvation. And in the monumental Scottish play, Ane Satyre of
Thrie Estaits, the “seats”’ belonging to Truth and other characters are

i ee ee ee ee

_

ONIN er een mati

ntisinialaaidastie

The Enghsh Moral Plays 391

It was an easy matter, though, for these traveling actors to sim-
plify the staging of these plays, and to arrange for playing-places
remote from the influence of the church, where their liking for
realism could have free play. No place could have been more
suitable than the inn, which afforded the desired freedom from clerical
restraint, and at same time a shelter, when necessary, from the in-
clement weather that through much of the year would drive the
spectators within doors. Consequently the author of Mankind let
his hero welcome Mercy “to pis house”; later he is supposed to
call for the tapster, while New-Gyse orders the hostler to bring a
football for their amusement; and the proprietor is the first man
appealed to for contributions.1. The text seems also to imply that
the performance took place indoors, for the weather is said to be
cold, and one of the characters leaves the stage to go into the
“yard”; but circumstances alone would determine whether the play
should be given in the courtyard or the hall, and the demands
upon the stage-manager were therefore simple enough to permit
of either.2, Mankind, apparently, was played on an open platform
or in some court, provided with no set properties, and simply con-
nected by a side entrance with the “yard,” and by another door
with the room to which the devil and the vices retire. The prop-
erties were simple. Instead of castles, ditches, and barricades,
only common articles that could be easily carried, or even more
easily borrowed at each stopping-place, are mentioned—a net for
Tytivillus, a spade and a bag of corn for Mankind, a wallet, a flute,
and some other trifles for the vices.3 Such stage-craft was well
within the limited resources of a small company traveling in in-
dependence of the church or any municipal organization.

How freely these companies of actors could travel in the face of
frequently renewed legal prohibitions can not be known, but wher-
ever they played their motive was gain. One of the most inter-
esting passages of Mankind concerns its financing. The piece is
already half done, and the vices are playing for popular favor,
when suddenly the devil Tytivillus, who up to this point has been

several times mentioned. The King’s was so high as to be reached by
a ladder, and was probably supplied with a curtain, for he is said to
“cum fra his chamber” (1942—53, 808, and the stage-directions between
parts 1 and 2). Such properties had been used long before on the
pageants of the York Plays, but they could not be used freely by actors
who would aim to travel with the least possible amount of baggage.

aise, (14, 717. 2 547.

§ 292, 317, 528, 437_38, 465. 4 447-487.

392 Elbert N. S. Thompson

cleverly withheld, bawls from behind the scenes, “I com with my
leggis vndur me.” The curiosity of the crowd, supposedly, is roused
to a high pitch, but it is not to be too readily gratified. New-Gyse
provokingly declares,

Now gostly to owur purpos, worschypfull souerence!
We intende to gather mony,

for
Ellys ber xall no man hym se.

What the contribution must amount to is not specified. Now-a-days
boldly asserts,

He [Tytivillus|] louyth no grotis, nor pens or to-pens:
Gyf ws rede reyallys [gold pieces], yf ze wyll se hys abhom-
ynabull presens.

But New-Gyse, as he tests first “be goode man of pis house,”
modifies this demand:

Not so! ze bat mow not pay be ton, pay pe tober!

Then after the passing of the hat, Tytivillus enters, “ drest like a
devil, & with a net in his hand,” and at once all fall to badgering
the crowd on its stinginess, just as the writer once heard some
jugglers on the market-place in Freiburg tease a crowd of frugal
Germans whose pfennige were not forthcoming. “Lend mea peny,”
the devil asks of New-Gyse. But the vice answers with a shake
of his empty wallet,
I haue no monay;
By be masse, I fayll ij farthyngis of an halpeny;
Syt hade I x! [10 pounds], bis nyght bat was,

and his two fellows confirm his report.

Similar allusions to the levying of contributions are found in other
plays... One may therefore assume that, since the generosity of
the playgoers would vary directly with their enjoyment, the actors,
who worked for no higher end than personal profit, would not long
hold to the drama’s religious purpose. Hence the theological frame-
work of Mankind has been completely covered by the coarsest sort
of realism—the new environment of the inn, to which people flocked
not for instruction, triumphing completely over the old, the church.
For it was no easy matter to win the favor of the tavern-crowd.
The prologue of the early play, The Pride of Life, was mindful
to ask,

+ Life and Death of Mary Magdalene, Prologue.

The English Moral Plays 393

Nou beit in pes & beit hende
& distourbit nozt oure place [stage].

But usually the actors anticipated disturbance. The first speaker
of Wealth and Health is surprised by the quiet that greets him:

Why is there no curtesy, now I am come
I trowe that all the people be dume

Or els so god helpe me and halydom
They were almost a sleepe.

No wordes I harde, nor yet no talking
No instrument went nor ballattes synging
What ayles you all thus to syt dreaming
Of whom take ye care?

The professional spirit of the players and the environment
in which the plays were usually given, which thus hastened the
downfall of the religious drama, brought with them also important
modifications in form that less directly contributed to the process
of secularization. The most noticeable of these changes was the
greatly reduced length of the later moralities, or moral_interludes,
as they are often called. The Castle of Perseverance has almost
four thousand lines and some thirty-five characters, while The World
and the Child, which attempts to cover virtually the same ground,
contains scarcely one thousand lines, and only five parts, The
two parts of Nature contain together almost three thousand lines,
but an interval of perhaps three days intervened between them.’
Some of the controversial plays were extremely long, notably Res-
publica, and Ane Satyre of Thrie Estaits, whose performance before
King James lasted nine hours, with only one intermission for re-
freshment.2 But the typical morality of the later period was short,
arranged to be played by four or five men within a period of an
hour or two. To effect such simplification each actor was given
two or more parts to play. One actor, for example, took in New
Custom the parts of Ignorance, Hypocrisy, and Edification ; a sec-
ond, the parts of New Custom, Avarice, and Assurance; a third,
the single role of Perverse Doctrine; and a fourth, the parts of
Light of the Gospel, Cruelty, God's Felicity, and the lines of the
Prologue. The World and the Child might have been performed by
two actors.? How great the need for such simplification was, may

290: 2 Nichol, Introduction, xlv.
3 See Ramsay, ed. Magnificence, exxxiii, and also Brandl, 33, 46.

394 Elbert N. S. Thompson

be inferred from the frequency with which it is pointed out on the
title-pages of the plays. ‘“ Fower may Play this Enterlude,” precedes
the assignment of parts by the printer of Mew Custom, and similar
advertisements are found in Wealth and Health, Like Will to Like,
and other plays. Such shortened entertainment was preferred by
the audiences—for did not even King Henry find one of Medwell’s
lost allegories too tedious for endurance!; but it was largely the
inability of traveling companies to supply the actors and the staging
for the long, full-sscope moralities, that most effectively caused their
abridgment.

Through this curtailment the moralities lost much in scenic effect.
The processional features of Wisdom Who is Christ, a strictly the-
ological play, are most striking. At one point the Five Wits of
the Soul, dressed in “white kertyllys & mantelys, with cheuelers
& chappelettis,” and singing, “ Nigra sum, sed formosa, filiae Jerusa-
lem,” lead the march; Anima follows, “as a mayde, in a wyght
clothe of golde gyntely purfyled with menyver”; then Wisdom,
clothed in a purple robe richly ornamented with gold, and furred
with ermine, and finally Mind, Will, and Understanding, “all iij in
wyght cloth of golde,” bring up the rear. The richness and variety
of the costumes, the slow, stately march, and the solemn hymn,
gave undoubtedly a splendid scenic effect not dissimilar to the
familiar processions in the cathedrals. Only slightly less impressive
were the seven followers of Mind in “ rede berdis, & lyouns rampaunt
on here crestis, & yche a warder in hys honde,” the six perjurers
who follow Understanding, and the six gallants who accompany
Will, each party with trumpets, bagpipes, or other musical instru-
ments. In all there are thirty-eight characters, twentyfour of whom
are on the stage at one time. By such scenic display even reli-
gious allegory could be made attractive; crowds would come, if not
to listen, at least to see. But could Anima, Will, and the rest con-
tinue to hold interest when stripped of their splendor? This the
professional actor had to determine.’

1 Chambers, 2. 201. 2 36, 41, 46, 58—60.

3 The costuming of Zhe Castle of Perseverance is indicated on the plan
accompanying the manuscript. Queen Mary gave order for the delivery
of certain theatrical costumes to her servants for a play to be given by
“the gentlemen of the chapell.” Some of the items were:

Genus humanum for a gowne purple breges satten vij yardes
v virgins Cassockes of white breges, satten
reason, verytie and plentie, every of them vij yardes

The English Moral Plays 395

Obviously such processional features and such extensive ward-
robes would be beyond the means of small-sized troupes entirely
dependent upon the generosity of the playgoing public. But there
would be no occasion for such elaborate staging as the plays lost
their purely allegorical and homiletic content, and approached re-
alism. A gorgeously colored feather gave Vanity in Liberality and
Prodigality a feeling of assurance that he could be recognized at
a glance. Pride appeared in Nature with a doublet “ on-laced be-
fore,’ a satin stomacher, and a short gown with wide sleeves, wear-
ing his hair “half a wote” below the ears.1 Such humanized per-
sonifications might best appear in the simple costumes of real life.
So also a bit of costume for the controversial plays would suffice
to differentiate Popish priest from Genevan doctor. But beyond
these simple stage-effects the professional actor would not have to
go in an age that tended to the representation of real life. Thus
the limited resources that hampered the stage, manager furthered
the advance of realism at the expense of allegory, just as the ne-
cessity for abridgment resulted usually in the sacrifice of the “sad
matter” and the retention of the comedy. In every respect, there-
fore, the then existing condition of the theatrical art rendered in-
evitable the secularization of the moral plays.

As a final instance of the changed character and purpose of the
late moral play, consider the historical development on the stage
of the Devil and the Vice. That the dramatic conception of the
Devil had its origin in theological literature, rather than in popular
tradition, there can be no doubt. Clergy and laity alike had an
unshaken confidence in the continued activity in the world of the
demoniacal being who sought Job’s ruin, and assailed even Christ
himself. In the miracle-plays, therefore, he appeared wherever the
story demanded his presence—on the pageants, for example, represent-
ing the fall of Lucifer, the temptation of Eve, and Doomsday. In
the moralities he stood for the source of all evil, man’s great enemy,
as God was his great friend. Thus the Devil appears at the end
of The Pride of Life to carry the King’s soul to hell; and in The

Self-love a Cassocke of rede satten of breges
Skarsitie a womans Cassocke of Russett & satten of Breges

The bad angell iij yardes of Kersey and winges for the good angell
and the bad, iij thromd hattes and tenn dosson of Counters and
what youe shall lake for the furniture hereof To provide and see them
furnished. Respublica, Xv.
67.

396 Elbert N. S. Thompson

Castle of Perseverance, together with the World and the Flesh, his
constant associates in theological literature, he leads the forces of
evil that seek the overthrow of man. In these early plays, the
Devil is a serious character, the product of theological thought.?
The origin of the Vice as a dramatic character is more a matter
of dispute. Cushman believes that the Devil and the Vice are
related only as all influences for evil were supposed to emanate
from one source; that the Devil was a theological-mythological
being, the antithesis of God, while the Vice was an ethical person,
the summation of the deadly sins, the antithesis of piety and mor-
ality.2. Eckhardt, on the contrary, argues that the Devil was the
immediate, though not the exclusive, source of the conception of
the Vice. Between the two views the difference is but slight; for,
since the deadly sins were regarded by churchmen as the children
of the Devil, both postulate for the Vice, as well as for the Devil,
an origin in theological literature. Chambers has supported an
entirely different opinion, that relates the vice to the court fool or
jester, who would figure first in the farce; but to the present

author the Vice seems more directly descendent from the Devil and.

the deadly sins.

But neither character retained long the marks of its serious, the-
ological origin; the Devil took on human traits, and the Vice be-
came the intimate associate of man. In Wisdom Lucifer appears
with the attire of a gallant showing beneath his traditional
costume, thus combining the attributes of the trio, World, Flesh,
and Devil, and immediately lays aside the Satanic garb to tempt
man more effectually as a human being. In other plays the Devil
discards his black skin, animal’s head, tail, horns, and claws, and
assumes a more human grotesqueness, a fiery red face and Bar-
dolphian nose. The Vice was still more completely humanized, and
soon became a man playing the part of rogue and mischief-maker.
In such roles he seems more closely allied with the fool, because,

the author thinks, older influences had waned. If such be the case, —

both the Devil and the Vice show again how the allegorical was
forced to give way to the concrete, and how theological teaching
was supplanted on the stage by comedy of manners.

But as one thus traces along these several lines the breakdown
of the old type of play under the influence of secular literature and

1 Cushman, 16. 2 Ibid., 63; Eckhardt, 101 ff

3 The Devil of a French play assumes the same disguise under his
more usual costume (Cohen, 220-21).

The English Moral Plays 397

worldly affairs, the inference should not be drawn that the religious
allegory was legislated by dramatic managers summarily from the
stage, or that patrons of the new play were never edified by the
old. The Contention between Liberahty and Prodigality, which was
given before Queen Elizabeth in 1600, synchronously with
Romeo and Juliet, Henry IV, and the Merchant of Venice, proves
the contrary. In this late survival, the fortunes of Money, first
at the hands of Prodigality and his riotous companions, then in the
penurious care of Tenacity (Avarice), dull almost as the _ per-
functory discourses of Vertue and Equity, bring only two scenes of
interest. The postilion beating at the tavern door to awake the
host and hostess, and the scene in the court-room, opened with
boisterous legality by the crier and the clerk—these are interesting
bits of real comedy; but the dull didacticism of the play as a whole
shows the tenacity with which the morality clung to its existence.

Besides showing that the moral play was never arbitrarily re-
legated to the literary scrap-heap, this late survival of the type
reveals one direction in which the morality spent part of its force.
The allegory teaches, instead of spiritual morality, only a single
lesson in conduct—prudence and honesty. A majority of the French
moralities, a type less clearly defined than in England, restrict them-
selves to non-religious advice, to the natural, rather than the spiritual,
virtues! Such, for example, is the Condamnation des Banquets.
But this restriction, when found in an English play, is a mark of
decadence. That would be our verdict on The Trial of Treasure,
which exhibits the transiency of earthly wealth. Just and his friend,
Sapience, agree that

Treasures here gotten are uncertain and vain,
But treasures of the mind do continually remain,

(275)
while Lust, led by Inclination, gives himself up to Lady Treasure
and her brother, Pleasure. Lust and Just naturally come into dis-
agreement, and actually wrestle upon the stage—so low had the
holy war degenerated. But instead of a spectacular conversion,
the audience was greeted at the end with a warning example. God’s
Visitation takes from Lust his companion, Pleasure, and Time re-
moves Treasure,

For like as all things in time their beginning had,
So must all things in time vanish and fade. (297)

1 Mortensen, 137.

398 Elbert N. S. Thompson

Then Time returns “with a similitude of dust and rust,” all that re-
“mains of Lust and Treasure, to prove the impermanence of earthly
things.

Such lessons in worldly wisdom, that belong rather to the phi-
losopher than to the preacher, could veer still further from the
morality’s beaten path by dispensing altogether with allegory for
situations and characters belonging strictly to farce. The author
of Thersites, working on the idea that “the greatest boesters are
not the greatest doers,’ exhibits an arrant braggart, Herod-like
in his vanity, terrified by a helpless snail, and sent whimpering
behind his mother’s skirts by the threats of a single soldier. This
modification of the norm resembles the type of play known in France
as the Histoire, a narrative used to illustrate some particular truth
or maxim of conduct.1 Such dramatic enforcement of homely pro-
verb need not have departed from the old religious type. The
late Elizabethan morality, The Longer Thou Livest the More Fool
Thou Art, was a revision by Wager of some old, full-scope moral
play. The hero, Moros, first appears as a mischievous boy, fond
of games and boyish pranks and popular songs—‘“a witlesse Boy,
Singing and bellowing like a dawe.” For travestying the good lesson
that Discipline would teach him, he is whipped several times. Then
as he grows older, he leaves his idle pastimes, and, under the guid-
ance of Idleness and Incontinence, gives himself up to gambling
and vice. At this period of his life his friends are the papistical
advisers, Ignorance and Fortune. Lastly he appears as an old man
swearing vengeance on Discipline. But God’s Judgment, who oddly
addresses the sinner first with the proverb that suggested the title,
overcomes him, and Confusion carries him to the Devil. Wager
in handling this proverb used the mold of the full-scope play, and
wrote in the spirit of the school-dramatists to illustrate the need of
discipline in the home and school. He shot his bolt, too, against
Catholicism, at a time when Protestantism was in the ascendant,
and when the Marian persecution was still fresh in men’s minds.?
All this indicates that such lessons of worldly prudence might have
been handled without sacrifice of moral purpose. That this and
other plays, therefore, do betray a weakening of religious spirit is
proof that the days of the morality were numbered.

To preserve some such vestige of the didactic purpose of the
morality as that found in T7hersites, was second nature even to
the direct imitaturs of Roman comedy. Calisto and Mehbea, a play

' Mortensen, 127. 2 1361, 1512, 1022, 1958.

~ Pi

The Enghsh Moral Plays 399

contemporaneous with many true moralities, presents the typical
characters of Latin comedy: the hero, Calisto; the parasite, Sem-
pronio; and the bawd, Celestina, from whose plot Melibocea barely
escapes. But at the close the father delivers a long exhortation
to virtue that would have done credit to the orthodox allegorical
dramatic preacher. Still more directly the author of jack Juggler
borrowed from Roman comedy, taking from Plautus’ Amphitruo
the complication caused by Sosia’s returning home to find, he be-
lieves, his double awaiting him. In the English farce, the hero is
fooled by his enemy, Jenkin Careaway, gets into trouble in conse-
quence, and is of course beaten by his master. Yet after this rude
horse-play comes the moral, to the effect that the world is full of
deceit. Even the farce was fain to proffer a moral reason for its
being.

