to this modern, or Low German, notion of "love" when he imagined a man and wife living together oμoppovéovтe vonuar. But the traces are so few that they had better be left out of the account. Nor is Aphrodite the goddess either of Beauty or Love, any more than "Epws is the god of Love. "Epos is the god of desire, and Appodíτn is the goddess of sexual desire gratified, ᾗ θέμις ἀνθρώπων πέλει, ἀνδρῶν ἠδὲ γυναικῶν. She must be beautiful, because the desire attaches itself, for the most part, to the beautiful, or to that which seems beautiful: but when the Greeks thought of the beautiful without the desire, they thought of the Graces, Xápires, who are called in by Greek fable to attire and make Appodίrn seem beautiful. Else she might have been taken for a "filthy cheat," as the greatest of this century's poets has called her. The Aphrodite of the Greeks is the Venus of the Romans, Plaut. Truc. I. I, Venus quam penes amantum summa summarum redit. Not a little praise is due to Sir Philip Sydney for having been able, in spite of the confusing influence of this Low German word 'love,' to express so much of the Greek notion of Eros, and of the Latin notion of Amor and Cupido, as may be found in the following lines, taken from his True Picture of Love: To narrow breasts he comes all wrapt in Gaine: The English poet is quite right in specifying the objects of strong desire as Gaine, Fame, and ȧøpodirŋ: for strong desire is not excited except by those things which are in the highest degree desirable. In this apostrophe to Eros, I maintain that Sophocles could not possibly leave out the desire for wealth. That would have contracted the CC Greek idea of epws far too much. But he might leave out any reference to the desire for Fame and Power, in a short ode in which the lovely face of a maiden evλékтρov has moved in Haemon such an iuepos that he will even break the law that bids him obey his father. So Sophocles was bound to say ἐν κτήμασι πίπτεις, by the Greek acceptation of the meaning of "Epws; and the desire for ἀφροδίτη and the παρθένος εὔλεκτρος is also, of course, the main subject of the ode, from the nature of the case. Forget, then, all about this Low German word "love," and translate : Irresistible Desire! Desire, who dost fall upon wealth! Who also dost lodge in a maiden's soft cheek. As the Editors make so much difficulty about ẻo xúpar Te πAVTEλes, V. 1016, I may as well say that it seems to mean "public altars;" those at which Távтes Teλoûσi Tà iepá, Eur. Bacch. 485. There is, of course, much room for multitudinous remark in the remainder of this corrupt play, as well as in the parts passed over; but my plan excludes speculations and everything which does not profess to explain some definite point. There is one more, a very little and yet important one, and then I have done. The Editors persist in writing aurn at v. 990. I have said, Agam. p. ix., that it ought to be air. The model prose form would be in each case αὕτη ἡ κέλευθος, and avτη ý KÉλevfos, as all know; but in iambic trimeters no one misses the article in either phrase. Now for the sense. If you read aurn with the Editor and all the Editors, your meaning will be "for that road from my house to Creon's palace is so intricate and perplexing, it has so many quagmires and precipices in and on each side of it, to say nothing of stones and mud, that, being blind, I must have a guide in order to travel it." If you read the aur which I proposed long before Professor Campbell's edition appeared, you have the following meaning: "for to the blind the road itself becomes a guide by means of a guide." That which is a sufficient guide to those who see, as in "qua via ducit," is only at second hand a guide to blind men. This is an ingenious reflection and remark; the other reading gives a ridiculous meaning. We may add our chemin guydant' to the chemins cheminans, errans, passans croisans et traversans,' which were discovered by our worthy old friend Pantagruel. They must not be confounded with the chemins qui marchent' of Pascal. < The harmlessness of criticism in these days is not one of the least noteworthy features of our generation. Even if I had succeeded in proving that Professor Campbell's first volume of his Sophocles is a bad book to read Sophocles from, and that it is written by an incompetent person, I am still far from thinking that it will be any the less read on that account. For some reason which I can only guess at, no one cares for anything that any Review says about any book, classical or not classical. No one is inexperienced enough to buy a book because a reviewer has praised it; no one is withheld from buying a book because a reviewer has maligned it. My guess at the reason of this is, that reviews are no longer written, as we say, "bona fide," but, by the piece, or, all in the day's work, or by command; for writing's sake, or the publisher's sake, or the friend's, or even the reviewer's own book's sake. Many reviews, too, which I used to read, in the days of my ignorance and simplicity, also seemed to be written only with some fair-seeming, and no real knowledge of the subject. The good publisher makes the book good and the critiques good. The rival publisher makes the book bad and the critiques bad. The book is really what it happens to be. The Royal imprimatur, and lustre given by permitted dedication to some noble patron are now merged into the commonplace form "Published by Blank and Co." Perhaps this fair seeming kind of review is not unsuited for the eyes and understandings of a public which is singularly careless of every kind of literature but that which is properly called "light;" for a public for whom the detestable word "popular" has actually become a word of good signification; for a public which, in its abhorrence of everything really solid and thoughtful, insists upon having its little dose of information syringed into it in some flashy "popular" form; for a public which delights in being mystified and excited rather than taught; which is like Aeneas gazing on the shield which bore emblazoned the fame and fates of his descendants, "rerum ignarus imagine gaudet," knowing nothing of the things themselves, it delights in their glittering show. J. F. D. CONIECTANEA. AESCHYLUS FRAG. 238. Αδων ταῖς ἁγναῖς παρθένοις γαμηλίων λέκτρων ἐν ἄστει μὴ βλεμμάτων ῥέπει βολή. ἑτοίμη is Hermann's certain correction for ἄστει μή. The lines should, I think, run thus: ἁδόντα κειναῖς παρθένοις γαμηλία λέκτρ', ὧν ἑτοίμη βλεμμάτων ῥέπει βολή. The construction is simple, and the sense perspicuous: 'Illis virginibus volentibus est connubium, quarum ab oculis promptum jacitur missile. Γαμηλίων was induced by the corruption λέκτρων, and ἁγναῖς, in this passage quite unsuitable, was taken out of κειναῖς. We find κοίτας γαμηλίου in Supp. 805. SOPHOCLES OED. COL. 367. πρὶν μὲν γὰρ ἀυτοῖς ἦν ἔρως Κρέοντί τε "Epws, though a very unsuitable word here, and only a conjecture of Tyrrwhitt's has been universally adopted. The MSS. have ἔρις. "Ερως denotes a strong, passionate desire; and how is it sense to talk of a strong, passionate desire of doing nothing? The only parrallel I can adduce to such an expression is Juvenal's forcibly comical 'magna libido tacendi.' I believe the true reading may possibly be ἅλις. Cf. Oed. Τyr. 685 : ἅλις ἔμοιγ ̓ ἅλις, γᾶς προπονουμένας |