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at all. Noble uses are begotten of noble ideals, and noble ideals are intelligible forms which stand to noble actions as their raison d'être.

When this is once settled for the inner life of the individual, outward matters become clear. Friendship, society and politics, the State, all are the result of proper activities of the individual expressing himself in the terms of fellow-relationships.

The author speaks of Socrates as a personality, as an incessant intellect, a pathfinder without a map, possessed of self-reliance in thought and in the art of living, gregarious and loquacious, possessed too of a keen sense of humor, and of unique balance of soul, of moral grandeur such that what he deemed good we deem good. He was the true superman.

The "influences" of this man, the author points out, were felt chiefly by his immediate acquaintances. His greatest influence after his death was, of course, upon Plato. The great master gave his great disciple the literary form of the dialogue, the impulse to recognize reality in ideas, and a model for conduct in his own personality. He stimulated scientific thought and methods of inquiry which took systematic form in the masterful genius of Aristotle. With much truth may it

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Studies in Magic from Latin Literature. By Eugene Tavenner. New York: Columbia University Press (1916). Pp. x + 155. $1.25 net. The purpose of this Columbia University dissertation, as stated in its Preface, is "first, to furnish a general introduction to Roman magic, especially as reflected in Latin literature; and then, to add, as a specimen of detailed study, a chapter on Roman prophylactic magic".

To this beginning the author hopes later to add chapters on such subjects as Magic and Curative Medicine, The Number Three in Magic, and Spitting as an Act of Magic. The investigation is limited to Latin literature from the beginning through the third century of our era, excluding epigraphical and archaeological material and omitting Greek literature save "when it bears directly upon our discussion". These limits have, of course, been imposed by the necessity of keeping a doctor's dissertation within reasonable compass, and are evidently well understood by the writer to be artificial, but for the general reader, with a feeble command of the sources, yet interested in the subject of magic among the Romans, a limitation which practically excludes any treatment of Vergil's eighth Eclogue because that poem was borrowed from Theocritus (page 28, note 142) and which admits the evidence of Livy and Pliny while excluding that of Dionysius and Plutarch must be regarded as unfortunate. Again, the elimination of epigraphical and archaeological material has had comparatively little effect in the part thus

far published, but, should the work be extended to include the remainder of Roman magic, the important subjects of the defixio and the evil eye would require that such material be included.

These necessary qualifications once made, it must be said that Professor Tavenner has done his work with care and good sense. He first discusses the meaning of magus and magia and defines magic (7) as "an act based on medicine, astrology, and religion, whereby man attempts to control the gods and thereby to control natural phenomena in accordance with his own selfish desires". Its source and antiquity in Italy are treated and the opinions of Latin authors in regard to it are passed in a detailed review (26-60). Chapter II (61-123) deals with the relations between medical magic and religion and scientific medicine; with amulets, their uses, materials, and purposes; with prophylactic means other than amulets; and with the theory of sympathia underlying prophylactic magic in general. So much for the plan of the work. A few questions of detail may here be raised. Whether "Studies from is a happy phrase for the title seems at least open to dispute. In dealing with Horace (38) the work of Belli, Magia e Pregiudizii in Q. Orazio Flacco (1895), might be cited. On page 39 Dr. Tavenner is inclined to emphasize Horace's weakness for magic. Yet (1) an entire rationalist in such matters might like, from curiosity, to visit the fakers of the circus; (2) Carmina 1.11.1-3 need only imply Leuconoe's belief in the Babylonii numeri, not any belief on the part of the poet; and (3) in the reference to the evil eye (Epp. 1.14.37-38) it must be remembered that Horace is writing to his vilicus and is using an argument calculated to appeal to him. On pages 44-45, in the discussion of the relation of Apuleius to magic, reference should have been made to the elaborate work of Abt, Die Apologie des Apuleius von Madaura und die Antike Zauberei (1908). The belief of Lentulus (page 49, note 259) that he would be the third Cornelius to reign at Rome hardly falls in the sphere of magic. The attitude of Pliny the Elder toward magic practices may perhaps be more easily understood if we admit the view of Detlefsen, quoted by Schanz, Geschichte der Römischen Litteratur, 2.23 (1913), 489, that Pliny's interests were essentially for the practical rather than for the truly scientific. On the subject of knots (63) reference might well be made to Heckenbach, De Nuditate Sacra Sacrisque Vinculis (1911), especially Part 2, and for incubation (65) the important treatise of Deubner, De Incubatione (1900), should be noted, as perhaps also the work of Mary Hamilton, Incubation (1906). Though the general principle of sympathia in magic is well established, its application to individual cases is often difficult, and probably not all readers will accept without misgiving the explanations for the magic use of cherry seeds (115, 122), or of the milk teeth of boys (117). On page 122 it might be suggested that the notion of the keen sight of dragons is probably connected with the etymology of the word (from dépкoμai). The writer might have cited more carefully the names of authors of encyclopedia articles (e. g. in Chapter I, notes 32, 38, 40, 80, 96, 226). In the Selected Bibliographical Index (125-127) one misses the important articles of Hubert (in Daremberg et Saglio, s. v. Magia: though Dr. Tavenner cites this on pages 8 and 17), and Riess (in Pauly-Wissowa, s. v. Aberglaube, much of it covering similar ground to that traversed by Dr. Tavenner). That of K. F. Smith in Hastings's Encyclopaedia of Religion and Ethics 8 (1916), 269-289, probably appeared too late to be used. For comparative purposes one would also gladly see in the list such works as von Hovorka v. Kronfeld's Vergleichende Volksmedizin (2 volumes, 1908–1909), and Seligmann's

