"Say," said Semo's blue-eyed son, "say how fell the chiefs of Erin. Fell they by the sons of Lochlin, striving in the battle of heroes? Or what confines the strong in arms to the dark and narrow house?"

"Cathba," replied the hero, "fell by the sword of Duchômar at the oak of the noisy streams. Duchômar came to Tura's cave; he spoke to the lovely Morna. 'Morna, fairest among women, lovely daughter of strong-armed Cormac ! Why in the circle of stones; in the cave of the rock alone? The stream murmurs along. The old tree groans in the wind. The lake is troubled before thee: dark are the clouds of the sky! But thou art snow on the heath; thy hair is the mist of Cromla, when it curls on the hill, when it shines to the beam of the west! Thy breasts are two smooth rocks seen from Branno of streams. Thy arms, like two white pillars in the halls of the great Fingal.'

"From whence,' the fair-haired maid whence Duchômar, most gloomy of men? brows and terrible!

replied, 'from Dark are thy Red are thy rolling eyes! Does Swaran What of the foe, Duchômar?'

appear on the sea? 'From the hill I return, O Morna, from the hill of the dark-brown hinds. Three have I slain with my bended yew. Three with my long-bounding dogs of the chase. Lovely daughter of Cormac, I love thee as my soul: I have slain one stately deer for thee. High was his branchy head, and fleet his feet of wind.' 'Duchômar,' calm the maid replied, 'I love thee not, thou gloomy man! hard is thy heart of rock; dark is thy terrible brow. But Câthba, young son of Torman, thou art the love of Morna. Thou art a sunbeam, in the day of the gloomy storm. Sawest thou the son of Torman, lovely on the hill of his hinds? Here the daughter of Cormac waits the coming of Cathba!'"

"Long shall Morna wait,' Duchomar said, 'long shall Morna wait for Cathba! Behold this sword unsheathed! Here wanders the blood of Cathba. Long shall Morna wait. He fell by the stream of Branno. On Croma I will raise his tomb, daughter of blue-shielded Cormac! Turn on Duchômar thine eyes; his arm is strong as a storm.' 'Is the son of Torman fallen?' said the wildly-bursting voice of the maid;

'is he fallen on his echoing hills, the youth with the breast of snow? the first in the chase of hinds! the foe of the strangers of ocean! Thou art dark to me, Duchomar; cruel is thine arm to Morna! Give me that sword, my foe! I loved the wandering blood of Cathba!'

"He gave the sword to her tears. She pierced his manly breast! He fell, like the bank of a mountain stream, and stretching forth his hand, he spoke: 'Daughter of blueshielded Cormac! Thou hast slain me in youth! the sword is cold in my breast! Morna, I feel it cold. Give me to Moina the maid. Duchômar was the dream of her night! She will raise my tomb; the hunter shall raise my fame. But draw the sword from my breast. Morna, the steel is cold!' She came, in all her tears she came; she drew the sword from his breast. He pierced her white side! He spread her fair locks on the ground! Her bursting blood sounds from her side her white arm is stained with red. Rolling in death she lay. The cave re-echoed to her sighs."

"Peace," said Cuthullin, "to the souls of the heroes! their deeds were great in fight. Let them ride around me on clouds. Let them show their features of war. My soul shall then be firm in danger; mine arm like the thunder of heaven! But be thou on a moonbeam, O Morna! near the window of my rest; when my thoughts are of peace; when the din of arms is past. Gather the strength of the tribes! Move to the wars of Erin!"

FROISSART'S Book.

I, Sir John Froissart, treasurer and canon of Chimay, had, during my stay in Abbeville, a great desire to see the Kingdom of England; more especially since it was a time of truce. Several reasons urged me to make this journey, but principally because in my youth I had been educated at the court of King Edward, and that good Lady Philippa, his queen, with their children. I had taken care to form a collection of all the poetry on love and morality that I had composed during the last twenty-four years, which I had caused to be fairly written and illuminated. I was also minded to go to England from a desire to see King Richard, whom I had not seen since the time of his christening in the cathedral of Bordeaux; and my book of poesy, finely ornamented, bound in velvet, and decorated with silver-gilt clasps and studs, I took as a present for him. Having provided myself with horses, I crossed from Calais to Dover, on the 12th day of July, and on Wednesday by nine o'clock arrived at Canterbury, to visit the shrine of St. Thomas and the tomb of the late Prince of Wales, who had been buried there. I heard high mass, made my offerings at the shrine, and returned to my inn for dinner; when I heard that the king was to come on a pilgrimage to St. Thomas. I thought, therefore, that it would be well to wait his arrival, which I did; and on the morrow he came in great state, accompanied by lords and ladies, with whom I mixed; but they were all new faces to me. I did not remember one of them; times and persons had greatly changed since I was last in England, eighty-and-twenty years past. I addressed myself to Sir Thomas Percy, High Steward of England, whom I found gracious and of agreeable manners, and who offered to present me to the king.

On being introduced to the king I was graciously and kindly received. He took all the letters I presented to him, and having read them attentively, said I was welcome, and since I had belonged to the household of the late king and queen, I must consider myself still as of the royal household of England. This day I did not offer him the book I had brought, for Sir Thomas Percy told me it was not a fit opportunity, as he was much occupied with serious business.

On the Sunday the whole council went to London except the Duke of York, who remained with the king, and Sir Richard Sturry. These two, in conjunction with Sir Thomas Percy, mentioned me again to the king, who desired to see the book I had brought for him. I presented it to him in his chamber, and laid it upon his bed. He opened it and looked into it with much pleasure. He ought to have been pleased, for it was handsomely written and illuminated, and bound in crimson velvet, with ten silver-gilt studs, and roses of the same in the middle, with two large clasps of silver-gilt, richly worked with roses in the center. The king asked me what the book treated of. I replied-Of love. He was pleased with the answer, and dipped into several places, reading parts aloud; for he read and spoke French perfectly well; and then gave it to one of his knights to carry to his oratory, and made me many acknowledgments for it.

INTRODUCTION

ΤΟ

THE STUDY OF THE RENAISSANCE

BY

KENNETH MCKENZIE, Ph. D., Yale University.

OWEVER convenient it may be to divide the progress of the world into accurately dated periods, every student knows that history is not made up of a series of abrupt changes, but of long processes of gradual development. Each period of history, while deriving its character from the ages that have preceded, lays the foundations of the ages that are to follow. Thus it is impossible to fix an exact date when the Middle Ages began after the fall of ancient civilization, or ended with the dawn of the Renaissance. The supremacy of the Greeks was gradually superseded by that of the Romans; and they in turn were overwhelmed by Germanic invasions from the north, and by influences from the Orient. Europe became Christianized; the men of the Middle Ages were very different from their classical ancestors. Then in the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the period which we call Renaissance, "rebirth," a renewed and more intelligent interest in antiquity begins, which leads by gradual steps to the civilization of the twentieth century. It is a fascinating study to compare the culture of the past with that of our own day; to realize the point of view of men in other ages; and to see how most of our modern ideas on all subjects-political, social, ethical, literary, artistic-are inherited by a slow process of development from remote antiquity.

For centuries after the beginning of the Renaissance, the literature, the art, and the social usages of the preceding period were regarded as barbarous. "Gothic" was used as a term of reproach, and the only standards of taste were those