More freely, though, than in the classical imitations of the humanists,
the elements of the disintegrating moral play merged in the home-
bred dramatic products of the time. Two traces of the morality
are prominent in 4 Merry Knack to Know a Knave. The Devil
is brought into the action to claim the soul of the dying Bailiff of
Hexam, and later to play the part of a human being; and an alle-
gorical character, Honesty, serves as the connecting link between
the scenes of the two plots. The main plot is historical, a royal
romance such as Elizabethans were fond of, telling of King Edgar’s
love for a maiden, Alfrida, and the faithlessness of the emissary
whom he commissioned to do his courting. The second plot is
satirical. Faithful Honesty, who has “the knack to know a knave,”
discloses the dishonesty of various social types. The conny-catcher
and the knight of the post in their perjury; the farmer who buys
up corn for export, and thus oppresses the poor; the priest who
refuses to help the needy; the courtier and king’s counselor who
uses his office for self-aggrandizement, all are exposed for what they
really are. Here, then, we have realistic comedy combined with
a typical Elizabethan romance, bearing the marks of Euphuism in
its language, and staged by Henslowe—in short, a typical Eliza-
bethan play, preserving still the relics of the morality type.

Similar survivals from the outworn medieval drama persisted in
early tragedy. In the old Roman legend of Appius and Virginia
one unknown author saw not only “a rare example of the vertue
of Chastitie,” but also the stuff of which real tragedy is made. He
used it mainly to this end, emphasizing at the start the father’s
premonitions of coming misfortune, the daughter’s confidence in her
own strength, the tragic close of her life, and the punishment of

400 Elbert N. S. Thompson

the offenders, mingling with these motives, in the heartless Eliza-
bethan way, low comedy and merry songs. Yet the tragedy still
bears the vestiges of the earlier native drama. It is the Vice,
Haphazard, who conceives the stratagem by which Appius gains
his will, and allegorical characters accompany every step in the
development of the plot. As Appius before the crime feels mis-
givings in his heart, Conscience and Justice pass in dumb show
across the stage, one holding in his hand a burning lamp, the
other a sword. Immediately after, when Appius leaves the stage,
both introduce themselves in the stereotyped manner. The agonized
father is calmed by Comfort, and at the end punishment is meted
out to Appius and Haphazard by Justice and Reward. Some last
elimmerings, then, of the moral play are found in regular tragedy.

In another tragedy, Cambyses, the allegorical characters prolong
the note struck by the political Tudor moralities. The hero is a
Tamburlaine who sends to death an unjust judge, orders the heart
cut out of a little child before the father’s eyes, and then murders
first his brother and then his wife. He himself, the victim of an
accident, dies a sudden death. But in this tragedy, also, the alle-
gorical characters of the morality appear. Ambidexter, the Vice,
prompts the king to his first crimes; Commons’ Cry and Commons’
Complaint petition the king for redress; Murder and Cruelty are
his hired assassins. Even this forerunner of Marlowe and the tragedy
of blood preserved the elements of the disintegrated political mor-
ality.

With still less loss the determinative features of the typical moral-
ity were carried over by Robert Wilson in that interesting comedy,
The Cobler’s Prophesie, which belongs to the group of mythological
plays so popular with the boys’ companies of the sixteenth century.
After the style of Lyly, Wilson brings the story of the corruption
of Boeotia and the Grecian gods to English soil. Mars has forsaken
his manly prowess under the spell of his faithless wife, Venus, and
all ranks of Boeotian society, save only the poor soldiery, have lost
their virtue and honesty. Melpomene and Clio lay aside their pens,
for no longer are there deeds of heroes to sing. All this evil has been
caused by Contempt, who under the disguise of Content—an old
motive of the moralities'—has debauched Venus, and degraded
courtier, scholar, and squire. Here, then, is the Vice of the moral
play acting his well-learned part in this mythological story, and
with him as servants of Venus go other allegorical characters,

1 See above, 370.

The English Moral Plays 401

Nicenes, Dalliance, Jealozie, and Newfangle, the fashion-maker. But
this strange tale of Boeotian life is colored to please the London
populace. It is a simple cobbler, a character later exalted by
Heywood and Rowley, whom Mercury selects to rouse Mars from
his apathy. Ralph, it must be confessed, is not altogether a. hero;
he hides under the bed to escape his irate wife, he is befuddled
in the wood by the mocking voice of Echo, and he is too conscious
of his prophetic calling. He succeeds, however, in reaching the
court of Mars, and rouses the god to war. Bceotia is invaded and
conquered, and with the burning of the “cabbin” of Contempt,
social order is restored. In short, The Cobler’s Prophesie is a play
combining classical mythology to please the court with a typical
Elizabethan appeal to the tradesmen; yet here again, at the end
of the century, appear strongly the features of the morality play.

Such survivals of the religious drama in these late composite plays
could have no permanence. The moral play in England had en-
joyed a long popularity, and, unchallenged by any regularly or-
ganized secular drama such as existed in France at the opening of
the fifteenth century, had long professed, if it did not actually show,
a moral purpose. But in the last years of the sixteenth century
didacticism and allegory on the stage had already passed their
zenith, and soon succumbed before a type of play more truly dramatic
both in substance and form. That fragments of the morality might
find temporary lodgment in these farces and actual comedies and
tragedies simply postponed, but did not prevent, the total dis-
appearance of the dramatic species. How were either serious or
corrupted dramatic homily to compete with the real comedy of
Gammer Gurton’s Needle, or poor Honesty and his ilk with the
familiar human characters of Greene and his contemporaries? So
the morality disappeared, leaving only a reminiscence behind. The
play, Szr Thomas More, written about the year 1590, and once
attributed to Shakespeare, mentions a half dozen of the old morals,
several of which still remain unknown. Falstaff alludes to the
“dagger of lath” that the Vice carried, and to the ranting of the
hero of King Cambyses.1 Gossip Tattle bears witness to the pop-
ularity of the Devil on the stage when she says: “My husband
... Was wont to say, there was no Play, without a Foole, and a Diuell
in’t; he was for the Diuell still, God blesse him. The Diuell for
his money, would hee say, I would faine see the Diuell.”? But in

1 Henry IV, 2. 4. 151, 425.
* Staple of News, \’st Intermean.

402 Elbert N. S. Thompson

another comedy Jonson treated the Vice as defunct, and satirized
his old-time role.

That’s fifty yeeres agone, and six,
(When euery great man had his Vice stand by him,
In his long coat, shaking his wooden dagger),

he wrote, and his conclusion was,

We must therefore ayme

At extraordinary subtill ones [Vices], now,
When we doe send to keepe vs vp in credit.
Not old Lniquities.3

The Devil, who passes these strictures on his old companion, the
Vice, counted evidently upon the audiences’ familiarity with the
character, and on their sympathy with the new comedy of manners.

Although the moral play died, leaving behind in regular dramatic
literature only these few unimportant allusions, its influence must
not be slighted. As the composite plays prove, no barrier ever
existed between the old and the new. Elizabethan comedy had
its roots in the by-play of the morality; early tragedy, even, might
find scenes of pathos and tense interest in the religious play, and
learn there the lesson of causality and the doctrine of the freedom
of the will that form its basis. Moreover, the theatrical traditions
of the Elizabethan age had their origin in the sacred drama.
The old methods of organizing the companies, of staging the plays,
and of costuming the actors, were carried on by the players of
the secular drama. The audiences, too, trained to expect gross
anachronism, and the mixture of comedy and tragedy, thought
nothing of them in later times. Hence, although the abstractions
of the old play were discarded by Elizabethan playwrights, and

although allegorized precept gave place to concrete presentation —

of real life, the debt of the secular drama to the moral play is
greater than any tangible evidence can show. r
But upon the religious life of the age, for whose advancement

the moral play was first devised, there was left no such impress. —

The dramatists of the late period had been so engrossed with mirth
and so neglectful of godliness, that the stage, except possibly in
rural neighborhoods where non-professional methods still prevailed
in occasional performances, had altogether ceased to be a week-
day pulpit. Churchmen themselves really hastened the change by
finding other and more naturally effective means of teaching moral-

8 Devil ts an Ass, 1. 1. 83—85, 115-18. See also 1. 2. 30; 5. 6.

ee te ae ae

“«

The English Moral Plays 403

ity and religion. The sermon was given a new vitality and an
extended influence by the Puritan divine; the works of practical
piety that spread over England in dumpy little quartos taught every-
day holiness; John Florio’s translation of Montaigne’s essays opened
the way for the moral philosopher. The church, accordingly, no
longer needed the service of the theater; the theater felt that it
had outlived its indenture. There came, therefore, a re-division of
labor in the literary world. The drama was given the task of public
entertainment, and, at its best, of sound interpretation of life; the
church assumed responsibility for the furtherance of godliness through
the spoken and written word. The day of the moral play was over.

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. XIV. 27 Marca, 1910.

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF PLAYS.}

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Dopstey, R. A Select Collection of Old English Plays. Revised, W.
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ce Ul ed ee be

1 This bibliography contains a list of the extant English moral plays,
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Cambises. T. Preston, 1569—70.
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1773.
The Castle of Perseverance (as early as 1450).
*]. ed. F. Furnivall and A. Pollard.. E.E.T.S. London, 1904.
Ze. 1908.
3. Pollard. A portion of the play.
The Cobler’s Prophesie. R. Wilson. 1595.
ed. W. Dibelius. Jahrb. vol. 33. 1897.
The Conflict of Conscience. N. Woodes. 1581.
Dodsley. vol. 6.
The Contention between Liberality and Prodigality.
Dodsley. vol. 8.
The Contract of Mariage between Wit and Wisdome.
1. ed. J. O. Halliwell. Old Shakespeare Society. London, 1846.
*2, E.E.D. 1908.
The Disobedient Child, T. Ingeland. 1570.
1. Dodsley. vol. 2.
*2. H.H.D. 1905,
SLEEP. 1908.
The Nature of the Four Elements. J. Rastell. c. 1517.
1. Dodsley. vol. 1.
2. ed. J. Fischer. Marburger Studien. Marburg, 1903.
*3. E.E.D. 1905.
Zea T.. 1908.
Freewill. Henry Cheke (trans.). 1561. (Not examined.)
The Glasse of Gouernement. R. Gascoigne. 1575.
The Complete Poems of George Gascoigne. vol. 2. ed. W. C. Haz-
litt. 2 vols. London, 1870.
Godly Queen Hester.
1. Ed. J. P. Collier, Lllustrations of Early English Popular Litera-
ture. London, 1863,
2. ed. A. B. Grosart. Miscellanies of the Fuller Worthies Library.
London, 1873.
*3. Materialien zur Kunde. 1904.
*4. E.E.D. 1906.
Hickscorner. c. 1510.
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2. Manly. vol. 1.
*3. E.E.D. 1905.
4. T.F.T. 1908.
Impatient Poverty. 1560.
1. E.E.D. 1907.
eee T1907.
Jack Juggler. c. 1553.

406 Elbert N. S. Thompson

1. Dodsley. vol. 2.
*2. K.E.D. 1906.
John the Evangelist.
See Saint John the Evangelist.
King Darius. Revised, c. 1565.
*1. Brandl.
2. E.E.D. 1906.
ao Tan DS 1907:
King John. J. Bale. c. 1540.
*1. Manly. vol. 1.
2. E.E.D. 1907.
The Life and Repentaunce of Marie Magdalene. Lewis Wager. 1567.
*1. ed. F. I. Carpenter. Chicago, 1904.
220 BE 1306;
Like Will to Like, Quoth the Devil to the Collier. U. Fulwell. pr. 1568.
1. Dodsley. vol. 3.
*2. H.E.D. 1906.
3. PET. 1909.
The Longer Thou Livest, the More Fool Thou Art. W. Wager. pr. 1570.
ed. A. Brandl. Jahrb. vol. 36. 1900.
Lusty Juventus. (Reign of Henry VIII.)
1. Dodsley. vol. 2.
*2. E.E.D. 1905.
a. InP, 1907.
Magnificence. J. Skelton, 1515.
1. ed. A. Dyce. Poetical Works of Skelton. 3 vols. Boston and
New York, 1862.
*2. ed. R. L. Ramsay. E.E.T.S. London, 1908.
Mankind. Before 1483. (Schelling, 1.56, n.)
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Ted Wa A i hs
The Marriage of Wit and Science. 1569.
*1. Dodsley. vol. 2.
2. E.E.D. 1908.
5. en Es S02:
Mary Magdalene.
1. ed. T. Sharp. Digby Mysteries. London, 1835.
*2. ed. F. Furnivall. New Shakespeare Society. London, 1882.
A Merry Knack to Know a Knave. 1592.
Dodsley. vol. 6.
Mind, Will, and Understanding. See Wisdom Who Is Christ.
Misogonus. 1560.
1. Brandl.

The Enghsh Moral Plays 407

*2. H.E.D. 1906.
Mundus et Infans. See The World and the Child.
Nature. H. Medwell. 1486—1500.

*1. Brandl.

2. E.E.D. 1907.

Pelob.Ts 1908;
New Custom. pr. 1573.

*1. Dodsley. vol. 3.

2. H.E.D. 1906.

Sees 1908:

Nice Wanton. 1560.
1. Dodsley. vol. 2.
2. Manly. vol. 1.
*3, E.E.D. 1905.

4, T.F.T. 1909.

The Play of the Sacrament (miracle-play).
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1860—61. Appendix.
2. Manly. vol. 1.
The Pride of Life (a fragment). 1400?

*1. Brandl.

2. ed. O. Waterhouse. E.E.T.S. London, 1909,
Respublica. 1553.

*1. Brandl.

2. ed. L. A. Magnus. E.E.T.S. London, 1905. (The best critical
edition.)

3. E.E.D. 1907.

eT. 1908.

Saint John the Evangelist.
1. Malone Society. 1907.
*2. H.E.D. 1907.

a EET 61907.

Somebody, Avarice, and Minister (a fragment).

Maitland, S. R. A List of Some of the Early Printed Books in
the Archi-episcopal Library at Lambeth. London, 1843, (Not
examined.)

The Summoning of Everyman. pr. 1509—30.

1. Dodsley. vol. 1.

2. ed. W. W. Greg. Materialien zur Kunde. 1909.

*3, E.E.D. 1905.

The Three Ladies of London. 1584.

Dodsley, vol. 6.

A Comedy Concerning Three Laws. J. Bale. pr. 1538.

1. ed. A. Schréer. Anglia. vol. 5. 1882.

2 E-E.D. 1907.

eo LEP.’ 1908:

408 Elbert N. S. Thompson

The Three Lords and the Three Ladies of London. 1590.
Dodsley. vol. 6.
The Tide Tarrieth No Man. G. Wapull. pr. 1578.
ed. E. Riihl. Jahrb. vol. 43. 1907.
Tom Tiler and His Wife. 1540.
1. ed. F. E. Schelling. Publ. of Mod. Lang. Assoc. of America.
vol. 15. 1900.
*2. H.E.D. 1906.
The Trial of Treasure.
1. Dodsley. vol. 3.
2. E.H.D. 1906.
3.°0.E-T? 1908:
Wealth and Health.
#1) HLE.D, 1907.
2 TEE. A907=8,
3. ed. P. Simpson. Malone Society. 1907.
4. ed. F. Holthausen. Festschrift der Universitat Kiel. 1908.
Wisdom Who Is Christ (before 1512).
*1. ed. F. Furnivall and A. Pollard. E.E.T.S. London, 1904.
2 PAT 10%
Wit and Science, John Redford. 1540.
1. ed. J. O. Halliwell-Phillips. Old Shakespeare Society. London,
1848.
2. Manly. vol. 1.
#3, EHD. 1907.
4:70. A908.
The World and the Child. pr. 1522.
1. Dodsley. vol. 1.
2. Manly. vol. 1.
*3. E.E.D. 1905.
The Enterlude of Youth. 1500—1525.
1. Dodsley. vol. 2.
2. ed. W. Bang and R. B. McKerrow. Materialien zur Kunde. 1905.
*3. E.ED. 1906.
4. T.F.T. 1908.

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INDEX.

Acolastus, 380, 381, 382.

Active life, the, 339—40.

Adam Praemonstrateus, 326.

fElfric, 304.

Alain de Lille, 297, 300, 326, 377.

Albion Knight, 372.

All for Money, 346, 387.

Alphabet of Tales, An, 297, 300, 301,
302, 305, 310.

Amphitruo, 384, 399.

Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaits, 370—71,
390, 393.

Antichrist, the legend of, 346-51;
as a source of the moral plays,
350-51.

Anticlaudianus, 326.

Appius and Virginia, 399—400.

Aristotle, 360, 383.

Asotus, 380.

Assembly of Gods, The, 328.

Augustine, 294, 297, 304, 307, 339.

Bale, 361—64, 367, 369.

Bataille d’Enfer et de Paradis, 343.

Bataille de Karesme et de Charnage,
348.

Bataille des Sept Arts, 342,

Batazlle des Vices contre les Vertus, 327.

Bede, 304.

Bernard, 295, 304, 307, 310, 330, 331,
339, 355.

Besancon, Etienne de, 300. See
Alphabet of Tales.

Biblia Pauperum, 302.

Bien-Avisé, Mal-Avisé, 359.

Blickling Homilies, The, 304, 306, 310.

Blois: see Peter of Blois.

Bonaventura, 302, 356.

Bourbon, Etienne de, 300, 301, 302.

Bozon, 310.

Brandt, 360.

Burning of John Huss, The, 369.

Calisto and Melbea, 398.

Cambyses, 400, 401.

Captivi, 383.

Castle of Perseverance, The, 312—20,
336, 337, 354, 358, 389—90, 393, 394.

Chasteau d’ Amour, 335, 356.

Cheke, 369.

Cobler’s Prophecie, The, 346, 400—401.

Collection of Letters, Statutes, and Other
Documents, A, 374.