Der Böse Blick (2 volumes, 1910), while on the relations between magic and religion Toy's Introduction to the History of Religions (1913) might well have been cited. But these matters, like a half dozen minor misprints, are but details. The work as a whole shows extensive and thoughtful reading in the authors and maturity of judgment in presenting the results obtained. It is to be hoped that the author will continue it to include the other departments of magic and that in his more comprehensive work he may be able to enlarge somewhat his field of observation so as to admit some of the rich illustrative material from other sources, especially Greek, that would add much to the value of the work. CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETts. ARTHUR STANLEY PEASE.

A Study of Archaism in Euripides. By Clarence Augustus Manning. New York: Columbia University Press (1916). Pp. 98. $1.25.

Euripides was so clearly the poet of the future rather than of the past that we are apt to notice his innovations in the form and the content of tragedy and overlook his debt to his predecessors. This is especially true of his relation to Aeschylus, for the barbed shafts of Aristophanic humor have left an ineradicable impression of the antagonism between the two poets. In recent years, however, resemblances have been noted, and one modern scholar (E. Schwartz, Characterköpfe aus der Antiken Literatur, 34) has declared that Euripides, and not Sophocles, is the true successor of Aeschylus. Starting with this thesis O. Krausse, in his dissertation De Euripide Aeschyli Instauratore (Jena, 1905), noted (1) certain classes of words which are common to Aeschylus and Euripides, but which rarely or never occur in Sophocles, (2) similarities, especially in language, in the treatment of the same myths by the two poets, and (3) features in the structure and the content of his dramas in which Euripides differs from Sophocles but agrees with Aeschylus. Dr. Krausse concluded (238) that, while Sophocles, as exponent of the tragic art, was related to Aeschylus in much the same way as Plato was related to Socrates, or Aristotle to Plato, Euripides is not the successor, but rather the 'reviver' of Aeschylus. It might be thought that this bulky monograph (in size equal to about three of the average German doctoral dissertations) had exhausted the material. But Dr. Manning, whose objective is similar to that of Dr. Krausse in the third part of the latter's dissertation, has done, in his own Columbia University dissertation, an independent piece of work which either covers new ground or else, in a few cases, treats the same features in a new way and with different results. The present study considers "some of the ways in which Euripides set himself to restore and revivify old forms of tragedy and older usages, and in which he carried on the tradition of Aeschylus". The first three chapters deal with structural principles (The Structure of the Drama, 1-26; The Prologues and Epilogues, 27-30; The Parodos, 31-43); the next three discuss the use of certain meters (The Iambic Speeches of the Chorus, 44-50; The Anapaest, 51-55 the Trochaic Tetrameter, 56-63); and the last three touch upon Description (64-67), Dreams (68-72), and The Religion of Euripides (his attitude towards Dionysus, Apollo and Athena, 73-96). A brief bibliography concludes the work. In each chapter the author compares Euripides with the other two tragic poets, and concludes that he is following Aeschylus rather than Sophocles. Archaism in the stricter sense-the revival of features of pre-Aeschylean tragedy is seen, he maintains, in the loose or epic structure of the tragedies of Euripides (26), in his use of tetrameters (63), and in his admiration for Dionysus and his hatred of Apollo (92).

