Passing mention was made in English Pageantry of the appearance of civic giants on the Continent—notably in Belgium and the North of France; and the fact that such figures as Saint Christopher of Salisbury and his European colleagues have reappeared since the recent war has been recorded in an article entitled Post-Bellum Giants. Since the publication of that paper, in Studies in Philology for January 1921, additional details concerning French and Belgian giants have come to my attention.

The poems called in this study Weaving Songs were in ancient times also known as History Songs, for the first name applied to them was Chansons d'istoire; then, a little later apparently, they were called Chansons de toile or Weaving Songs. By modern critics they have also been termed Romances but this name is not altogether satisfactory. If one glances through the critical edition of these poems published by Karl Bartsch under the title Romanzen und Pastourellen one finds that the Weaving Songs are mixed up with other poems under the loose title of Romanzen. The term Romance, in use since the days of Grimm and Fauriel but first made popular by the collection of old French poems published by Paulin Paris under the title of Le Romancero français, was borrowed from the Spanish towards the end of the eighteenth century and then it designated, as it does still today, poems of historical content like our English Ballads. If the term was suitable enough during the Romantic period when the Romancero appeared, it is a source of dangerous confusion nowadays when the same term is applied to poems so widely different in nature as the Weaving Songs and, to give only one instance, the lament of the young girl in the famous poem of Marcabru, A la fontana del vergier, which is generally termed a Romance.

“For thogh a widwe hadde noght a sho,
So plesaunt was his In principio,
Yet wolde he have a ferthing er he wente.“
Prologue to Cant. Tales, ll. 253-5.

Exactly what was the Friar's “In principio,” and why did he use it when he went to call on barefoot widows?

These questions evidently suggested themselves to Tyrwhitt, who in his epoch-making edition of the Canterbury Tales (1775), observes: “This phrase is commonly explained to refer to the Beginning of St. John's Gospel. It may also refer to the Beginning of Genesis. In an old French Romance, l'histoire des trois Maries, it seems to signify some passage in the conclusion of the Mass.”

The purpose of this paper is to trace the influence of Cervantes upon Mark Twain, with particular attention to the supposedly autobiographical tales Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer.

A short digression will be necessary at the outset in order to overcome, if possible, an almost universal prejudice. The popular notion is that Mark Twain's genius “just grew,” like Topsy; that he was peculiarly a “self-made” man, the term “self-made” being understood to mean “lacking in book learning.” We like to think that Mark Twain, above all other authors, dug into the virgin soil of his native country, and brought forth rich treasures which could be found nowhere else. We like to say: “What genuine American humor! What a true picture of American boyhood! Nothing of Europe in Mark Twain! Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn are real Americans!”

The entremes, or passo, for the words were early synonymous, is a short dramatic composition, burlesque or farcical in character, used as a passing-scene for purposes of comic relief. In considering these scenes, especially in the early years of their development before they can be looked upon as forming a well-established literary genre, one of the most important considerations is their essentially parasitic character. Scenes that are in every wise entremeses may be found frequently in Spanish plays of the first half of the sixteenth century. What must first and above all determine whether a given passage is or is not entremes in character, is its intercalation as essentially independent of the plot of the play. Other than this, the delimitations of these scenes are by no means fixed and definite. It must be understood, moreover, that the early writers did not in all probability look upon them as actual entremeses. The earliest known uses of the word with reference to a dramatic composition are found in a composition by Horozco frequently cited, and in the prologue to the Comedia de Sepúlveda where the author seems to show a very excellent understanding of their function: “No os puede dar gusto el sujeto ansi desnudo de aquella gracia con que el proceso dél suelen ornar los recitantes y otros muchos entremeses que intervienen por ornamento de la comedia, que no tienen cuerpo en el sujeto della.” Nevertheless, whether looked upon as such or not, these detached scenes contain in germ the future entremes, and cannot be ignored in a consideration of its origin and development.

In commemorating the men who fought for “sir Edward” in the battle “of Inglisch men & Normandes in þe Swyn” Laurence Minot praised John Badding “als one of þe best.” Beyond this tribute, however, Badding has remained unknown to the readers of Minot's poems. In editing these poems, Mr. Joseph Hall surmises that, since Badding's name appears in no other account of the fight at Sluys (1340) the poet “has here inserted the name of some comparatively obscure friend of his.” This friend, he thinks, was probably some person connected with the Robert Badding who was M.P. for Winchelsea in 1371, with the John Badding who was M.P. for Rye between 1386 and 1407, or with the John Badding who, according to Rolls of Parliament, I, 413, was involved in the taking of twenty-four livres worth of goods from a vessel belonging to John Houchoun and Thomas Peverell of Sherborne in 1321-22. It is my purpose to show that, whatever his relation to the M.P.'s for Winchelsea and Rye may have been, the John Badding who was involved in the affair of 1321-22 was probably the person to whom Minot paid tribute for his valor in the fight at Sluys. The evidence for this statement is contained in the record mentioned above and in two other records which identify John Badding with the Cinque Ports and show that he was a well known English seaman of the second quarter of the fourteenth century. With these facts established, the justice of Minot's tribute becomes plausible.