Collogue Social, 358.

Condamnation des Banquets, 359, 397.

Conflict of Conscience, The, 367.

Contract of Marriage between Wit and
Wisdome, The, 379,

Controversial moral plays, 359—75.

Creed plays, the, 334—38.

Cursor Mundi, 336, 356.

Cyprian, 321, 329.

Dance of Death, the, its general
treatment, 341, 351—54; in English
moral plays, 352--54; in French
moralities, 354.

De Confiictu Vitiorum et Virtutum,
328.

De Eruditione Praedicatorum, 298.

De Meretrice Babylonica, 374.

De Nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurit, 380.

De Patientia, 309.

De Tribus Dietis, 359.

Debate, literature of, in Middle Ages,
341—46, 354; in Reformation times
365—67.

Debate: see Psalms, 85. 10.

Debate between the Body and the Sout,
341, 345, 354.

Debate of the Carpenter’s Tools, 344.

il

Devil, the, on the stage, 395—97.
401—402.

Dialogue: see Debate.

Disobedient Child, The, 382.

Echecs Amoureux, Les, 379.

Endightment against Mother Messe, The,
366.

Enterlude of John Bon & Mast Person,
The, 369.

Ephraem, the Syrian, 321.

iveryman, 341, 852—53, 390.

Exempla, 299~304.

Farces, Influence on moral plays,
388-89. See Heywood.

Freedom of the will, 317-18.

Freewill, 369.

Fulwel, 388.

Gammer Gurton’s Needle, 401.

Gascoigne, 384.

Glasse of Gouernement, 384—86.

Glossa Ordinaria, 334.

Gnapheus, 380.

God’s Promises, 369.

Godly Queen Hester, 371.

Golden Legend, The, 367.

Greban, 356.

Gregory, the Great, 295, 296, 297,
300, 301, 330,

Grosseteste, 296, 335, 341, 356.

Hamartigenia, 322, 329, 330.

Heywood, 345—46, 389.

Fickscorner, 382, 388.

Homilaria, 296—99.

Honneur des Dames, 332, 359.

Honorius of Autun, 296, 297, 298,
305, 377.

Hugo of Saint Victor, 310, 330, 331,
334, 355.

Humanism: see Renaissance.

Humbert de Romanis, 298, 299.

Huon de Meéri, 326.

Ingeland, 381.

Jack Juggler, 384, 399.

Jucques de Vitry, 298, 299, 300, 301,
305, 313.

Jonson, 401—402.

Elbert N. S. Thompson

King Cambyses, 400, 401.

King Darius, 346.

King John, 362—64, 367.

Kirchmayer, 366, 367, 374.

Lactantius, 321.

Legal regulation of moral plays,
364, 373-75.

Liberality and Prodigality, 332, 383,
395, 397.

Life and Death of Mary Magdalene,
388.

Like Will to Like, 346, 388, 394.

Lindsay, 370.

Longer Thou Livest, The, 398.

Lord Governaunce, 303.

Lord’s Prayer, the, as interpreted
in the Middle Ages, 334; as con-
nected thereby with the Psycho-
machia, 334; the Pater Noster
plays, 334-38.

Ludus de Antichristo, 350—51.

Lupton, 387.

Lusty Juventus, 369, 382.

Lydgate, 327, 328, 336, 379.

Macropedius, 380.

Magnificence, 355, 341, 346, 360, 362,
383.

Mankind, 358, 387, 391—92.

Marguet Convertie, 340.

Marriage of Wit and Science, The, 379.

Martianus Capella, 380.

Mary Magdalene, 331, 384.

Medwell, 332, 379.

Menaechmi, 383.

Merry Knack to Know a Knave, A,
399.

Misogonus, 382-83.

Moral plays, analogues in medieval
sermons, 304—12; sources: the
Psychomachia, 293, 320-33, the
legend of Antichrist, 546-51, the
Dance of Death, 317, 341, 351—54,
the allegory of Psalms, 85. 10, 318,
354—58 ; as a means of theological
instruction, 333-41; as connected
with the Reformation, 359-75;

;

The English Moral Plays

and with the Renaissance, 375—86;
and with the spirit of comedy,
387—90, et passim; their presen-
tation, 389—95 ; restrained by law,

364, 373-75; kept alive by new |

needs, 359-86, their disintegra-
tion, 386—403.

Moralité des Enfans de Maintenant, 382.

Morals of the Book of Job, 330.

More, 366.

Mystere de la Passion, 356.

Narrenschiff, 360.

Nature, 332, 378, 379, 383, 393, 395.

Nature of the Four Elements, The,
376—78, 381, 383.

New Custom, 369, 393.

Nice Wanton, The, 381.

Occleve, 360.

Origen, 349.

Pageants, political and religious,
364.

Palsgrave, 381.

Pammachius, 366, 367, 374.

Parabell, 380.

Pastor of Hermas, 309, 329.

Pastoral Care, The, 295, 296, 328.

Pater Noster: see Lord’s Prayer.

Paul, Saint, 320—21, 322, 348.

Peter of Blois, 310, 327.

Pierre de Limoges, 300.

- Plautus, 383, 384, 399.

Play of the Sacrament, The, 336.
Pore Help, A, 369.

Presentation of plays, 389-95.

q

392-93, 395.

Prodigal Son, the, plays on, 380—81,

386.
Prudentius, 322.
Psalms 85. 10, in allegory, 354—58.

Psychomachia, its origin, 320-22; in |

literature, 326-32; and in art,
328 ; the main source of the moral
play, 293. Also, 311, 320—8383, 334,
341, 348, 346.

Raoul de Houdan, 327.

| Somme des Vices et des Vertues,

ili

Realism, 387—89, e¢ passim.

Rebelles, 380—82.

Redford, 379, 384.

Reformation, plays concerned with,
359-75.

Regement of Prynces, 360.

Renaissance, plays concerned with,
375—86.

Reson and Sensualyte, 379.

Respublica, 359, 370, 393, 395.

Rich, Archbishop, 335.

Roman de la Rose, 332.

Roo, 364, 373.

Rutebeuf, 327.

Saint John the Evangelist, 340—41,
389.

Salutation and Conception,

School-plays, 376—86.

Secreta Secretorum, 360.

Sermon, the, in early Christian
worship, 293-94; its decline,
294—95; its revival, 295-312;
methods of adaptation, 296—312;
dramatic character of, 303-12;
use of allegory in, 308-12.

The, 351.

Sermones Vulgares, or, Sermones ad

Status, 298, 299.

| Sermonnaire: see Homilaria.

Sir Thomas More, 401.
Skelton, 360, 362, 383.
Somebody, Avarice, and Minister, 372.
335.
Songe de Paradis, 327.

| Speculum Ecclesiae, 296, 297, 298, 305,
Pride of Live, The, 353, 358, 389, 390,

| 384.
Spira, 368.
Strabo, 334.

Studentes, 381, 383.

| Stymmelius, 381.

Summa de Arte Praedicatoria, 297.
Tertullian, 309, 321.

Thersites, 398.

Three Ladies of London, The, 302, 384.
Three Laws, The, 361, 367, 369.

| Three Lords and the Three Ladies of

London, The, 372.

iv Elbert N. S. Thompson, The English Moral Plays.

Tom Tyler, 384, 388.

Tornotemenz Antecrit, Li, 326.

Trial of Treasure, The, 383, 397.

Turner, 366.

Tyde Taryeth No Man, The, 372.

Tyndale, 366.

Vice, the, on the stage, 395-97,
401—402.

Vincent of Beauvais, 377.

Virtutum Vitiorumque Exempla, 302.

Vote de Paradis, 359.

Wager, 388.

Waldis, 380.

Wapull, 372.

Wealth and Health, 394.

Wever, 369.

Wiclif, 334.

Wilson, 346, 400—401.

Wisdom Who Is Christ, 338—40, 341,
394, 396.

Wit and Science, 379, 381, 383, 384.

Woodes, 367.

World and the Child, The, 336, 337, 393.

Wylley, 369.

York, Plays at, 334-35, 382, 391.

Youth, 388.

TRANSACTIONS OF THE

CONNECTICUT ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES

INCORPORATED A. D. 1799

VOLUME 14, PAGES 415-466. APRIL, 1910

The Accentual Cursus
in Byzantine Greek Prose

with

Especial Reference to Procopius
of Caesarea

BY

HENRY BRONSON DEWING, Ph.D.

PUBLISHED UNDER THE AUSPICES OF

NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT

1910

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Part [.—BIBiioGRAPHICAL.

The suggestion which paved the way for the discovery of the
Cursus Law in Byzantine Greek prose was made by P. Edmond
Bouvy, Poétes et Mélodes. Etudes sur les origines du rhythme
tonique dans I’hymnographie de lEglise Grecque; Nimes 1886.
“Bouvy, while searching in the dark for a law which would account
for the characteristic rhythm of the Greek prose of the Byzantine
period, noticed the common occurrence of an accentual dactyl at
the close of sentence members; that is, such words as cybowzos,
| thehvzxeccy Often stand in this position. This seemed to him to be
the essential characteristic of the language in question, and he
suggested that a final accentual dactyl should be considered the
fundamental element in the clausule of the rhythmical prose of
writers from the fourth century on. He noticed further the striking
circumstance that in a large number of cases the final accentual
dactyl is preceded by another accentual dactyl, making altogether
an accentual dactylic dipody.

Wilhelm Meyer saw that the suggested law of the final accentual
dactyl offered no satisfactory solution, simply because not a single
writer could be found whose language followed such a law with
any regularity. But the incidental observation made by Bouvy that
the final accentual dactyl was often preceded by another suggested
to Meyer that the first dactyl, and not the final one was the essen-
tial factor. It was soon apparent that he had the key to the
situation, and starting from this, he discovered the law which has
since borne his name.

Meyer’s statement of his discovery appeared in 1891: Der ac-
centuierte Satzschlusz in der byzantinischen Prosa vom 4. bis 16.
Jahrhundert. The law is formulated in the following terms: Die
Silben, welche einer Sinnespause unmittelbar vorangehen, sollen
einen bestimmten Tonfall haben; hiebei soll aber nicht die Lange
oder Kiirze der Silben, sondern nur der Wortaccent beriicksichtigt
werden; und zwar sollen vor der letzten Hebung der Art mindestens
2 Senkungen stehen, wie éacvrwy cv dodawr; nach der letzten Hebung
kann stehen was will; also: dieséyortc av towzo. unevtoy cvdounov.
&nus copes. copiay Tuc.

It is noted that different writers seem to follow different prin-
ciples in treatment of clausule before weak punctuation, some

418 H.. B. Dewing,

observing the rule carefully at the stronger pauses only. In this
connection it is remarked very justly that the condition of the
text is a matter of great importance in the case of any writer
whose clausulz are studied.

In the reading of clausulz such words as the article, conjunctions
or adverbs (Hilfswoérter der Sprache) are treated either as accented
or unaccented according to the situation in which they stand. So
the following cases are cited from Synesius as regular: zaregaviorn
tot nétous. vy zai avégeoor. Mpoonecovtus ovz nveyxev. nately v0 Aiwvos. —
ddeagidovv tov “Iosewv. avdoyov tod Adyov. yaoi thy xaodiay. Enthadtéotar us
oiéy te. The cases cited would excite little scepticism, but there
was need to define very carefully exactly what ‘“ Hilfsw6rter” can
be so treated, because scholars could not readily agree on just —
what words in Greek do bear a weak spoken accent.

Meyer makes much of the secondary accent. There must be one
present in such cases, he says, as Gauvta gedoteuotuevoc, in the very
nature of things, and the use of the secondary accent to mark the
thesis in accentual poetry shows this factor to have been a real
one in spoken Greek, just as it is in any language where accent
is a matter of stress. This is reasonable enough, but Meyer intro-
duces the secondary accent into his clausulee in a quite arbitrary —
way. For example: “ou pee 7€ 06 aie Evugoeas. tert ounrodneeae
ec tecee: éy gavnve. The uncommon occurrence of the form
énawvécu mooesouevos 1S explained as due to the presence of a secon-
dary accent on the middle one of the three unaccented syllables,
thus making the clausula equivalent to -— + —-—-(——). Whether
this be the correct explanation or not, it is one of the weak points ©
of Meyer’s statement that he does not mark off this form of clausula
from the rest as irregular. That these cases with three syllables
in arsi! do occur is justified by a supposed “ falscher Nebenaccent”
which stands on the first of the three syllables instead of on the
second, as it normally would, thus: era éveuévoc. But this pro-
cedure can not deserve serious consideration.

As a result of admitting free play of the secondary accent in
clausule Meyer goes to the extreme of counting perfectly normal
only that form which has two syllables in arsi. He is too reckless
in abandoning written accents and reading this form into all such

1 Arsis is used here and in the following to denote all the syllables
without ictus standing between two spoken accents, theszs to denote the

two stressed syllables between which are included the syllables forming
the arsis.

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 419

cases as the following: wveidow eniotoatetouvtos. nenoinzey inozeioue.
He instances Sophronius as a writer who consistently showed this
form by written accents without the aid of a secondary accent, but
adds that such writing is very rarely found.

Meyer’s article is carefully reviewed by Louis Havet, Revue
Critique 32 (1891), p. 207. The weakness of Meyer’s treatment of
the form ———— — (—-—) is plainly brought out by Havet, who
justly criticises Meyer’s confusion of certainly correct with question-
able clausulez.

Other shorter notices by Jacob Wackernagel, Beitrage zur Lehre
vom griechischen Akzent, Universitatsprogramm, Basel 1893, p. 7,
and Gustav Meyer, Berliner philol. Wochenschrift, 1892, p. 182, ex-
press unqualified approbation of the accentual law. Wackernagel
finds the use of the grave accent in clausulz supporting his theory
that this accent mark had come to indicate a stress simply without
distinction from the acute or circumflex (p. 7). Indeed it would
seem to be a general assumption that all kinds of accent are used
indifferently and without distinction in the thesis of clausule 1}; yet
detailed statistics are required to make the situation absolutely
certain, since there is no @ priori reason for believing that already
in the fourth century A.D. a grave accent had ceased to be distin-
guished in value from an acute or circumflex, and that an acute and
circumflex were merely different signs for the same stress accent,
as they are in Modern Greek. Here the question may be stated in
perfectly definite terms: do the writers who observe Meyer’s law
use the grave, acute and circumflex indifferently in their clausule ?

A detailed test of the law is offered by Curtius Kirsten, Quaes-
tiones Choricianae (Breslauer philol. Abhandlungen, Band 7, Heft 2,
1894), Pars Tertia, p. 36. The law of Meyer is adopted 7x foto
by Kirsten, and the clausulz all counted with a view to deter-
mining the exact extent of the cursus law’s application in Choricius.
Although only two percent of the total number are found irregular,
Kirsten is unwilling to agree with Meyer’s statement that Choricius
follows the law throughout: ‘“Faveri videtur ‘legi’ Meyerianae”;
and he is unwilling to admit the test of the cursus law as a cri-
terion in restoring Choricius’ text. Kirsten further criticises Meyer’s
statement as to the treatment of ‘“ Hilfsw6rter” in clausule, and
very fairly declines to extend the same license without reserve to
all adverbs and pronouns. Meyer’s doctrine of the secondary accent
is strongly criticised.

1 Cf. Litzica, Das Meyerische Satzschlussgesetz, p. 9, n. 2.

420 Hl. B. Dewing,

Kirsten set forth in detail the different varieties of hiatus found
in Choricius (Pars Altera, p. 25), but he goes no further than the
manuscript tradition except in rare cases, and leaves out of account
the question whether such cases of hiatus as dé jv were not uniformly
avoided by elision in speaking or reading. This is an important
question in reading clausule, because the number of syllables in
arsi is reduced by one if elision be admitted in such a case as
vote J& Hv.

A test was made by K. Krumbacher, Ein Dithyrambus auf den
Chronisten Theophanes (Sitzungsbericht der k. bayer. Akad. d. Wiss.
1896, p. 583), and Eine neue Vita des Theophanes Confessor (same
publication 1897, p. 371), which is of especial interest from the
paleographical standpoint. Two punctuated manuscripts came
under his observation in the study of these works, and he counted
the clausule before all the periods indicated in the two manuscripts
with a result decidedly favorable to Meyer’s law (p. 598 ff.); in
one case (a Munich manuscript), from a total of 256 cases, 239 were
found regular as understood by Meyer, as against 17 irregular; in
the other case (a Moscow manuscript), a total of 330 cases con-
tained 286 regular, as against 44 irregular. It is observed that the
manuscripts of the accentual Church poetry of Byzantine times use
the same signs in marking verse endings as those found in these two
manuscripts. Yet too much stress should not be laid on these
marks as indicating the cola of rhythmical prose because punctuation
is found in manuscripts of prose writers who lived before the cursus
law existed. The practice in the use of commas in these two

manuscripts is noteworthy ; Krumbacher finds them used both to mark

genuine sense pauses between clauses, and also in cases where no
pause can be intended, but where the mark of punctuation can be
of assistance to the eye in reading; for example, a comma is found
after 0 uév. In this latter case the comma can not be considered
as marking a rhythmical clausula, though it does in the former.
In the year following Krumbacher’s second article an attempt
was made to define still more accurately Meyer’s Jaw by Konstantin
Litzica, Das Meyerische Satzschlussgesetz in der Byzantinischen
Prosa; mit einem Anhang tiber Prokop von K4sarea, Miinchen 1898.
Litzica rightly maintains that some definite criterion must be
furnished for the detection of the cursus and the classification of
writers according as they observe the law closely, or carelessly,
or not at all. The first test is derived from a mathematical com-
putation of the possibilities of the language itself. For this pur-
pose a typical writer was chosen—Leontius of Naples (7 cen-

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Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 421

tury)—and from his language a calculation was made of the total
number of possible regular cases, and of possible irregular cases.
This was done in the following way: a word accented on the first
syllable such as «owmoc, if preceded by an oxytone or paroxytone,
makes an irregular form, but a regular form is produced if it be
preceded by a proparoxytone!; a word accented on the second
syllable such as oxom0s combined with a preceding oxytone makes
an irregular form, while any other possible accent on the preceding
word makes a regular form; then words accented on the third
syllable such as yeved, or on the fourth or fifth or sixth or seventh,
may be preceded by any accent at all without producing a form
which violates Meyer’s law. All words may now be classed ac-
cording as they bear an accent on the first syllable, second syllable,
and so on—seven classes. Then they may be again classed ac-
cording to the position of the accent relative to the end of the
word—three classes: (1) oxytone, (2) paroxytone, (3) proparoxytone.
Then from the numbers of these two sets of classes may be com-
puted the total number of possible regular forms, and the total
number of possible irregular forms. Since monosyllables and “some
dissyllables’”” do not seem admissible in the reckoning on the same
basis as polysyllabic words, they are temporarily left out of account.
The sum total of all possible clausule resulting from every possible
arrangement of the 12,172 words counted was 148,157,564. Of
these the total of possible regular forms was 95,083,089, and of
irregular forms 53,074,475. Finally, in order to take account of
the monosyllables, (where the written accent “gar nicht helfen
kann”), all the clausule in the same Life of Leontius are counted,
and the cases containing monosyllables (334 in all) divided into
regular (308) and irregular (26) forms. Then these percentages
(92.22 °/, regular and 7.78 °/, irregular) are added to the corresponding
percentages of the possible forms in polysyllabic words:
64.17 + 92.22 = 156.39 regular.
35.83 + 7.78= 43.61 irregular.

