dence of independent authorities. People who repeat a myth about what took place "a long time ago" are not authorities, since they had no means themselves of ascertaining the truth; and they are not independent, because the narrative probably sprang first from some professed "maker" (poet) in prose or verse, instead of flowing from a great number of different sources like the authentic tradition of a national migration or an important battle.

Investigators may therefore take this as a canon of historical credibility: :

A current narrative not founded on contemporary evidence cannot be maintained against objections from intrinsic improbability, or from discrepancies and variations. But if its items are such as might very well have happened, and are an adequate explanation of subsequent facts, and if it cannot be traced to individual invention, but seems to have grown up naturally as a genuine tradition; and, further, if it stands alone without a rival narrative, then scepticism is uncalled for.

Next let us suppose ourselves dealing with authorities who were within reach of the truth, and were independent of one another, but liable, of course, to error.

What is the precise importance of coincidence between them, or between different passages in the same authority? And what is the importance of discrepancy, whether in the way of variation or omission ?

The favourite and well-deserved epithet for coincidences is striking. Here is a phenomenon which, once noticed, cannot be neglected. A cause for it must exist, and is readily found in the reality of the event recorded by one writer, but merely alluded to or implied by the others.

Is this the only cause? We must be on our guard here.

Certainly the phenomenon is one that cannot be accidental and meaningless, and its importance has been fully recognised ever since the publication of Paley's Hora Paulina. Only one inference, however, is quite safe the rule will cover the rare cases of its introduction into fictitious narratives by ingenious authors-namely, that the thing which forms the subject of the "undesigned coincidence' was very deeply impressed upon the mind of each writer who "undesignedly" alludes to it or implies it-so deeply as to influence his. thoughts and language whenever he touched upon it. More briefly, we cannot doubt that he had got the thing thoroughly into his head. "How he could have got it into his head if it is not true" is, therefore, the point to be cleared up by those who wish to deny it.

We have to note one comprehensive explanation and one caution.

The character of a hero, and the date and locality of his chief (supposed) adventures, become exceeding familiar to his countrymen and admirers. Hence we find very subtle coincidences in early Greek authors concerning the famous Hercules and Achilles.

The caution is, to limit the proving power of coincidences to the one fact in which the authorities concur, with, of course, its necessary antecedents and consequents. We must not pledge ourselves to any separable surroundings or avoidable inferences. Here is an instance :

The details of the visit paid to Spires by St. Bernard of Clairvaux, while he was preaching up the Second Crusade, are related in two independent narratives, both composed by persons who were there at the time and had the fullest means of

information. By a sudden

enthusiastic appeal he had prevailed upon the reluctant Emperor Conrad to become a Crusader. One of the writers, Godfrey, in his "Life of Bernard," tells us that while the saint was being escorted by Conrad to his lodging, the people brought him a lame boy, whom he cured instantaneously, and that while he was at mass in the chapel near the canon's apartments he restored sight to a blind woman. Our other authority, one Philip (in a diary kept by himself and nine others for the express purpose of recording the exact truth), states that Bernard, in his own presence, healed a lame boy, on the same day as he made his speech to the Emperor, while at mass in the bishop's chapel, and afterwards restored sight to a blind man. Both historians lay much stress on the cure of the lame boy; and as Godfrey wrote his biography some ten years later-so that mistakes in details do not impair his authority-we cannot but be struck by the coincidences of the two narratives in this material point, and we are bound to believe that St. Bernard went through some public performance with a (professedly) lame boy, in or near a chapel, on the day that Conrad took the cross.

Next as to discrepancies.

First from Omission. No omission is of any importance unless the author must have been acquainted with the event if it had really happened; unless also the design of his work made it absolutely necessary for him to mention such an event if he did know of it; and, further, unless the omission cannot possibly be considered a mere slip or accident.

Thus Livy does not tell us of the commercial treaty made between

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Rome and Carthage B.c. 509; but he may not have had access to the archives in which Polybius discovered it; while, on the other hand, if Belisarius had ever really become a blind beggar, Procopius, his companion and a contemporary historian, must have known it; and, having known it, Procopius must have mentioned it in his account of that famous general's life and misfortunes, or else must be condemned as a feeble, stupid biographer. Though a historian of the war between the Northern and Southern American States might know, but need not inform the world, that one of the most famous of the Northern generals is now manager of a drygoods store.

It was by a mere slip that Marco Polo omitted from his narrative of travel all notice of the Chinese Wall, the design of the work requiring its insertion; but the silence of Josephus with regard to the Christian Church warrants the strongest suspicion that, like the Pharisees with regard to the baptism of John, he could not and would not tell "whether it was from heaven or of men.' The omission is a proof of disingenuousness; while a silence on the same subject in the philosophical works of Seneca, who flourished in the reign of Nero, proves him strangely unacquainted with the noblest moral system of his time-the omission is a proof of ignorance.

Omissions are highly significant if they occur in the earlier as compared with the later versions of a story intrinsically improbable. Montaigne (quoted by Bentham) shrewdly observes: "When men repeat an improbable story, they find out its weak points, and supplement it by inventions," neces

sarily true, they perceive, if the story itself is true. Thus, if Belisarius, after his disgrace, was reduced to the last degree of pauperism, he must have taken to beggingtherefore the great general became a beggar. But he would not have condescended to beg if he could

have worked-therefore he was incapacitated for work by blindness. And if he begged he must have been glad of the smallest coins— therefore he used to say Date obolum, "Please a penny for Belisarius."