sacred olive-trees of the academy, "crowned with white reeds, smelling of bindweed and careless hours and leafshedding poplar, rejoicing in the prime of spring, when the plane-tree whispers to the elm."* But, though there may be less grace there is more grandeur in our ideal of youth, making by hard work, which yet does not forbid bright play, the man that is to be. Our spirits may be without the open sense for the beautiful which made life in their land and under their sky so delightsome to the Greeks, but our world is a greater wonderland than theirs, our makrokosm is more immense, our mikrokosm more inexhaustible. The stars in heaven about the moon may look no more beautiful to us than they did to Homer, but they have a mightier meaning, speak to our imagination as they could not speak to his. Our nature may have less music, but it has more mystery, touches the spirit with a deeper and softer awe. Our earth has grown to us so old that its age has made our time widen into eternity. The very language we speak has its terms packed with the science of many ages and the wisdom born of many experiences. "Gravitation" is but a word, yet to learn it is to possess not only the great thought of Newton, but the many discoveries that made it possible. "God" does not simply translate the Hebrew Elohim, the Greek Ocós, or the Teutonic Gutha, but represents to us a Being in whom the might the

* Aristophanes, "Nubes," 989-995. See the beautiful paragraph in Mr. Symonds' "Studies of the Greek Poets," pp. 267-69, 1st series.

Hebrew adored, the beauty the Greek loved, and the paternity the Teuton revered, are unified, sublimed, and personalized. The vehicle has deepened with the thought it bears, yet has become no harder to acquire and carry. And the spirit which finds so much in its own speech can find as much in others. Greek has told to us more of its secrets, its parts, its roots, the past it embalms, than ever it told to Sokrates or Plato, subtle master as he was of its music. Everywhere has a deeper meaning come into Nature, and mind now sits in the shadow of immenser mysteries, now rejoices in the sunshine of a more glorious light. Yet with all it has to learn and to bear, the spirit of to-day may be as bright and gladsome as any that ever recited the measures of Homer or the wisdom of Hesiod ere sophists had begun to trouble or philosophers to teach. So does the individual grow with the society, less encumbered by a rich and varied than by a poor and narrow culture.

Now, the becoming of the civilization which has so enriched both the society and the individual is what we have here to understand. It is here regarded as a creation of man, the fruit of energies experience has educed, not created. It has, indeed, been a cause as well as an effect, has helped to develop the nature that developed it. The action has been reciprocal, the creation has educated the creator. But he has been the active and causal force, it the passive and occasional. The variety of the elements in civilization is thus due to the variety of the creative capa

bilities in man. It is at once the mirror and the fruit of mind. And as the minds concerned in its making were many, and were variously gifted and endowed, their qualities are reflected and reproduced in their work. Hence the creators must explain the creation, the peoples that have civilized the civilization they have made. These, then, must first be understood.

II.

As our work must be historical, while analytical, we must begin by attempting to form as clear and coherent a picture as is possible of the two races as they existed in what is the nearest point we can reach to the primitive and simply potential state. Our light is of the dim, but not altogether uncertain, sort supplied by Comparative Philology and Mythology; but such as it is, we must do our best to see by it. We begin with the Indo-Europeans.*

Centuries before the dawn of history, how many we need not attempt to guess, there lived in central and western

* The materials used in the following sketch of the pre-historic IndoEuropean civilization are derived from Max Müller's Essay on Comparative Mythology, "Chips," vol. ii.; Pictet's "Les Origines des Indo-Européennes," a most interesting work, but not too trustworthy; Fick's "Vergleichendes Wörterbuch der Indo-Germanischen Sprachen," and "Die Ehemalige Spracheinheit der Indo-Germanen Europas." My obligations are greatest to Fick. A very useful and readable essay on the same subject appears in the volume of Essays and Addresses by Professors of Owen's College "Some Historical Results of the Science of Language," by Professor A. S. Wilkins.

Asia a tribe or clan still nomadic, yet not altogether without the rude beginnings of agriculture. They had a language rich in words and inflections, old enough to have lost and won much by the processes that have been termed phonetic decay and dialectical regeneration. Though without cities, they had what may be called a civilization, rudimentary indeed, but with rudiments plastic, expansive, generous. The man was named vīra, the desirer, the being laden with the instincts that made home and created society, and became in defence of the home he had made the strong, the hero. The woman was ganā and gāni, the fruitful, the childbearer. The man who had become a husband was pati, master, lord; the woman who was his wife was patnia, mistress, lady—through marriage the one realized manhood, the other womanhood, wife never being in the common speech of our family the synonyme of domestic slave. The man become a father was pātar, protector, provider; the woman become a mother was mātar, the measurer, the manager, who ruled home and distributed to old and young the food she cooked. The children were to the parents, the son sūna, the begetter, not the begotten, named from what he was to be, not from what he was; and the daughter dhughtar, the milker, so named, not because she was the primitive dairymaid, but because she was to be a giver of milk, a full-breasted nurse. To each other the children were not man and woman, or still worse, husband and wife, but bhrātār, brother, sustainer, defender,

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at once winner of bread and guardian of the home treasures, and svasar, sister, one's own, the pre-eminently mine, child and light of the home. When marriage came to create new relations the daughter-in-law was sunu-sā, the son-ess, with as good a standing in the family as her husband, yet though a young wife, not a mistress, the fatherin-law being svasura, my master, the mother-in-law svasru, my mistress. The grandchild was napat, the descendant; the widow, vidhavā, the bereft, the spoiled of Death, the great robber. The family lived in a house graced by a door, surrounded by a court, where, perhaps, the householder gathered his cattle for milking, his sheep for shearing, and where stood stalls for his horses. His flocks and herds constituted his wealth, which, by aid of his faithful dog, he drove and tended. He knew and had named fowls, wild and domestic, beasts of prey as well as of burden, plants noxious and nutritious; had, too, discovered the more common metals, and made himself weapons of offence and defence. He could kindle a fire and use it for cooking, could weave clothes for himself from the wool his sheep supplied. He knew how to make and use the boat and the oar; had observed and named the greater objects and the grander phenomena of Nature, had made the moon measure the month. He had distinguished his senses and knew their uses. He could count as high, at least, as a hundred, could compare, had a greater and less, a better and best. He had a polity, the notion of law he had formu