These results divided by two give the following result: 78.195 °%/,
regular; 21.805°/, irregular. Litzica concludes thus: Die mittel-
griechische Sprache ist so beschaffen, dass sie zwischen den samt-
lichen Wortcombinationen das Verhaltniss von ungefahr 80 dem
Meyerischen Gesetz nach regelmassigen, gegen 20 unregelmdssige
darbietet. This, then, constitutes a test whereby a writer’s language

* Litzica includes perispomena under oxytones, properispomena under
paroxytones.

422 H. B. Dewing,

may be judged; if his clausule show no more than 80 regular
cases out of every 100, he can not be said to observe any law,
because there must be at least 80 regular from mere accident.
This result would be a welcome help in the study of the cursus if
it were convincing, but it can not be accepted as the correct one;
in the first place, the monosyllables were reckoned with only in
clausule, while the polysyllabic words throughout the sentence
were included in the computation; in the second place, all cases
with 8 or 5 syllables in arsi are counted on the regular side. This
will be shown later to be absolutely wrong.

Litzica seeks a second means of detecting the presence of the
accentual cursus by a comparison by statistics of the percentage
of regular forms found in classic writers with that found in those
writers in which the law seems to be operative. Tests in different
writers are found to give the following result: Lysias 73 °/) regular;
Demosthenes 69°/, regular; Polybius 85°/, regular; Dionysius of
Halicarnassus 82°/, regular; Josephus 84°/) regular; Plutarch 85 °/o
regular; Lucian 75°/) regular; Aelius Aristides 80°/) regular. All
these writers show a clear majority of cases regular. Tests are
also made of Greek later than the Byzantine period as follows:
Korais, Autobiography 88 °/) regular; Georgios Mistriotes, President’s
speech, 1891, 87°/) regular; in the leading article of the newspaper
Acropolis, April 1, 1896, 86 °/) regular. These figures taken together
show that the Greek language of every period contained many
more clausulze of Meyer’s regular forms than of the irregular forms.
This method ot defining the cursus is surely the right one, but
Litzica fails again in that he consistently counts regular all those
cases in which 38 or 5 syllables stand in arsi. Then there follows
an account of tests made in 44 different Greek writers from the
fourth to the fifteenth century, with a table showing the relative
standing of all the writers tested according to their tolerance of
irregularity in the application of the law. Three classes of writers
are now distinguished: (1) these who followed the law closely,
allowing 5/9 or less of irregularity—18 writers; (2) a middle class
who allowed between 5°/) and 10°/) of irregularity—3 writers; (3)
those who allow more than 10°/) of irregularity are considered as
knowing nothing of a cursus law—23 writers.

This classification shows about half the writers tested to be
outside the influence of Meyer’s law. This fact leads Litzica to
protest against Meyer’s position that there is any law existent.
The law, he maintains, is not universal in that it does not control
all the writers of the period, nor is it universal in any single

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 423

writer. What we have is merely an artistic device, a rhetorical
trick which was used or disregarded at will.

A later publication which makes use of the law is by Paul Maas,
Rhythmisches zu der Kunstprosa des Konstantinos Manasses (By-
zantinische Zeitschrift 11, 1902, p. 305). The law is stated by Maas
with a very significant modification of the form in which it was
previously stated by Meyer and received by Litzica: between the
last two accents only an even number of syllables may stand. This
leaves the type with 3 and 5 syllables in arsi among the irregular
clausule. The importance of this will appear presently. Maas re-
marks on the difficulty of punctuating in accordance with the
cursus; the ordinary placing of commas in Greek texts seems in
general correct, but there seems reason to doubt whether a comma
should be permitted before a relative sentence, since a regular
clausula is often not to be found in that position.!

Part I1.—Tse Law Itseur.

When Meyer formulated the cursus law, he wrote with his at-
tention fixed on the rhythmical prose itself; he neglected to justify
his statement of the law by a careful and detailed comparison
with prose in which such a rhythm does not exist. The general
characteristics of the accentual cursus struck him so forcibly that
he failed to see more than two fundamental facts: the preponde-
rance of a form having two syllables in arsi, and the constant
avoidance of forms having no syllables or one syllable in arsi.
Hence his statement of the law that two or more syllables must
stand in arsi. The law thus stated includes too much, since forms
which do not in any sense characterize the cursus are massed
together with the really characteristic forms. Obviously the only
satisfying method of finding out exactly what is characteristic of
the accentual prose rhythm is a comparison by individual forms of
clausule between writers who show a cursus and writers who do
not. Meyer readily saw that the form having three syllables in

1 The accentual cursus law is incidentally noted in Norden, Kunst-
prosa; Krumbacher, Geschichte der Byzantinischen Litteratur; Havet,
Cours élémentaire de métrique grecque et latin. Important works on
the Latin accentual cursus which treat incidentally of the law in Greek
are: Havet, La prose métrique de Symmache, 1892; W. Meyer, Die
rhythmische lateinische Prosa (Gétt. gelehrte Anzeigen 1893), reprinted
in Gesammelte Abhandlungen zur mittellateinischen Rhythmik 1905,
vol. IT.

424 Hi. B. Dewing,

arsi was only admitted on sufferance, but he left this matter in such
a form that all who have since used the law in Greek prose, with
the single exception of Maas, have adopted the law in a form which
counts this form just as regular as the form with four syllables in
arsi. The very fact that form 31! is less common than form 4
arouses suspicion, since form 3 may reasonably be expected to be
more common than form 4 in clausule where no law regulates the
position of word accents. Here it should be noted that the Latin
accentual cursus uniformly avoids form 32; the Latin law is the law
stated by Maas: only an even number of syllables can stand in arsi.

It has been made practically certain that the Latin accentual
cursus was a direct development of the earlier quantitative cursus
used by such writers as Pliny.* It is interesting to note that for
Symmachus and all other writers for centuries following Havet con-
siders the quantitative cursus fundamental, and indeed denies that
any accentual cursus as such existed before the twelfth century
A.D., while Meyer holds that the accentual cursus was already
plainly present towards the end of the fourth century, and gradually
supplanted the quantitative cursus. If, then, this accentual cursus
which seems to be common to Latin and Greek prose of the same
period is a historical development from the Latin word accents
in the quantitative cursus, this fact would seem to preclude the
possibility of an independent origin for the Greek accentual cursus *;
but the details of usage must be worked out in each language
separately. The points of divergence as well as the points of con-
tact must be defined.

Since the question of possible forms is made perfectly clear by

a simple test, we need not delay longer over generalizations. The
convincing test desired consists, as suggested above, in a detailed
comparison by statistics of writing where the accentual cursus

1 The clausule are classed and referred to as follows:
Form 0 (no syllables in arsi) 7eeoSeurny éBhenov

Form 1 (1 syllable os) MlxoeL dovsov

Form 2 (2 syllables ., ,, ) aooteivetae Aoyous (regular)

Form 3 (8 an yoy +) Els Edapos xadether

Form 4 (4 ae yy) +) Ol Teytote anukhcooesoeu (regular)
Form 5 (5 a oe +) MokEuce yeyuuraouévor

Form 6 (6 . ) emehevocuevoe tois vnotuyiors

2 Cf. Havet, Symmachus, § 19.

3 Cf. Havet, Symmachus; and W. Meyer, Die rhythmische lateini-
sche Prosa.

* Cf. against this view G. L. Hendrickson, Am. Journ. Phil. 29(1908) p.280.

——— eee

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 425

rhythm is present with writing in which such a rhythm can not
exist! Such a test must be made with absolutely nothing taken
for granted; every clausula must be counted and classified, not
merely as regular or irregular, but according to its form: 0, 1, 2,
83, 4, 5, 6. Further, no deviation must be admitted from the
traditional written accents of the grammarians. This will certainly
introduce a slight error, but this error can be corrected with the
help of what appears certain after a preliminary attempt has made
general principles clear. Every scholar can satisfy himself, but no
one else, as to just what monosyllables can stand in arsi. Whose
understanding of the matter can be confidently adopted when all
disagree? It is far more satisfying and convincing to stick to the
grammatical accents in marking out the general lines which the
cursus follows. Everything is thus made definite and open, and the
influence of subjective feeling completely eliminated. If the written
accents alone can be found to distinguish cursus writers from others,
then a vast deal is gained, and we may start from a plain scientific
fact to work out details of usage. In the following-count, therefore,
every written accent is counted of equal value, whether it stand
on a conjunction, preposition, noun or any other word, and whether
it be grave, acute or circumflex. The different kinds of accent must
be separated ultimately, and the question of their relative importance
answered. Since this is a question of detail, it may be disregarded
for the present. Further, although the cursus law is observed be-
fore every sense pause, we can not be sure that our commas mark
the pauses as understood by the Greeks themselves, and must
begin by counting only the pauses before the stronger marks of
punctuation—the period, colon and interrogation point. The writers
chosen for comparison on this basis are the historian Zosimus
(5 century) and Demosthenes, the passages being chosen at
random, and the clausule counted consecutively. The figures are
striking and can best be shown on a chart (p. 426). The forms of
clausule found with greatest frequency in Zosimus are those desig-
nated as 2 and 4, while forms 1, 3, 5 and 6 are strikingly rare;

* In Greek we may feel on perfectly sure ground in comparing writers
who wrote in an accentual cursus with those who have a quantitative
cursus, if the theory of Havet and Meyer is true as to the origin of the
Latin accentual cursus. The case is not as it would be in Latin where
the comparison would be between earlier and later stages of a con-
tinuous development, for the word accents of the Greek quantitative
clausule should contain no suggestion of the accents of the accentual
cursus.

426 H. B. Dewing,

form 0 seems to be favored above 1, 3, 5 and 6, but this result
will later appear to have been abnormal. On the other hand, the
arrangement of written accents in the clausulz of Demosthenes is
plainly an accidental one; there is no design apparent in his usage ;_
there 7s design in the usage of Zosimus. This test is in itself too

Form Form Form Form Form Form Form
0 1 2 3 4 5 6

60 °/,

50 °/o

40/4

30 9/,

20°],

10°,

—-—--— Demosthenes Androtion, ed. Blass.
ee — Zosimus III in Corpus Ser. Hist. Byz.

Dem. Zos.
Form 0 15.0+ 8.0 +
3) SO (4+
S82 stb 4 58.5 +
5 ie OO 34+
ott A OE 21.4 -|- 2
5 De Bcd tieta
Gare it te

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 427

limited in scope to form even a safe starting point. To make
sure similar counts were made in Zonaras (12‘ century), and in
Lysias and Pausanias. The test shows even more plainly than
before the presence of a law in Zonaras of which Lysias and
Pausanias knew nothing. There appear in the clausule of Zonaras

Form Form Form Form Form Form Form
10) 1 9 3 4 5 6
60 9/4:

50 Jo

40 °fo

30 °/,

20 °/,

10 %Jo|

Zonaras I in Corpus Scr. Hist. Byz.

—-——-— lLysias Mantitheus, The Grain Dealers, Nicomachus, ed.
Thalheim.
a ion Pausanias V, in., ed. Spiro.

Zon. Lys. Paus.

Form 0 11.5+ 9.4+ 14.4 +
Be peel eanayae 24.3 + 28.8 +

oo 2 SOLOS 27.3 + 24.0 +

5 Woe) eehies 20.9 +- 18.2 +

5 + 105i4- 13.2 + Lbs

ie CO a5 3.4+ 2.8 +

Ga) 12 0)

428 H. B. Dewing,

75+ °%/ 9 of the preferred forms, while the remaining 24-4 °/9 fall
into the avoided forms (five in all), while in Demosthenes, Lysias
and Pausanias the percentage of these preferred forms (of Zosimus
and Zonaras) falls considerably below 50 9/5.

These comparisons show a striking contrast between the two kinds
of prose, and the characteristics of the accentual cursus are per-
fectly evident. It is not merely true that writers who use the cursus
avoid forms 0 and 1, but also forms 3 and 5. As to what the law in
general is there can be no doubt; the figures of themselves are
convincing. Assuming nothing more than what is plainly demon-
strated, the law may be stated in negative form thus: The cursus
law requires that forms 0, 1, 3 and 5 be avoided. The original
statement by Meyer must be revised; form 3 is as certainly avoided
as form 1. Exactly the same forms are avoided as in the Latin
cursus. This is no mere trivial correction, as may be readily seen
by returning to Litzica’s work.

In the first place, his mathematical computation of the possibilities
of the language of Leontius gives an entirely different result when
forms 3 and 5 are counted among irregular clausule as they must
be. Counting thus the following result is obtained: out of a pos-
sible total of 148, 157,564, only 61, 161,874 regular combinations are
possible—that is, less than half. The proposed test of 90/9 re-
gularity for writers who have a cursus falls absolutely to the ground.
The total of regular cases which may be expected where no law
is present is really 50°/) or less, not 80°/,) as Litzica holds.

The other point in which Litzica arrived at a wrong result through
his misunderstanding of the law is in the comparisons made between
prose which conforms to Meyer’s law and that which does not.
He finds 69°/, regular in Demosthenes, as against 95.35 °/) in Zosi-
mus; this presupposes only forms 0 and 1 irregular. Now if the
percentage of forms 3 and 5 are subtracted from this estimate,
Demosthenes falls to 47 °/, regular, with a loss of 22 °/), while Zosi-
mus loses no more than 4.5 °/) and still stands above 90°/) in reg-
ularity.1. The mere fact that the loss by excluding these forms is
so different in the two cases is of itself convincing. The same
striking contrast can be pointed out between other writers: for ex-
ample, of the 3 and 5 form together there are found 24.3°/) in
Lysias, as against 4°/) in Zonaras. The contrast in the 3 and 5

‘ These figures show results when written accents are treated as
Litzica does—counting out the article etc.—in order to have a safe basis
of comparison with his results.

r
f
d

Se i

s
—

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 429

forms is scarcely less marked than in the 0 and 1 forms: Demosthenes
has 25.2°/, of 0 and 1 forms in the entire oration On the Crown
(ed. Blass), while Zosimus III has 4.2 °/) of the same forms. If forms 0
and 1 are irregular, then forms 3 and 5 are certainly so. It is there-
fore evident that by including forms 3 and 5 as regular in such
comparisons Litzica made all his conclusions useless. The law loses
half its meaning by a comparison on this basis. It is rather one
of the characteristic marks of the cursus rhythm that forms 3 and 5
are avoided.

It has been suggested by Paul Maas! that form 6, when it occurs,
should be counted as regular as forms 2 or 4; in other words, that
the law requires an even number of syllables between the last two
accents. In the nature of things the 6 form is very rare (in Zosimus
they scarcely exceed the 5 form in frequency), and it is difficult to
find any basis for judgment without a very extensive collection of
material. The 6 form does not exist in Latin, but there seem to
be some cases in Greek; since they are so uncommon, they need
not enter into a general discussion. Until they are certainly found
to be regular it is safest to leave the law in a negative form, as
given above.

Now that the actual law has been seen through the written ac-
cents, it is possible to work out the details of its application. Any
satisfactory conclusion must be deduced from the facts themselves ;
but before proceeding to a statement of such facts, some general
observations may be in order. First of all, to take Zosimus’ History
as typical of the rhythmical prose, the case may be stated as fol-
lows: granted that -Zosimus favored two particular forms in the
arrangement of accents in his clausulz to such an extent as to make
75 °/, of all cases conform absolutely to these forms, while five other
possible forms are represented in only 25°/) of the total, it is rea-
sonable to inquire whether the preferred forms may not be rec-
ognized in cases where the written accent does not of itself make
the preferred forms clear. A definite tendency toward a certain
rhythm is apparent; can not this rhythm be found in apparently
irregular forms without doing violence to the language ?

We are dealing with a stress accent in Greek of this period, at
least similar to the stress accent in English. If now, Zosimus even
unconsciously sought the rhythm of the 2 and 4 forms, his procedure
would be analogous to that of a person writing English verse.
Here not every word has an accent, nor does the verse accent in

‘ Rhythmisches zu der Kunstprosa des Const. Manass., Byz. Zschr. 1902.