The attempt to contribute, however slightly, to the vast volume of writings on Rousseau is a venture which, all will agree, should be undertaken with diffidence. The character, achievements, and influence of the Great Romanticist have been studied, discussed and debated by so many eminent scholars, that, unless one has something new to offer, the careful critic will consider any attempt to reopen the complex subject as tedious as it is presumptuous. In the present instance, however, the writer feels that he has been fortunate enough to discover some material which, though of modest scope, will nevertheless prove of real interest to lovers of Rousseauiana.

As hero in the romance of scholarship, Desiderius Erasmus has few peers. His fame rests not alone upon his breaking with Scotism and Ciceronianism, but also upon the vigor and validity of the systems which he was instrumental in substituting. In England especially the effects of his doctrines culminated in far-reaching changes of church, state, and university. Most estimates of his career paint him as a Humanistic hero from the first—a master of disputation, a notable author, a scholar in Greek, an educator with theories full-formed, a torch-bearer of Humanism almost before the torch began to blaze.

He who would enter upon anything like an adequate explanation of the remarkably complex and contradictory character of Chaucer's Wife of Bath must expect heavenly guidance and receive aid from the stars. Though one may not be quite prepared to accept entirely the pronouncement that she “is one of the most amazing characters … the brain of man has ever conceived,” still she is so vividly feminine and human, so coarse and shameless in her disclosures of the marital relations with five husbands, and yet so imaginative and delicate in her story-telling, that one is fascinated against his will and beset with an irresistible impulse to analyze her dual personality with the view of locating, if possible, definite causes for the coexistence of more incongruent elements than are ordinarily found in living human beings. Some time ago when I proposed casting the horoscope of the Wife of Bath, it was with the supposition that rules of natural astrology might be used exclusively in the interpretation of certain data, concerning planets and their influence, which Chaucer has furnished us; but it is not entirely so. In the full presentation of the Wife's “fortune”—her character, personal appearance, and the significance and location of mysterious “marks” about her body—constant reference must be made to what the mediæval mind believed to be truths found in the “science” of celestial physiognomy and perhaps of geomancy.

In spite of all that has been done to elucidate this beautiful poem, there still seems to be room to add some items in textual emendation and explanation. The pioneer work of Morris was excellent for its time, and is still to be reckoned with. Gollancz and Osgood have added much in their editions of the poem, and such commentators as Kölbing and Holthausen have made interesting suggestions. Nor must we neglect the critical studies of Fick and Knigge, Fischer and Schumacker. The comments of all of these and of others who have less fully considered the poem must be read and weighed by any who would understand this nameless poet, who at his best may be ranked with the great ones of the fourteenth century. His language, however, and sometimes his careless indication of sentence union and transition make the closest reading necessary.

To the world of letters the legend of Hiawatha connotes Longfellow, without whose popular treatment it would be as little known as the adventures of Coyote or Raven, or a dozen other culture heroes of the Red Men. Since Longfellow's poem is the only form in which American Indian legend has reached the great mass of civilized men, the question of its authenticity must present itself to the general reader of American literature no less than to the student of literary relations. Do sixty years of active work on the part of ethnologists and folk-lorists show that Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha is truly Indian in theme, atmosphere, and spirit? To essay an answer to this question is the purpose of the present study.

Walter Savage Landor's professions, found everywhere in his letters, that he is writing for the few, and his rather studied contempt of the aura popularis are best illustrated by his epic poem, Gebir, first published in 1798. For this extraordinary poem the guests are, indeed, few and select. Southey's admiration for the epic was unbounded; Lamb refers to its creator as “Gebir Landor” ; and Shelley read and re-read the poem. Yet so unknown was Gebir to the general reader that De Quincey remarked that Gebir had “the sublime distinction, for some time, of having enjoyed only two readers, Southey and myself.” And Miss Seward wrote Todd, the editor of Spenser and Milton, that Gebir was “the most unintelligible fustian that ever bore the name of an epic poem.”

Writers almost always, either consciously or unconsciously, make of their books mirrors of their personalities, eagerly exposing every trait to the public. But occasionally a writer wears a mask before this literary mirror and the public sees him only in disguise save perhaps in the pages of his intimate correspondence. Such a man was Hippolyte Taine, and it is a curious task to study this reserved scholar as he reveals himself in his books, to watch for the rare lines where he has dropped his mask in unguarded moments of secret ambition, of ennui or despair, of sudden mockery or mirth.