430 H. B. Dewing,

every case coincide with a strong word accent, but a secondary
accent of a polysyllabic word may occasionally mark the rhythm.
To quote from Prof. T. D. Goodell: “To produce English verse in
a desired rhythm, words are so selected and arranged that strongly
stressed syllables come naturally into enough of the more prominent
and regularly recurring times of the intended pattern to determine
how the other syllables are to make the rest of the pattern.”+ This
is exactly what Zosimus has done; the arrangement of word accents
in his clausule makes clear a preference for two definite patterns,
and the preponderance of these characteristic forms where they are
clearly marked by written accents raises a strong presumption that
the rhythm of these patterns must be uniformly present in all his
clausule. The question thus raised resolves itself into this: what
was the spoken accent of the word groups in question as they
stand in their context? The cursus rhythm was undoubtedly in-
tended for the ear, and not for the eye. Now though there is
reason to believe that written accents do not in each case represent
spoken accents in connected discourse, yet some definite evidence
is needed to support the evidence of the cursus itself; to prove,
for example, that the accented forms of the article were not as
strongly stressed as the accented syllable of a noun or verb.
Fortunately the evidence desired is at hand in the so-called Po-
litical Verses, which have an accentual meter instead of a quanti-
tative basis as in classical Greek poetry.2, We can feel on sure
ground in dealing with verses of a simple structure; the lines uni-
formly contain 15 syllables with the movement iambic. Here we
may expect to find a safe basis for reading the accentual rhythm
of the cursus. We see, first, that not every word bears a metrical
accent; monosyllabic words often form the arsis of a foot, even
though they bear a written accent; for example, the article in all
its forms, uéy, dé, xi, and the copula 7». The same is true of the
monosyllabic enclitics and proclitics ze, ye, 7, eis, év, €; all these are
used in arsi—in other words, have no metrical accent; second, there
is no consistency in the treatment of the accents of these mono-
syllables; for example, uéy, dé, xai often do bear an ictus, and even
enclitics or proclitics may be treated in this way; for example.
zodvos te xai dégv; SO ye is found with an ictus; third, in dissyllabic

1 Unpublished Lectures; Yale University.

? Political Verses were examined in the following writers: Michael
Psellus, Migne 122; John Tzetzes, ed. Kiessling ; Constantinus Manasses,
Corpus Scr. Hist. Byz.

\
4

€

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 431

words the meter sometimes requires an ictus on the syllable without
written accent, while the accented syllable stands in arsi; this license
is generally limited to relatively unimportant words, such as_pre-
positions; we find z«ré scanned as an accentual trochee, $m as an
accentual iambus, a fact which plainly suggests that these words
were pronounced with only a slight accent, or with an accent which
varied according to the nearness of stronger accents on other words.
The situation in the Political Verses may be stated in general terms
thus: the accentual rhythm is plainly based first of all on the written
word accents, and these accents alone are sufficient to mark clearly
the pattern of the rhythm; there are enough written accents falling
in the metrical theses to define exactly where all the verse accents
must lie. Some written accents are allowed to stand in arsi, but
not all accents indifferently ; the accents so treated stand on words
which must have had slight, if any, independent stress in spoken
discourse, except in certain special cases. The metrical excellence
of the verse consists in the regulation of the licenses which the
writer assumes in order to fit his language to the metrical scheme.
Just so in the cursus, which has likewise an accentual basis, the
best writers may be expected to show the highest art in the limi-
tation set on the licenses which they permit, rather than in a me-
chanical conformity to a rigid pattern. The treatment in the cursus
of the weakly accented words such as the article may be illustrated
from Zonaras, who makes about 75°/) of his clausulze conform to
the cursus forms by their written accents alone, and seems to allow
about 10°), plainly to transgress the law. To begin with the article:
cvagondi 6 Aepid.
MaowY THY pvawr.
enéoterhe tH Au Bid.
These cases are exactly similar as regards the cursus; neither ro
nor zay has an independent accent any more than o in the first

example. Different cases are:

zuvdvvevotvons Tis xt Bwror,

Ondoi tovto ta Buothel.
Here if the accents of rs and 7 are counted as before, we have
in both cases a clausula of the 4 form; on the other hand, by
reading them wth stress we have a clausula of the 2 form. What

_is to be done? We are not bound to consistency in counting out

the accented forms of the article; the usage of the Political Verses
makes so much clear. But as to whether the cases in question
should be read as conforming to form 2 or form 4 is for the present

Trans. Conn. Acan., Vol. XIV. 29 Aprit, 1910.

432 H. B. Dewing,

unimportant. They may with reason be assigned to either one of
these classes. A different situation appears in the following:
Xovoi meoi Hs SvuPovrye.
zatedimge tous moAeuiovs.
Here nothing will save the cursus except counting the accent of
the article as the leading ictus of the rhythmical unit. It seems un-
reasonable not to admit that the article in these cases is intended
to have a full spoken accent. On the other hand, it is not safe to
go to the other extreme and conclude that the article may be read
with or without an ictus according as the law requires. That license
has one limitation at least, namely the distance of the article from
other stressed syllables. For example, it is hard to believe that in
nasav tay pvaov (above), tay should have a stress at all approaching
that of z«s#y in intensity; it is much easier to believe that in azé-
oteke t© Aasid (above), the 7 might have an independent stress
approximately as strong as that of 4e3id; then in the last case
quoted, xatediwge tovs modeuiovs, the tendency to stress revs is almost
irresistible. This is plainly a case where certainty is out of our
reach; we are forced to make our judgment depend on subjective
feeling, supported by the evidence of the cursus itself A working
principle until a better one can be formulated is this: the article
when immediately preceded or followed by a strong word accent
is not expected to stand in thesi; when separated by one syllable
from a strong word accent on either side, it may stand in thesi;
when separated by two syllables from a strong word accent on
either side, it is expected to stand in thesi.
The same principle applies to other monosyllables. Examples are :
rédunze Jé zai ovtos.
mohhovs uéy aveider.
texunjooy dé.
oydorjzxovta dé pEepuotderzer.
n JE woe ov Jidworr.

The same doctrine seems to govern the use of the prepositions;
here the dissyllabic forms are treated exactly like the monosyllables.
To begin with the monosyllables:

‘ > > ,
raOadOaUaY ElG QOESELMY.
> ‘ > ’
éimé 1Q05 Ayaas.
mowltEev gig uéorjupolas’.

4 ~ 2 ~

thy khwva x tod Oovea.
> , ‘ ~ -
ameloyxdn 00S Tov #éov.
«njet 1me6¢ Keoicor,

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 433

Examples of dissyllabic prepositions are :
élnoy yuo avt@ of mEQl autor,
matégae avtoy xara xEepadys.
OTOUTEVURTOS UETH TOY ouhniyyur,
cupw Eni Enoas.
evtov duce trv antotiay.
Anv@ avti chwvos.
Lauwov dice tovto,

Other words occurring less frequently in clausule which seem to
show the same inconsistency of treatment are the negatives o7
and uy:

himéiv ovx éneiteEto,
Bapvidva ovz ed_ecocto.
mvo J€ ye un EnEevéyxwuer *

Similarly the conjunction ds and the comparative adverb 7 and
the conditional conjunction <i:

Moorthy ws CyoEetae.
H Awua 4 wayuiog °
ABeonhou Ei viznoeler.

Besides these words which are all subordinate in relation to the
main framework of the sentence, there are other words whose treat-
ment in the clausule of Zonaras plainly indicates that the written
accent does not always represent a spoken accent. First the copula
in its non-enclitic forms:

6 mooprtns Meyaius nv.

dixaLog Tv.
The conjunction éAac :

ovz avaotnon Ex THS vooou GAhe TEFyNEN.

The relative pronoun :

aityoue 0 Sov,owto *

AaBeiv te && wv exoutcer *
The substantive article:

emoxteival tos évdov.

oi 0 ovx Enadauyto.
Adverbs, especially in a set form like e aoeiv.?
The pronoun ovzos :

MOOZATAAGFOLOK xQUTEL TRUTTS.
> , ’ ~ NEL:
avaywonocely EL THUTE Ac@BoL.

1 Cf. Litzica, p. 34.

434 H. B. Dewing,

So the personal pronoun of the third person, ¢vzod. Cases are
abundant in which «vzos and the other cases and genders of this
word plainly carry an independent stress; for example:

, 30
UC YEOKUEVOUS avuT®.

On the other hand, cases are far from rare in which «trot can have
no full stress if the cursus is saved:

Tod martoos aitod &'usovios.
Others show ambiguity:

pauothel ait@y anextevdnour.
Engooney aLI@ Thy UNdwtny c«itod,

In the last case neither aiz@ nor aitod can be stressed if the cursus
is saved. ;
We should be very sceptical as to allowing the accented forms —
of the first’and second personal pronouns to be counted as without —
stress; yet we find such a case as the following in Zonaras:

Ovx Ehcdnoev Ev Euol zvQtoc.

If the clausula is regular, éy must bear an ictus and éuoi be counted
as the arsis, unless xvovos be read, without stress. ji
A great number of cases bring us face to face with the question —

of hiatus and elision. The usage of the classical writers would lead —
us to expect to find hiatus carefully avoided in the comparatively
artificial) and imitative writing of the Byzantines. What we actually f
find in Zonaras, (to use him as an example), is this: first a great ©
number of cases of hiatus which are partly justifiable as being “ weak ”
—that is, after a long vowel or diphthong; second, a great number
of cases handed down by the manuscript tradition in which hiatus
occurs in its most objectionable form, namely cases which can be
avoided by elision or crasis. For example:

0 ayo.

TO ovoud,

W@veucoTO 4 vn.

Q@UTOY TE EXTELVE.

On the other hand, elision seems to be frequent in the manuscripts:
xotumuévyy) 0” avrg. 7
én’ éty, (followed by éai én three lines below!).

The manuscripts therefore, as expected, show no consistency and
have no ‘bearing on the question. In order to settle upon a prin-
ciple the clausule of two writers who show care in observing the

re a

args

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 435

cursus rhythm were inspected with a view to determining just how
far the best writers go in avoiding hiatus in clausule. To these is
added the evidence of the Political Verses, which are of considerable
importance, although they date from the latter part of the Byzantine
period.

In Zosimus, Book I, as printed in the Corpus Scr. Hist. Byz., there
are only 37 cases of hiatus before all kinds of punctuation inside
the clausulz, that is, in general, between the last two words of
a clause. Of these the following are cases of weak hiatus, but
have bearing on the question whether crasis or apheresis are
admissible in clausulz:

1. Ghhous te zai OdbehEeotavor, Le

2. moog yoy zai a&oucte, 2B) toy

3. avaoya te xai apox Fyre, 30, 6.

4. Adcoreou zai “Aoetoion : AG. b=.
5. avdowy te xai tnawr, 47, 14.

6. adezta zai CnoBirtea, 5 19—20:
(. n & TUYNS n &% moovolas, 60, 22.

It is noticeable that six of the seven cases involve zai. In every
case except 1 and 4 crasis or apheresis (in 7) would destroy a
plainly correct cursus rhythm, and even in 1 crasis would not pro-
duce a regular cursus type, and would at the same time destroy the
possibility afforded by the text as it stands, namely giving to 00
the consonant sound which appears in the Latin form of the name
“Valerianus”.. This small body of evidence, therefore, gives no
suggestion that crasis or aphzresis where possible should of neces-
sity be read in clausule; on .the other hand, it plainly indicates
that hiatus is tolerated, even when the hiatus could be removed
by either crasis or apheresis.

There are many more cases of hiatus after a short vowel, cases,
namely, where elision might be expected.

I. In ten cases a perfectly good cursus is made hopelessly irreg-
ular by introducing elision or crasis in reading:

gig tugavrvida ekevey tein, 11, 20.
dv’ tmowias eiyev 6 “Avtwrivos, LSS eGe
za Goov vids TE HV, JLExWAvE.? 15, 18.
AOhEWY HV oixEie ETL0LEL, 18, 23.

* References to page and line in the Corpus.

2 In this case it is not clear whether the clausula ends with 7 or
with diexwdAve; in the former case elision of te would make a regular
form impossible.

436 Hi. B. Dewing,

Mo0s Te xabEoTata 1 yowr,} 26, 3.

3 , : > ,

CY HLOTHUEVOU, TIYTH ETLVEMOUEVOL. 30, 5.

> , > ’

OYVOWTATa aVExMooLY, 30, 19.
XATUPUYOVTES TE EX TOU mhoior, 49, 5.

plaotiuos JE wv geet, 49°

Evddvtos GEdOKL TO aime, 42, 13.

II. In nine cases a perfectly good cursus is destroyed, while a reg- )
ular form can still be read after elision by subordinating heavy written
accents :

imei dé m&ot Tudta Eedoxet, 19510:
Teoquavois tayucta otoovta. - 26, 6.
Tasmnvod acida enodooxe, ; 36, 10.
zootvus zai Odmaha EMepEooYto. 46, 18.
tive d& Tadta, €00.? 50, 14.
Tois Emitetayuévois TO doaua edidov. 56, 22-23:
Hoot MEO iol TE Hoay, EMEQKLOTYTO.? 58, 20-21.
aitnoews ov navte anédoour. 59, 3 (stressing ov).
OLVOVTWY KLTO Tae aVnZEOTE, 61, 11 (crasis).

If]. In five cases elision leaves a cursus just as plainly regular as
the one destroyed, with jv or ey counted as without ictus:

Maoaduootvas wg oids TE HY, pL fae bbe
PVAETTMOY WS OOS TE HV, 29, 17—-ts
OEUOY, EY GTLOQOLS TE aw, 29,208
ywouy we olds TE HY, BY A
GvTOL TE Hei Te bmoliyLe. 41, 11 (crasis).

IV. In two cases neither elision nor crasis can be introduced to
avoid the hiatus:
éroewav evs cis pvyny*® 46, 1.
Coyote ELov. 59, 5—&
V. The following three cases are irregular as they stand without
elision:

1. ahj ter oixade anyeoay, Pe Peat (
2. nai ei uev dexta éparn, 51, 18.
3. Beosaoutetan eis Ohiyor TL, 52, 9-10;

Of these 1 and 3 can not be read as regular forms without elision.
In 2 elision makes a 2 form possible (stressing uéy), but the clausula
is bad.
There are two cases of elision in clausule as printed in the text:
aveyooroay én’ olxov. 30, 17 and 32, 16-17.

‘The punctuation may be questioned; the clausula should perhaps
end with zateotata.
2 Cf. p. 435, n. 2.
8 Tf tc be read, the hiatus may be removed by apheresis : e090 ’s puyijv-

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 437

The demands of the cursus are here against elision, and the full
form ea should be read, making form 4.

One case of crasis occurs in the printed text:
iméotoewey ig Tovntow. 84, 14.

Here the resolution of toiaicw into 10 éaiow would still leave a pos-
sible regular form (introduced by an ictus on ¢ic) ; hence no inference
can be made.

To sum up, there are two cases in which the requirements of the
cursus plainly demand elision (1 and 3 of class V); there are eight
cases in which the requirements of the cursus make elision impos-
sible (class I); the remaining cases can form the basis for no cer-
tain generalization, although eight cases in class Il may justly be
made ground for a very strong presumption against elision. The
evidence before us plainly indicates, first, that Zosimus rather care-
fully avoided hiatus in his clausulz ; second, that in avoiding hiatus
by elision he followed no consistent principle, but elided or omitted
elision according to the demands of the cursus. This principle should
be adopted in editing his text. In general elision is not expected,
just as in the Latin accentual clausule.

In Procopius of Gaza, Panegyric to the Emperor Anastasius
(Migne, 87—3), all cases before punctuation were counted. Only
seven cases of hiatus are found in the clausule of the text as
printed. Of these two are cases of weak hiatus:

nn xat Umovior, 2808 A.
ATWYOL TLVES KUL HYEOTLOL * 2808 B.

In the first case crasis is unlikely; in either it would violate the
cursus rhythm.
The remaining cases follow:
1. 10 xtyua Ehoyifor - PUN (Gy.

As the phrase stands, neither form 2 nor form 4 can be read, unless
one goes to the unreasonable extreme of placing an ictus on zé and
subordinating the accent of xrjuc; whereas the easy elision of “«”
in ztjuc« gives a clear case of form 2.

2. Bondeiy dé odx Elyor* 2813 A.

The situation here is reversed; the cursus requires that dé be not
elided. The other cases are ambiguous or doubtful:

3. 9 J& UETEQK mOhG, 2796 A.

438 Hi. B. Dewing,

The case is irregular, and no good cursus type is possible with or
without elision; but the punctuation may be questioned.

A. xai 4 wey Eiyeto, 7 DE EuEAED, 2805 A.
Here eiyero, 4 dé gueddev scans correctly: + __/_/_/-___; but etyer,
4 0” éuehdey is equally good: + _/_/+ —_.

5. atoatnyay te oxhos, 2808 B.

Here the text is corrupt.

The following three cases show elision as printed (in each case
of a preposition) :

6. t& weytota nag’ avdounus, 2801 A.
7. ws elzxdc, én’ abta* 2816 A.
8. adh ta xa¥ nuds. 2817 C.

In all these the cursus requires that the elided forms be retained.

To sum up: Procopius of Gaza very carefully avoids hiatus.
Only one clear case appears (2) in which a hiatus avoidable by
elision must be retained to keep the cursus, against four cases
(1, 6, 7, 8) where elision must certainly be admitted, once against
the manuscripts (76 ztju’ é4oyifov). Procopius of Gaza is plainly more
careful than Zosimus in admission of hiatus, but one clear case
forbids the conclusion that elision must be introduced to avoid
hiatus wherever possible. Both writers are certainly inconsistent in
regard to elision in their clausule.

In the Political Verses the neglect of elision is a matter which
varies with different writers. In Constantinus Manasses, vv. 2500—2700
in the Corpus, there occurs no case of hiatus, while there are oc-
casional cases of elision and crasis. One case of hiatus was found
in another passage (v. 2306 dvo érn), but it is clear that this writer
does not admit hiatus of any sort except in very rare cases, and
he consistently elides when hiatus can be avoided in this way.

In John Tzetzes, Historiarum Variarum Chiliades, ed. Kiessling,
I, 1-204, seventeen cases of hiatus occur; of these five are justified
by their position in the czsura of the verse. One is a quotation of
a familiar phrase: wre ovov 130.

Four are cases of weak hiatus:

xOL ovou 67.
= ~ & ’

Koavaocd iacozov ATS

zal “Adjrvre, 173.

tovtov ‘“Advattngs, 155.

Seven cases of plain hiatus are found:

ccentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Frose. 439

1. Eye wtia ovov 1 (5}
2. LPaoSaids te 6 oteatnyos 74.
3. &5 to “Hoaiov Bil
4. Kooioos 6 “Ahvetrew TL,
5. 0 ‘Hoey devs 175.
6. 6 “Houydovvos 1
(. xa Te avdxtooe 161.

Two of these (1 and 2) could be remedied by a natural elision, the
remainder by crasis, but the meter requires that they be read
with hiatus. Tzetzes, then, is not consistent; elision is occasionally
omitted metrt gratia, though in general hiatus of any kind is rare.

The indications are plain that the writers of Byzantine times had
partly lost the feeling of abhorrence for hiatus which was fun-
damental in the best writing of prose or verse with the Greeks of
the classical period. The language written in the sixth century A.D.
was no longer the living spoken language which it had been in the
fifth century B.C. The use of an accentual cursus shows the presence
of a new element; the pronunciation of rhetorical prose was guided
by a stress accent, that namely of the spoken language, instead of
the pitch accent of the earlier period. The feeling for quantity
may have largely disappeared ; just so it seems plain that the feeling
against hiatus had become much weaker.!

It is remarkable that the situation with the Latin cursus is some-
what similar, in that the accentual clausule of Latin writers are
consistently read without elision. This fact is the more striking
because the same contrast between the accentual cursus and the
earlier quantitative cursus is thus found to exist in both Latin and
Greek. Another point of contact here appears between the Greek
and Latin accentual cursus.?

We may illustrate what is proposed for the reading of clausule
generally by a few cases from Zonaras.

I. Cases in which elision is not present in the printed text of

the Corpus.
A. Irregular forms:
QYETE KOTO. 133, 18.
otzade amret, 82, 18:
GUVETOVEVETO GOTO. 30721
oMUate EvoEINoUY. Gao:

* Cf. W. Schmid, Der Atticismus, III 291, 292.

* On elision in Cicero’s clausulee see Th. Zielinski, Das Klauselgesetz
in Ciceros Reden, Leipzig 1904, pp. 28,29. On elision in the late Latin
cursus writers (beginning with the fourth century A.D.) see Havet, Sym-
machus, §§ 209, 215; Meyer, Gesam. Abh. II, pp. 258, 261.

440 H. B. Dewing,

B. Regular forms:

aoyitero 6 Hed. 85, 11.
unvodéevta anyyyehur. 135, 4.
ov dé Hyvonoas. 1415:
Baother'oee oé Ev abtais. 150, 18.

II. Cases in which elision is present in the printed text of the Corpus.
A. Irregular forms:
mhélous on’ ahajhor, 88, 3.
HoIn En’ evr: 305, 2.
B. Regular forms:
Looanh avt’ adbtod. 190, 18.
Mournxaow En’ aotyy, 99, 15.

Disregarding the manuscripts, the clausule under I, A and II, B should
be read with elision; those under I, B and I, A without elision.

In order to justify still further such procedure in a writer where
many cases occur in which elision must be considered in reading
the clausule, 200 cases were counted in Zonaras, reading with
elision every case in which a short vowel which could be elided
stands in a clausula, with the following result: preferred forms
60.5 + °/,; avoided forms 39+°/).1 The preferred forms now stand
to the others in the ratio of 3 to 2 instead of 3 to 1 as before, when
elision was not so introduced. Even so there are enough regular
forms to suggest plainly the cursus rhythm in Zonaras; but it is
plain that this procedure is wrong when a similar test is made in
Demosthenes: 21 cases of elision in clausule are found in about 200
cases in the Androtion in., and the result of introducing the un-—
elided forms makes altogether one less regular accentual clausula
in the. total; that is, in 10 cases the change to the unelided form
makes a preferred form of accentual clausula, while in 11 cases the
change destroys a preferred form.

Zonaras with elision 75°/) reg.; without elision 60.5 °/) reg.!
Demosthenes _,, Sp LOG hb Aoees Ss Fs 449 h as

Zonaras loses 14.5°/5, Demosthenes .5°/); this of itself makes it al-
most certain that Zonaras’ clausule are not to be read with con-
sistent use of elision, although it is recognized that those of De-
mosthenes should.

There are several other questions which occasionally arise in the
treatment of clausule, which are here noted in passing. In regard

1 Counting by written accents.

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 441

to the secondary accent we must admit almost complete uncertainty
at the outset. We dare not at present suppose that a secondary
accent can be located in as arbitrary a way as it is in the Political
Verses, where such an accent must be counted in every word which
shows more than one syllable either before or after the word accent,
because of the very nature of iambic meter. But the presence of
a secondary accent may reasonably be recognized as a real factor
in reading the cursus. Of one thing we may be sure: that every
secondary accent must stand in such a position as to be separated
by at least one syllable from the written accent of the same word.
Beyond this it is all guesswork; in most clausulz there is not room
enough for a secondary accent of any consequence, and it is safest
to ignore it wholly.

Another troublesome question is that of the accent of enclitics,
and the acquired accent on the word preceding. It seems reasonable
to hold that enclitics which have lost their accent should certainly
not be read with a stress upon them, and so it seems to be in
a majority of cases; for example :

yovelzi teve Evtvyor. Zon. 159, 9.
But this case also appears in Zonaras:
ACYTES Gol EOUEY. 164, 1.

There is a further difficulty in reading the accent acquired from an
enclitic. It is reasonable to believe that the acquired accent is
weaker than the original accent of the word which takes on the
accent from the enclitic; so the following case would seem to belong
to the 4 form:

ENOQEVETO TE ZHL EMOMTTEY. Zon. 112, 23.
But there is still the possibility of a 2 form, if the last syllable of
énooeteto be stressed. Another case found frequently in Procopius
of Czesarea may be cited here:

olds TE Elva.
It would seem within reason to read the clausula as a regular 2 form
without any stress on the ultima of ojos. At any rate, we should
not hesitate to read form 2 in the following:

TaVtH MN Eivac.
It would appear clearer what should be done in such a case as this:

tov avdow pnoir. Zon. 112, 23.

A puzzling case is the following:

bmoxeioFul of opetsovte.

442 H. B. Dewing,

It is plain that the cursus rhythm is violated by two successive
accents inside clausule. It is fair to ask whether clausule may be
introduced by the second of two successive accents; the question
arises in such cases as this:

‘Epoaioti zvouos AéyEree.
The case is different in the following:
Ta Oka UtEdEVTO.

Here the accent of z¢ makes no conflict with that of é24«, but in
the former case the accent of “Egcisri is at least equal to that of
zvovos in Weight, if not heavier. Now supposing the former of two
accents so placed should entirely outweigh the latter, have we still
a right to consider the clausula introduced by the second weaker
accent, because it is two or four syllables removed from the last
accent of the clause? For example:

Ex yeLoos Tov Ghhopdhwy.

ucyys SVOOEYELONS autos 71006 TOV Liscour.

EOL @UTOV OL LEQELS.
According to the suggestions made above (p. 432), tay, aods and of
in these clausule are not expected to bear an ictus strong enough
to stand as the thesis of the clausulz, and they can not be counted
perfectly regular. Yet it seems to be going too far to assert that
they are absolutely irregular.

The vexed problem of punctuation is closely involved in that of
reading the cursus. It is plain that the law should be considered
as operative at every sense pause, as is shown by the practical
conformity to the law before each mark of punctuation in our texts.
But the placing of commas must certainly be revised in many cases.
Here a further question arises regarding pauses before and after
parenthetical statements and before quotations.

In the best writing there seems some reason to look for a con-
tinuous cursus running through whole sentences. For example, the
rhythm of the 2 form of clausula is continuous through the following
clause :

. tne . , >» , , ~ > ’ '
zai chhe JE Beosaoe EFvn ovvyjer UEFEeEovTU TIS &/ZELONGEWS.

Zos. 180, 22-23.
fest een) eis eee a Co | ce

Before our information is complete, a study must be made of
syllabic quantity in the clausule; there may be some fixed prin-

1 Cf. Havet, Symmachus pp. 21 ff.

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 443

ciple followed in this matter, and a connection may be discovered
between the old quantitative cursus and that of the later period
which was based on accent, although this is scarcely possible if the
accentual rhythm originated in Latin, as held by Havet and Meyer.

Further the relative frequency of the different kinds of accent in
clausulze must be defined, in order to know whether the accents
were of different value, as in classical Greek, or without distinction,
as in Modern Greek.

Part I11.—Zostmus.

The prose of Zosimus is taken as a good example of writing in
which an accentual cursus is found with considerable regularity.
A limited portion is chosen and the clausule therein classified, in
order to get enough evidence to furnish a cross-section of his prac-
tice in the use of the cursus rhythm. All clausule before the heavier
marks of punctuation in Book III! are treated in the following.

First of all, the result of counting by written accents alone is as
follows: from a total of 350 clausulze there appear 205 cases of
the 2 form, 75 of the 4 form, and 2 of the 6 form—a total of 282
cases of the preferred forms (supposing provisionally the two cases
of the 6 form to be regular), or 80.5 °/) of the whole number of cases
counted. In other words, the written accent fits perfectly the regular
patterns of the cursus in four fifths of all the cases. In this 80.5 ° 5
are included cases in which proclitics and enclitics stand in arsi.
The 16 cases show the following words so used:

The article: of (twice); 6 (twice); 7 (once).
The negative: od (four times).
The prepositions: éy (once); eis (twice).
The enclitics: re (once); zm (twice); mov (once).
There are also included in this 80.5°/, 13 cases in which the

pattern fits badly, in that the accent of a weak word carries an
ictus in the rhythmical unit:

1. navrenac av* 152; Tb, Ci sb et:
2. abta xat 6 vids. 133, 105 “Ck 1665-8:
3. dicdnuc ti zEpadi,. 136, 6. “Ch 16204.
4. ty “Poucioy aoyiy tod mootEeryiouctos. TA 10 SEI
5. Neoigeou zai Nioyave sn. 162, 22.
6. whevon ceiver éoyatouéry. pbs Ti. Ci 166; £5:

1 Corpus Scr. Hyst. Byz.

444 H. B. Dewing,

7. Llegoa@v ovoay éhov. 158, 15.
8, map’ abtoig ovtwy éxnéuartes. 167; 46,
9. roitwy Tey Tonwy TLvds, 169, 5.

These cases are not all of the same character; there is little
violence, if any, in reading form 2 or 4 in 1, 3, 5, 6 and 9. In the
remaining cases the situation is much harder; it would seem real
violence to place an ictus on zai in 2, rot in 4, ovcey in 7 and
ovtwy in 8,

The regular forms are found in 35 more cases when the accents
of such words as the article are counted out, as suggested for the
examples from Zonaras.

1. Accented forms of the article in arsi; 26 cases:

EtEhjOuL THS UczNS. 126, 5.
Nonoeghat tis Odov. 161, 19.
Hynoauévoy tov oteatnyov.' 160, 16.

2. Prepositions in arsi; 2 cases:

Aowtaioy avy tovty. 143, 15.
ETEQOUV TEQL HUGS 123, 8.

3. Relative pronoun in arsi; 1 case:
aétov wy ETOAUTOE. 136, 18.
4. Conjunctions in arsi: dé, 1 case; z«é, 5 cases:

téte JE éonuor. 144, 9.

Aovziavos zai Kwyvoteytios. 143, 7-8.
5. Comparative adverb in arsi; 1 case:
aionoew avhny 4 TO poovgtor. 156, 21.

There are a few cases which bring up the question of elision

‘such as tére Jé éonuoy quoted above); these are treated according .

to the principles already set down for such cases.
Two cases are read as regular by eliding:

dieotao’ ESdourzorte, 143, 20.
Etégous J” avexatéatnver. 155, 18.

In 7 cases elision or crasis is not introduced:

Emitndeva EEL. 129, 12-13.
alt@ TO éoouEevor. 137, 8.
Tavta Te enn. 137, 9.
Tété J& EQTMov. 144, 9.

‘ Here ray may be read as stressed and a 2 form read, or subordinated
and a 4 form read.

EE ——— ES ee Ue

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 445

éivat éoyulouern. 156, 11.
uETa Tov chhwy abT@ zai O vids. 133, 10.
mévtée xa ESdounxorta. 161, 3.

Perhaps apheresis should be introduced in 1 case:
déyeotut EwésAroe. 153, 2-3.
Crasis occurs once in the text as printed, and should be so read:
aUTO TE xaxéivols. 126; 12.
There remain 30 cases which do not conform plainly to the regular
forms. Yet there are some in which the cursus rhythm may be
suggested in spite of the apparent violation of the law. By sub-

ordinating what would seem to have been strong written accents,
regular clausule may be produced! :

1. zai mevtas boot TO Anotwxoy oioi TE Eyiyvoyto duapuyEty ExTELVE.

133, 1-2. (Form 6?)

2. ti howmi, otouteg ovvéucsav. MG BIS—195 iG t0 5 AP)
3. xa TM otoat@ Pgov zxatactyioc. 155513: Ceo 4?)
4. nvgod@y Bohas Edeyor. 159,723>. 160, 1, @oar 222)
5. Mahovoetioy tys abans taaoyor. 3) 11, Geis m2)
6. ig THY TOY Dhwy Goyry EdbEiv. 173, 14. ( 4?)

In the following there seems to be no possibility of recognizing
even a trace of regularity, unless, indeed, such licenses be assumed
as synizesis of ew (9 and 20), and reading iota as a consonant ?
(12, 24 and 22):

1. meddnhov éxpvyeiv odedoor. 144, 21.

2. mohhovs Jé zai éeFEhovtas EdEgaTO. 2 beGs

3. UéQOS Ov utxpoy TS Ednidos Ev aitois EacthEvEr. 125, 21.

4. zat “Poucioy yeioas coat. 133, 14-15.
5. zai tas tov innéwy thas - 142, 15—16.
6. zai thy boteouiuy novyicy ryor. 146, 5-4.
7. avdhoyoy 1 owmate. 131, 15.

1 With these cases may be compared clausule instanced as possible
regular types by W. Groénert, Zur griechischen Satzrhythmik, Rhein.
Mus. 54 (1899), pp. 593 ff.

00s KiTOVS MEHEL YOUMEVOL.
Tov adtod xixhov otoépovtce.
vwylny Corny péoovtae.
én’ avtns Mavta Nodyuate.
avatohav non héyouer.

2 This license is frequent in the Latin cursus.

446 H. B. Dewing,

8. re eis tas “Adnets.) 138, 4.

9. wera Jvvauews coxovens. 147, 13-14.
10. zateoxeviace totovde. 149, 17.
11. zai huxxevepioe zai piztwoes. 156, 1.

12. avatogy nokooxias. 156, 6-7.
13. énecta dé mheiovs. 156, 15.
14, of Hégoce mheovexteiv Edotar - 165, 14.
15. tH oteat@m naogédwzer. * 1621045.
16. ov zxahodor “Poucior udyrotoor + ? 165, 6.

17. tay mhoiwy éntBuiver. 159; 19-20;
18. zaréotnony eis yeious. 165, 4.

19. die adorns Hewpovuevov tis juéous. 140, 15.
20. cerijcews a5 Elyor. 150, 15.
21. Nekevzias ovoualouérys. 158, 8—9.
22. nohéua yeyvuracuévr. 125, 20.
23, and deoudtwy dé nEvtaxociwy. 142, 23, 148, 1.

24. 1 Toviavod oducre. 172, 8:

Among these 30 cases the irregular forms occur as follows:

Form O 6 cases.
15:0. Pa
” 3 12 ”
5

”? x ”

It is noticeable that almost one half of the irregular cases are of the
3 form. There seems reason to suppose, therefore, that this form of
clausula was the least objectionable form, at least less objectionable
than forms 0 and 1. This seems the more reasonable because in
prose where no accentual cursus is present both form 0 and form 4
occur more frequently than form 3.

The situation in Zosimus may be summarized thus: 80+ °/) are
absolutely regular, reading by the last two written accents; 10 + %/o
are regular by counting out the accents of weak words; 9 + °/) remain
which seem distinctly to violate the cursus rhythm.?

1 jee ’s tag ‘Adnecs would be a regular 2 form, (considering the form of
the preposition é, with apheresis).

* udyvoteor, if pronounced according to the Latin accent of “ magistrum ”
makes a regular form 2, but there seems to be no justification in as-
suming such a license; in the following case the use of the Latin accent
would destroy a regular form:

ous OZOVTMOLOUS TLQOGMYOQEVOVOLY 165, 10=18
3 This method of counting regular cases first as marked by written

accents, brings into the regular forms cases which do not really show
strict conformity to the form which the last two written accents alone

=

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 447

The final results thus obtained are here set down beside similar
results from other writers, arranged according to the regularity of
their cursus. It will be readily seen that these figures are quite
different from those given by Litzica, though in most cases the
passage chosen for a test was the same as the ground covered
by him. In the case of AZneas of Gaza, it now appears that there
is twice as much irregularity present as the 16°/, which Litzica
found, and little, if any regard is paid to the law. In Sophronius
the range of regularity is apparently limited to the 2 form—a pheno-
menon which may be paralleled in only a few other writers.

Forms 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 | Reg. |Irreg.

Zosimus ! L7+| 2.5+165.74] 8.742424) 8+] 1.14 [90.04] 9.8+

0) 94 2 3 0) 0) 97 Dean
Andreas of Crete? |0 4 79 2 15 0 0) 94 6
eel ic

Sophronius?

je SG oon is sal GLP oeSeuliae =|
Baciius of Seleucia 17+| 0. 74:74] 95411304] s4/0 — ezz4+l120+

Agathias*

Synesius ° 5 10 58 5 {22 0 |O |80 {20
Afneas of Gaza‘ 3 ORS 4S ae ils 2 0 64 = |36

It is not clear what should be done with the residuum of rebellious
clausule in such a writer as Zosimus or Agathias. Here we are
brought face to face with a question which is raised by Meyer’s
discussion. Meyer does not consider the law an inner law of the lan-
guage itself, which would absolutely control the clausulee of any writer

suggest. For example, such a case as air@ zai o vid; is a 2 form ac-
cording to written accents alone, but not by any means certainly to be
read so, on account of the heavy accent immediately preceding x«é. If
such cases are separated, the possible error is avoided. Zosimus shows
only four such cases (see pp. 443—4) in 280 clausule ; that is, by reading
the clausule by the last two written accents, we are led astray in only
1.4+°/, of the total.

1 Book III in the Corpus.
2 Orat. VII, Migne 87, 3, first 100 clausule.

5 Orat. I, Migne 97, first 100 clausule.

* Book I in the Corpus, first 100 clausule.

5 Orat. I, Migne 85.

® De Regno, Migne 66, first 100 clausule.

7 Theophrastus, Migne 85, first 100 clausule.

Remark. Clausule are counted only before the heavier marks of
punctuation,

Trans. Conn. Acap., Vol. X1V. 30 ApriL, 1910.

448 H. B. Dewing,

who comes within its influence, but rather a fashion (Mode) which
some writers consciously ignored. Litzica, as noted above, protests
against the use of the word law at all; but there is still need to
repeat all the tests made by him with the correct form of the law
as stated above, and it is doubtful whether a single writer whom
he classed as knowing nothing of the cursus will be found to be
entirely outside the influence of Meyer’s law. From Part IV it will
appear that Procopius of Czesarea, whom he considered far outside
the law’s influence, is really under the influence of the “ fashion”.
The law is certainly much more far reaching in its application
among the Byzantine writers than Litzica found it. This fact
makes it evident that we are dealing with a law which some
writers obeyed strictly, while the great majority of writers only
showed a more or less decided tendency to conform to it. In some
writers absolute regularity may fairly be expected, just as is the
case with certain Latin writers such as Ammianus Marcellinus;
each writer must be considered separately in order to determine
where this condition exists. When the traditional text of a writer
shows as much as ten percent of irregularity, we may well hesitate
to insist that every clausula should be forced into regularity by
doing violence to written accents or emendation of the text, but
some principle should be found for editing such a text. Since the
manuscript tradition is of the greatest importance in settling this
question, this must always be carefully considered and used in the
light of the cursus law. The final result for any writer who has
a cursus can not be given until the complete evidence of the
manuscripts is brought to bear. For the present it is only safe to
say that it is not known whether such writers as Zosimus and
Agathias intended to show absolutely regular conformity to the
law or not.

Parr IV.—Procopius oF C2SAREA.

It is well understood that different writers of the classical period
of Greek literature differed in their use of the quantitative rhythm.
In some it is found very plainly marked, while in others it is used
with much less care, while others again can be said to have no
regular quantitative rhythm at all. The same situation may reason-
ably be expected in the Byzantine writers: there are plainly certain
writers who have an accentual cursus, but seem to admit much
more license in following the law than the best writers. In each

i a

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 449

writer who belongs to this class it is a matter of importance to
define as closely as possible the extent of the law’s application.

Procopius of Caesarea is one of the writers whom Litzica con-
sidered entirely outside the circle of those who made use of the
accentual cursus rhythm—one of those who know nothing of the
cursus.1 It must always be borne in mind that Litzica’s understand-
ing of the law of the cursus was based wholly on Meyer's first
statement. Proceeding on the hypothesis that forms 2, 3, 4, 5 and
6 are all regular, Litzica pointed out that the clausule of Procopius
show scarcely any more regularity than those of a writer of the
classical period. The statistics seem amply to justify his statement,
but his hypothesis is wrong; all his figures represent only totals of
regular and irregular cases, without distinction of the particular
forms. It is clear from the above that of the five forms which he
massed together as regular only two (or three) are in fact regular.
It is therefore necessary to make a new test of Procopius with the
understanding that only forms 2 and 4 (and possibly form 6) are regular.

The Persian War, ed. Haury, 1905, was used for the test which
is described in the following. It should here be noted that this
edition does not give us a text which is beyond question,? although
it is based on a careful study of the Procopius manuscripts, nor is
the apparatus criticus full enough to furnish all the evidence needed.
All conclusions must therefore be made with reserve, and must
constantly be regarded as conditioned by the judgment of an editor
who takes no thought for the cursus law.

In order to be on safe ground, only the clausule before periods
are taken into account. It is reasonable to overlook the clausule
before the weaker marks of punctuation until complete certainty is
reached with regard to the writer’s usage in clausule where it is
absolutely certain that the cursus rhythm must be present, if it is
present at all.

There are 4098 clausulze before periods in the four books of the
Persian War; these are classed according to the various forms,
without any deviation from the written accents; the last two written
accents are provisionally treated as the theses of the clausule, without
regard to the kind of accent, or the apparent insignificance of the
word on which the accent stands. The forms are distributed as
follows:

+ Compare thé judgment of W. Crénert on Procopius: “—bei Zulassung
jeglicher Hiate eine wohlberechnete Akzentrhythmik herrscht.” Zur
griechischen Satzrhythmik, Rhein. Mus. 54 (1899), p. 593 ff.

2 Cf. W. Crénert, Gott. gel. Anz. 1906, p. 396.

450 HI. B. Dewing,

Form 0— 920.
5» 41> AZ,
» 2—2197.
5 o= 94
ae A BO:
sf) won

The significance of these figures may be made clear by a com-
parison with classical writers on the one hand, and with acknow-
ledged cursus writers on the other. The following chart shows
plainly where Procopius stands.

Form Form Form Form Form Form Form
0 il 2 3 4 5 6
~ 60°%/o

50 °/o

40 J,

Lysias, Mantitheus, The Grain Dealers, Nicomachus,
ed. Thalheim.
Demosthenes, Androtion, ed. Blass,

a ee Procopius of Czesarea, Persian War, ed. Haury.

——-—-— Zosimus III in Corpus Ser. Hist. Byz.

—~

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 451
The percentages charted on the preceding page are here tabulated:

Forms 0 1 2 3 1 5 6 Reg. | Irreg.

Lysias 9.4. +1 24.3 +) 27.7 +1209 +) 13.2 + 3.4-+| 1:2 +) 42.1 +1578 +

a | eee

Procopius | 22.4 +/11.54/53.6+| 22+] 94+; 6+] 0 63.0 +| 36.7 +
Zosimus 8.0+| 744458541 3.44/2144+] 54+] 54+/8044/19.34

It is to be noted that the proportion as between forms 0 and
1 in Procopius forms a striking contrast to that in all the other
writers; but itis in the percentages of forms 2 and 4 that the
characteristics of the cursus become apparent. In form 2 he stands
much nearer to Zosimus than to the others; again in form 3 his
usage shows real improvement on the cursus model; his preference
of form 4 above form 3 is a regular characteristic of those writers who
sought the rhythm of the accentual cursus. It is therefore plain
that the cursus is present in Procopius, but the indications are that
it is far from perfect.

There is still one factor to be considered; elision was not intro-
duced in the reading of clausule except where indicated in the
printed text. A large number of Procopius’ clausule are concerned
in this matter since there are many opportunities to elide short
vowels between the last two words, as well as many cases in which
apheeresis or crasis might reasonably be introduced. In the quan-
titative rhythm of Demosthenes all such cases of hiatus would be
avoided in one of these three ways; further, there is every reason
to believe that in the pronunciation of the living language of clas-
sical times elision was common. In order not to assume anything
regarding Procopius, it must be considered conceivable that all his
clausulz be treated exactly as those of Demosthenes should in this
particular matter. It is necessary to be absolutely certain that this
factor will not make the above conclusions useless; the follow-
ing table is therefore given to show the resuit when elision of a
short vowel, wherever possible, as well as apheresis and crasis are

‘consistently introduced. Demosthenes, Androtion (ed. Blass) is chosen

for comparison, and the figures given above are used again since
they are taken from a text in which the editor consistently intro-
duces elision, aphzresis and crasis in the printing.

Forms | 0 1 2 3 Tes 6
Procopius [23.7 +/18.5+/45.8+| 31+] 82+) 34] 0

452 H. B. Dewing,

This procedure leaves Procopius with a much lessened percentage
of regularity—54 + as against 63+ in the former test—but the cursus
characteristics are still apparent in the proportions of the 2, 3 and 4
forms. Leaving the question of elision, apheresis and crasis for the
sake of argument undecided, there is sufficient ground for maintain-
ing that the cursus law is operative in the prose of Procopius. It
remains to define the extent of its application; the principles followed
are those deduced above from the usage of Zonaras and Zosimus.

In the following an attempt is made to enumerate all the cases
in which the regular forms are to be recognized. It is safest to
make a start from the formal classification by written accents alone.

I. Perfect clausule of the 2 and 4 forms.

In these cases the rhythm is plainly marked by written word
accents, the written accents, namely, of the last two words, except
in case an enclitic or proclitic intervenes; hiatus, if present, is weak.

Form 2, 1731 (2 I; 2 Il)?

EDEVETO TIE. 12, 8.
To TMA OCTERY avd00s. 225, 26.
yodpew ove Eyw. 447, 10.

Form 4. 310 (4 1; 4 Il)

UELET HS TETOLNUEVOV. 131, 6.
doovyooots 6 Maktuivos. 506, 28-24.

In 59 cases the thesis is marked by what would seem to be a
weak spoken accent.
Form 2. 59 (2 III)

moopashcotae Ev tais Evusonuic. 267, 6.
élval Tovs moseutovs. 387, 23; 388, 1. (Form 4?)
oiot Té Gvtiteivery Eiot. 176, 10.

In certain cases the force of the first accent is weakened by a
heavy accent immediately preceding it.
Form 2. 65 (2 IV)

obdé yoortot édogey eivat. 455, 23.
ndovns yéyovev aiotrats. 190, 15.
zvzhotegots ovens wvducaoret. 131, 15-16.

. Form 4. 18 (4 Ii)

Teouav@ Gnavtes mo0cezmonouy. 505, 13.

1 The number of cases included under each head is given; the numbers
in parentheses refer to the tables of forms (see Appendix).

= ss CUCU

EE

ae we! eee. ©

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 453

The total of all cases included in Class I is 2183, more than half
the grand total of 4098. These clausule are all regular in the
strictest sense; in no case is a written accent disregarded.

Il. Clausule to be read as of the regular forms, by departing
from written accents.

A. There are, first of all, a large number of cases where a logi-
cally subordinate word, although bearing a written accent, may be
read without stress, whereupon a regular form becomes evident.
All these cases are certainly regular. The words whose accent is
considered negligible are the following: the article in all cases, x«é
and dé, 7, «v, 7 (as) and the copula; the accents acquired from en-
clitics are treated in the same way as the accents which stand on
these words.

nenmneene1490 (0; Vea, 1. 0,°V;-b;, 15.1, IV, a, 1,3. 1, IV, by 2)F

Hooruévous To ovyyvauov. 441, 20.
imegelais zai ydouyé.. 56s 6— te
avtize On ucae. 255, 6.
noénew ay ddgéLe. 166; 172
uchhov ¥ m1Q6tEQOr. 448, 3-4.
Ilegowy tov hoyiuov. 113; 9:
FEOUTELTHL i Bovdotto. 25, 26.
TOLY@Y M04 OY OVTC. 64, 20-21.
(Counting ovt« without stress.)
EGEGICL TODTO YE, 285, 5.
Jéouce Ids oe. 202, 22—238.
ovdevos Evdens Ein. ; Ab), (8:
(Counting «ij without stress.)
Edosav tH Svusoay, éivac. 188, 19.
(Counting éfvec without stress )
adé mn eizer. ACO to:
TOLOvTOS TiS HV. 126559—10:
uéya Te youuc. 519, 19.
THUIN TN ElYE. 300, 18.
Baamet 39 (0; Va, 2: 0, V, b, 2.1, IV, a, 2. +4, TV, b, 2)
Evyyveyney &5 Tae ucAtote. 369, 20.
ovy Hxeora ye tov Loicmor. 106, 14. (Form 2?)
dieowouto te Svyxeiueve. 209, 12.
“Podonohos xai Moynoros. 292, 17.
TEDOKOES GTQKTHYOL Hour. 36, 25.

(joey without stress.)

1 The references to the tables under Class IJ refer only to the first
two columns; see Appendix.

454 Al. B. Dewing,

Emi tovs moheutovs 4 EvuBoan Eotee. 120, 24.
(gotace without stress )
evTIZOUS puveouy Elva. 402, 19.

(efvae without stress.)

B. There are other cases where the pattern of the 2 and 4 form
is present, but weakened by the presence of a heavy accent between
the two accents which are taken as the theses of the clausula.
Such cases should not be counted as strictly regular, and there
should not be a great number of them in a writer who carefully
sought the rhythm of the cursus. The presence of the rhythm
should be clear without counting in cases of this type; they are
regular only by sufferance.

Form 2. 4502(0, Vi; ti. tide

év Esai TO hormov HEeGHa. 198, 3-4.
EVQOVTES ohiyous tvs EvOIS EXTELVEY. 143, 12-138.
votéooy dé nai moi usivwr. 162, 18-19.
Jvvartatatos wv qucis touer, 125, 18.
tno YEoo! xvv@y YEVITUL. 339, 20.
usyahowvylas Ev Hxwr. 346, 21.
curyyavie J& MOAAT, Et yEto. 245, 22.
diapuyéiv udhs toyvoer. 505, 9-10.
ovdéy Tovto moayuc. 130712
HtEto abI@ névtwr uchotc. 134, 16.
Tadte uev OP ovTWS EGE. 200, 2.
Bonne 45 290° (0, V2: 42 Ve2

nrdounddiocy ayedoy Gnmavtns. 164, 5.
augt Kethov notaudy éyovot. 104, 21.
aioyncéty ob mosA@ tvotegor. 295, 19208
ovte éxovotoy abdUs TVEyZEV. 438, 1-2.
cioncew &v onovdy ExovtEs. 61, 5=6;
Tod meotBodov Evtos yEevictu, 67, 16-17.
am’ évavtias ait@y lovou. 81, 20.
tocavre wey xei 0 Nrotlus einer. 494, 8-9.
ty Eni Gaver of djuct wyorEr. 128, 3-4.
GOEAGOS, TETMOTOS HbTOS. 5011920:

III. Cases into which enters the question of elision, apheresis
and crasis.

A. Elision. There are altogether 421 clausule in the Persian
War as printed in the text used in which a short vowel could be
elided. As these cases stand without elision, 191 fall into the 2
form, and 88 into the 4 form. These cases correspond to Class I

1 Many of these could be read equally well as 4 forms.

ee ae
.

—

i tr ee i

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 455

above; they are perfectly regular if the hiatus be allowed to stand.
Here, then, are 229 cases which will not show conformity to the
regular forms if elision be consistently introduced. The number of
syllables in arsi being lessened by one, 2 forms become 1 forms,
and 4 forms become 3 forms. In the same way 5 forms fall to
2 forms, and 5 forms to 4 forms; since the 3 forms as printed,
where elision is possible, number 13, and the 5 forms 7, we should
have only 20 regular cases left from the 421 before us. This strange
result makes it seem unlikely that elision is to be consistently ad-
mitted; taking this body of cases alone, and avoiding elision, we
find the six forms of clausulee standing in about the same proportions
as those found above to be normal for the Persian War; whereas
consistent elision makes the proportions of the various possible
forms absolutely different from the normal. The percentage of
regularity is divided by ten; not only this, but form 41 would oc-
cupy almost half the field (191 out of 421). But since this body
of 421 clausulz is not taken at random from the whole, it is not
safe to insist that the different forms can be expected to stand in
the proportions found normal for the whole Persian War. But full
and satisfactory evidence is at hand in the usage of other writers
who show an accentual cursus rhythm and in the Political Verses,
as set forth above. This evidence makes it clear that the following
principle should be adopted for Procopius: elision need not he
consistently introduced in reading clausulae, nor yet consistently
avoided ; the manuscripts are not a safe guide in such a matter, and
elision may be introduced when the cursus rhythm requires it, and
elided vowels may be restored against the authority of the manu-
script tradition. On the other hand, the frequent hiatus which is
produced by this procedure makes it plain that Procopius is not
a careful writer according to the best standards of his time.

There are, as stated above, 229 cases which may be read as
regular clausule by permitting the objectionable hiatus, without
departing from the written accents.

Form 2. 191 (2, V)

Eyéveto woe. 122, 7-8.

MOlote Elvae. 88, 24.

T0ée Evy oyour. 22 AT:
Form 4. 38 (4, IV)

maouyyEhhousvee ExtEneiv. 514, 7.

év tT) maodvte cvdonyadilecd ce. 468, 13.

Shuneon ovoucleto, 461, 5.

456 A. B. Dewing, —

Form 3. 13 (3, IV). becoming 2 forms by elision.
és tide étehevta. AS 12-43:
Te Yoduucte Emote. 363, 16.

~

Form 5. 7 (5, Ill). becoming 4 forms by elision.

aéloFeuta EMLELZ@S EOTL. 199; 23:
évavtioue inotondélwy, 113; at

The following cases containing hiatus are certainly to be added
to the regular list; here the accent of a weak word is counted out

as in Class II, A above.
Fotm: 2; /22:(O, Vi-a;-4: O; Veb, ae ASV, a, 1-1

oiot TE élvce. 281, 3-4.

Svyyougi, Se ahi tear. 5, 13.

duiv d€ y ucyy. 421, 21—22.
Form 4,55 (O, V;a, 2:0; V,-b, 2: 47 1V,4, 2.. 451 Vitara)

nvvtov dé ovdér. 409, 7-8.

Evvéxerto és tyv cepeéer. 115, 21.

In a number of other cases the regular patterns are present, but
violated.
Pormi,2. 5 (£, V, 4)

0 wey Tadte Eimer. 42, 15.

To aolotegoy Aiton EneuWer. 12; 49=-E1e
Form 4. 64 (O, VI, 2. 1, V, 2) .

Eyonto ovdEevi Ley. 535, 19-20.

of 1eé08ets TooKwvT@ élmor. 114, 5.

Still other cases may be brought to conformity to the regular
forms by introducing elision against the manuscripts.
Form 2. 33 (O; X,42-4, Vi, 4)

Euveveysevta Eow@y EO YOURE, 45, 13-14.

Aalois dozotvta éin. 290, 15.
Form 4. 32 (O, X, 2. 4, VIL, 2)

ta €vvoisovta é¢ Bovidy EpyEecta. 395, 3-4.

TRUTH MOLYTE@ EtN. 30, 12.

Two cases occur in which an elision as printed in the text may
be removed to produce a regular form.

Tetixe &$vn tadv’ éxcdovr. 311, 10.
(tadta éxahovr.)

itytouy ey’ @ xtEivwot. 126, 22—23.
SS ae cy , .
(éni w xteivwor, making a 4 form.)

———— VV —— CC UCU ee .:Ct~<C‘

fond

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 457

B. Apheeresis. There are 207 cases in which hiatus could be
avoided by apheresis. It is not certain whether the possible
apheresis should be consistently avoided, but this would seem to
be the safest course. Reading these cases as printed in the text,
we find the following cases to be added to the regular list.

Form 2. 151 (2, VJ)

Epwuévou Euntumhaobcs. 18, 4.

mohguice Edtvavto. 43, 23.
Form 4. 21 (4, V)

OTOUTOMEJEVOUEVOL EMOQEVOYTO. 38, 9—10:

uetanoleigdue EfEMLGTCUEVOS. B19 1112:

There are 17 additional cases in which the regular patterns are
present but violated (except in one Case).
For 2. 2 (O, V,.a, 1. 5, I)

packed és Ta uchote. 347, 19.
Bomm 4 15 (O, VI, 2.1, V, 2. 3, IIL, b)

ty Avtwvivn évtvyeiv Aédor. fo, 12

dieBortm és Kya oven. Bot. oF

C. Crasis. Here, as in the case of apheresis, there seems no
warrant to consistently read with crasis in order to avoid hiatus.
As the text stands there are 18 cases where crasis might be rea-
sonably expected. The following are regular:

Porn 2- 6 (1, lV, a, 1.. O, V, b; 4)

noel Te Eye UATE. 368, 4—5.

Form 4. 4 (1, IV, a, 2. O, V, b, 2)
EGHUIVE TH EgoUEVE. 193, 12—13.

In 6 more cases the regular patterns are present but violated ;
(Ooi tO; VI, 2. 4, V, 1)

IV. Various possibilities. There are 42 cases of the type én citots
yadev ; the frequent occurrence of this type suggests that the regular
pattern of the 2 form should be here recognized, by stressing the
preposition! (in every case an elided form), and counting out the

1 The placing of an ictus on such forms as é7’ is easily paralleled in
the Political Verses; ta bears an ictus in Tzetzes I, 222 (ed. Kiessling) ;
so em in VII, 260. It may also be noted that the full form éi, acodé
etc. are often stressed on the first syllable in the Political Verses; so
naodé is stressed on the first syllable in Constantinus Manasses (Corpus
Ser. Hist. Byz.) v. 2787; so émi in v. 1047.

458 Al. B. Dewing,

accent of the pronoun; in 7 cases the first personal pronoun is
present; in all the rest are forms of «droid.

Form 2. 42 (0, VIII)

mavtl TH atoata én’ ubtovs HAdEV. 184, 6-7.
OT OMTUY ayéltous én’ MOTOS Tél. 10, 12-13.
Te 10d Hua@Y G thee. 308, 19.

There are 41 cases which should be considered of the same type
as én’ abvovs 7Ad9ev; in all these a written accent on a pronoun is
subordinated, while a preceding monosyllable forms the first thesis
of the clausula (a dissyllable occurs once—ézég); in some cases this
thesis coincides with a written accent; in some a proclitic must be
stressed.

Form 2. 41 (0, IX)

‘Poucioy moozchovuévar myos “otas, Ijoovta. 279, 20—21.
THY yrouny Ely ahtois EFEVTO. 138, 23—24.
T@ otdw sis Huds HxE. 414, 21.
ancakiody tméo avins Ivyjoxey. 405, 18.

te Evvoisovta éoydlecdue toils abtod nodyucew. 223, 4=5,
Svvatuteros wy nuéis tower. 125, 18:

Cases like the above, but more violent are the following.
Forms.) aro. (O; VL tt Valeo iL)

&> poyny wWouryto. 28, 22.
(Occurs 16 times.)
ovz é¢ uazouy dei€ovor. 33, 19-20.

(Occurs 4 times )

poutoloy ovz Mopmhes HY. 526, 12.
(Count out 7.)

vyov ov MaQovEaY oYioLY. 800, 1—2.
(Stress od and count out ogo.)

év onovdy, ize. 286, 22.

(Occurs 7 times.)
Form 4. 5 (0, VIL, 2.

Ev MEQKOZEVT, EXEL. 287, 14.
> ‘ 2 ’ “2
Eo To @xolBés NHoxyto. 31, 8.

There remain 46 cases in which regularity may be found in
various ways; these cases follow.

uetaBahely ég tu xvdveoy mavtEhis toyvoer. 341, 14.

Form 4 may be read if zvcveoy be made a trisyllable with synizesis. —

yévouevoe xute xoougny Bchiwoyr. 471, 18.

Accentual Cursus tn Byzantine Greek Prose. 459

The Political Verses, as noted above, show cases of the dissyllabic
prepositions bearing an ictus on the first syllable; by reading xzér«
in this case, there appears the pattern of the 4 form, although it is
violated by the accent on zogvyjyv. A similar case is the following:

, \ ES >t i
ENEUMOVTO (vce TY ETOS. 329) 1.

Cases of the following type are puzzling:

>
Etiy quiy évtaddd Eto.. 449, 21—22.
ore, , . r > £ ° Or
wolzytos ywow Eni Melia uv Ete. 187, 19—20.

In the following reading «rot produces either form 2 or 4, ac-
cording as mj is stressed or not.
THY UNtéow THY Eavtod ExTELVEY. 85, 12.
In several cases a plain 2 form is produced by reading iota as
a consonant.!

EnimQoodEv lovee. 241, 18.
to hormov EvuBrorevery. 207, 19-20.

This license may not be justly assumed for such an early period
as that of Procopius, but at a later period it must have been very
common, as is shown by its frequent occurrence in the Political
Verses of Demetrius Zenus (16th. century).

After exhausting all possibilities, there still remain a number of
irregular cases.

Form 0. 227 (0, I)

zai Ackizny évdiovs trcony. 224, 24.

OVW Zui viv MéOELOL. 94, 16.
Form 1. 159 (0, Il. 4, I)

hoy ovdevi “Pwuctovs EYELY ey, AN)

Tocubra uéy of MQEo~ELS Elo. 220, 26.
Horm’ 3. 73 (0, I. 3, 1)

tovtov édcdooovt Jtieloyeatoy cAdy haw. 308, 23-24.

imcavtés NoLotinvol YéyeviUEvol. (oki —8.
Form 5. 14 (5, I)

Encdyaeatue Jrevovvvto. 118, 24.

BcoBuolxwripoy éEczedaouévot. 501, 22—23.

The final result reached is this: as the text stands, a uniform
conformity to the cursus law can not be found in Procopius. There
are too many cases which seem to admit of no explanation (12.634 °/9),
while the percentage of perfectly plain regular cases is too small

1 This license is commonly assumed in reading the Latin accentual
cursus.

460 H. B. Dewing,

(68.9 + °/5) to justify the expectation that the law will be consistently
applied. The answer can not be finally made to the question pro-
posed above as to the exact extent of the law’s application in Pro-
copius, until the manuscript tradition is thoroughly reviewed with
the cursus law in view. Provisionally, however, it may safely be
maintained that the cursus law is plainly operative in Procopius,
but its application is not thorough.

There are numerous indications of wilful neglect of the cursus
rhythm in Procopius’ language which show that a regular cursus
was not sought by him. For example, a sentence is often closed
with the phrase éoay @gyouce, which makes a perfectly regular form
of clausula impossible. Even where the 4 form is suggested, as
égé3chev, Egav Eoyouw (164-22), the written accent of égdy standing in
arsi plainly violates the rhythm. In such a case as éorddn, éoav
éozouce (365-6, 7), there is absolutely no trace of a regular form.
It is a plain case of neglect of the cursus; for a similar formula
was at hand which makes a perfect 2 form: égyoucw 4é§wv, found in
Zosimus, V, 38. The case becomes absolutely certain when it is
added that Procopius has as clausule éwy éoyouce (327-2) and
yocowy éoyouce (307—3), either of which would make a perfect 2 form
if the order were reversed. Other phrases which are frequently
found transgressing the law are the following:

éyo dr hdow, 84, 3; 422, 12 ete.
emote THE. 15, 6; 509, 16 ete.
ovdevos 7000". 157, 14; 158, 22 ete.
és Edcaypos xadetary. 60, 17; 248, 24-25 ete.

All these phrases, except otJevos jooov, would make a_ pertectly
regular form of clausula if the order of words were reversed.

Other cases of a like character are added to these to make it
clear that this repeated violation of the cursus rhythm is not limited
to set phrases alone. In each case a reversal of order would make
a regular form.

dvérso nteder. 458, 8-9.
Eywoovy 719000. 512, 21.
(CE. modem Eysoovv, 91-16.)

cadvtwv ier. 24, 9
éxhvey 6 voucs. (éxndver) 49, 4.
UEVELV ELEOEY. 70, 6
MEW DOW ENLFOVTCL. 7, 3
‘Pouciot eoyor. 74, 30.
Bacthel péoovow. 77, 8.
zatoodory lmavTKs. Sie Os

évuBaivee eivee. : 101, 20.

——— Sl

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 461

It is impossible to suppose that the order in such cases is a per-
version by the manuscript tradition of an order which originally
conformed to the cursus forms; their occurrence is entirely too
common to allow such an explanation. It is rather necessary to
believe that Procopius wilfully neglected the cursus rhythm in many
of his clausula—a neglect which is doubtless to be explained by
his constant imitation of Herodotus and Thucydides. Nevertheless,
the cursus rhythm was plainly known to him, and he should be
classed as a writer who consciously sought that rhythm without
insisting on producing it with unchanging regularity.

APPENDIX

The tables here given contain statistics of all the clausule be-
fore periods in the Persian War of Procopius of Czsarea, and set
forth the data on which the foregoing conclusions are based. The
clausule are separated into forms as marked by written accents
alone; after this formal classification the certainly irregular forms
are separated from those which are only apparently so, and the
final result of this sifting process is given in the general summary
at the end.

© |/o+FGo—0c6| Ir | 6 | 6 | 99 | TST | OFO

ci | veo =e , ; , | Jessoa poprye SULLOYSeI— f UWLLOF Es wt9}IVd TX
FI | FL a : : : ; ; ‘ ; fF wos *
Or Ol v3 , ; ; . Gua ad ii
WOIST[O SULOUPOAQUT—SuULIOF IB[NGeL JO UlO9IRG X
Tr a NONE Wee ; ; : , : : : p aggyle Saorn ua ad&y 2uvT XT
= Maa Gr : : : : ; , D : : argyle Saori 2 odAT, TITA
< 9 ewe ek ’ , ; } ; ; eal
aa 69 IES ie , : : ; ; ; Cee
a orgtfooad UO SSa1jS—SULIOF IB[NSet Jo uI9}QVeG TIA
S 18T | G 8 8& |9F | &6 : ; : OG
S Gel | g ea foyer cl mickey See OU magma ream mee) SP Ns MN Maas eohig
| qttato SUIIOF IV[NGaI JO W41999Vq TA
Sia 91 16 Lani Nis ee ee a ee Aue ac
as Sac (Sp RSP) j ; ; : GL Haat
S | SISOYY JSVl AogpR JUaooR UOzILIM YR AL
S 3 e |] 7 : } , é ; : ; p Wwaoy
; oi I a Ae: (WE ; ; ; : : m Wom “T

| ISIR UL JUOd9NB WogghiIm yea “vB
uperd — sutt0g IB[NGol JO uloyyeVd A

Q
< GI |] ial : ; ; i : : : : somtiqissod snomed AT
~ - |
% iat al : ; y : : g peel oq 0} G WIOF JO Uste}9Ieg TIT
> P | ig ; : ; ; ‘ : : pret oq 0 T ULOF JO Becan etal TL
> 166 | G 169 |99T| ° } : : : : 2 * quoeserd uteqqyed avpnset ON T
“sS | a
8 | See ED oH) S|) ale
= Sy 445 =e =ay it ast || yee
S © 2. iB) | LSE ee |
S on ew | fourey Ih Mee] os ao] |
Xz cla 7 n 2 e i=; =] | 5 | jas
S LV LOU roo) Eo Or fs | © | jan ie |
< = | © =) | 4 | bode (=| | }
ie) DW ets ey | & n |
ay be Sr) Sezer |
a | elas ae

‘0G WUOF SITY JO [PIO
0 WHO

AprIL, 1910.

or — NL

Hi. B. Dewing,

464

FORM 1
Total for this form 475.

No regular pattern present . ; :
Pattern of form 3 to be read ;
Various possibilities : ; ‘
eee of regular forms— —plain
. Weak accent in arsi
1. Form 2 k ,
2. Form 4 ; >
3 Form odé ay elyev
b. Weak accent after last thesis
Form 4 . :
Pattern of regular forms—violent
1 Form 2 : : : ;
. Form 4 ;
Pattern of ‘regular forms—stress on proc litic
Form 2 .
Pattern of regular forms—introducing elision
1. Form 2 ; : : ,
2. Form 4
Pattern of form 2 — restoring ‘elided vowel .

———— 2

No Hiatus

|
|

_
=
=]

289

|
|

Weak Hiatus

re bo

ral

|

_ Elision avoided

|
|

S23 or

ba

| Elis

tro-

in
duced

10n

23

41

Aph

Crasis avoided |

TOTALS

o>
Qo
0O

|

475 See: Of)

Accentual Cursus in Byzantine Greek Prose. 465

FORM 2

Total of this form 2197.

| D n |
pa = Be TOTALS
Se oe
Atm | ea
I Perfect : : : : ; Seat) ESE Waits)!
| il Enclitics and prolitics in arsi. 31 9 40
IIIT Weak accent used as thesis . ‘ 52 7 59
IV Heavy accent preceding first thesis 57 8 65
_ V Elision avoided 191
VI Apheeresis avoided 151 |
| 2197 = 53.6 £5/5
FORM 3.
Total of this form 94.
Ez
| 2) i] R = = om Ss my |
siMs5/o0/8.4|- TOTALS
Se ed Oe
o SO 2/4 Ela 9
oa AMPs sl a|_
I No tone en — | 41 | 8 8 | 57
II Various possibilities 12 12
III Form 4 to be read
| a. Plain 5 1 it
| b. Violent 8 2 | ie] tal
| IV Elision introduced — | 18 13
(94 =2.2+9), |
FORM 4.
Total of this form 387.
>. aa a n | a
= “45 ;
| | Soe TOTALS
| Sea ke
| Bet. ml one ee S| ae
feb ertoct | 275 | 21 |296
II Enclities and proclities s in arsi : 8 6 | 14
_II1 Heavy accent preceding first thesis. 18 18
IV Elision avoided 5 : Z 38
| V Apheeresis avoided . 21
| 387 = 9.4+°%Fo)
FORM 5
Total of this form 25
ae oe
| Bi4 2)93/80, TOTALS
| > #|8 314 S183
he EBB ie
= isl ee =
i No regular Peta eee ig 2al Kes ff oy 14
II Form 2 to be read—stress on proclitic 3 | | fee
IIL Elision introduced . ; a ed lace
25 eb

466 H. B. Dewing, Accentual Cursus in Byzantine

GENERAL SUMMARY.

Greek Prose.

| | a 2 |
| a] nD
| 2)42|5882)| rorars |
lof | os |b 4e8
imi | Pe edo |
.
9 @yad ] € ay i }
I Regularity Plain oe 4 ; sa | a oe we 2827 |
: = Form2 .| 248| 57 47 352
ao ‘4 / )
| Il Regularity Violent bnlgeny & 07 | 30 | 114 401 753
III Regularity Appar. Impossible | S04) (or * 27 518
2997 | 454 647 4098

2827 = 68.9

+°l, apparently show no trace of regularity.

74% show perfectly plain regularity, omitting
volving elision, apheresis and crasis.
+*/, show perfectly plain regularity, including
volving elision, aphzeresis and crasis,

all cases in-

all cases in-

The classes in the above table are represented in the preceding
tables as follows:

Class I Class II Class III
Form 0, V entire Form 0, VI Form 0, I
jo dare <O3 a Os Woe 0) pee
seh ane re fe Oe Wala O, Il
> ia tes LX, 0, IV
Pega ae ee rk fo
Fee eb entire eee | hae“ to
.. 85, TU oe Ot hf 5, dit
me Ae VEL Ba
Sade A AE Es a IE
4 WoL Meer
os gies: LL SD
ie i

re Ay tad rae

7 4
1 ar

eS AEN

rh tt Aled
eee

&

.
i
h
i
i
ye
;
yh
‘
7
A
d
,

val Wihy

oi Mi DD) ' , o - oy s
; iW 5 : ie
Coe A 4 i; OMY uf "
f i ¥ , a 7 ta at F A}
" é e ' Me 7
ny

JUN 9 1971

Q Connecticut Academy of Arts
1] and Sciences, New Haven

C9 Transactions

v.14

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Applied Sa,
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