Dr. Manning has collected much interesting material. His discussion of the structure of the extant Greek tragedies is stimulating, and the metrical analyses of the parodoi (Chapter III) and of the use of anapests by the three tragic poets (Chapter V) will be found useful for reference. We can agree with him that in the features of tragedy which he has studied Euripides shows a greater likeness to Aeschylus than to Sophocles. But it is well to bear in mind some considerations which should have due weight in determining how far we can admit that Euripides was consciously archaistic.

In the first place, it was a common tendency of the Greeks to adopt features that had been discovered or invented by their predecessors and even by their contemporaries. It is therefore natural that Euripides should have followed Aeschylus in many respects, just as in the speech of the messenger and in the juristic debate he was developing features of the Sophoclean tragedy. Before we can be sure that he took Aeschylus as his model we need to know his debt to Sophocles in other respects, and likewise the debt of Sophocles to Aeschylus. And we cannot ascertain this conclusively so long as we possess only about one-tenth of the dramas which the three poets composed.

Again, mere similarity does not always imply imitation. For example, because the Hippolytus falls into a three-fold division, it is not necessary to conclude with Dr. Manning (13) that Euripides took an 'epic', i. e. Aeschylean, type of the drama as his model. The divisions of the Hippolytus (I. Prologos; II. the fate of Phaedra; III. the fate of Hippolytus) may be paralleled by those of the Antigone (I. Prologos; II. the fate of Antigone; III. the fate of Creon).

Furthermore, the dramatic situation often determines the attitude of the poet. That Apollo is clearly in the wrong in the Ion is no more reason for the inference that Euripides hated Apollo than is the attitude of Prometheus towards Zeus in the Prometheus Bound evidence that Aeschylus hated the father of the gods. For political reasons an Athenian poet might well be opposed to the influence of Delphi (91), but the Alcestis shows that, if the plot so required, Apollo might be presented in a more favorable light.

Finally, the individuality and aims of the poet constitute a sufficient explanation of some of the striking characteristics of his dramas. Euripides cared more for the tragic effect than for the artistic beauty of his drama as a whole. This, in the opinion of the reviewer, sufficiently accounts for the loose structure of his tragedies, the introduction of the extraneous, the stereotyped prologues and many other features, without reference to the influence of Aeschylus.

These considerations should make us somewhat cautious in accepting Dr. Manning's theory of archaism in all its implications, but they do not detract from the real value of his study. This consists, like that of Professor Teuffelsdröckh's famous work, in the extent to which it "excites us to self-activity, which is the best effect of any book".

The bibliography is not intended to be complete. A reference to Diederich's Mutter Erde would have strengthened the reasons for postulating archaism in the attitude of Euripides towards Xov (71, 89), and Professor Goodell's article on Structural Variety in Attic Tragedy, in The Transactions of the American Philological Association, 41 (1910), 71-98, deserved mention in Chapters I-III. Dr. Manning has used Henning, De Tragicorum Narrationibus (Göttingen, 1910), but does not name the equally important dissertation of Rassow, Quaestiones Selectae De Euripidis Nuntiorum Narrationibus (Greifswald, 1883), and that of Fischl, De Nuntiis Tragicis (Vienna, 1910). UNIVERSITY OF VERMONT.



Entered as second-class matter November 18, 1907, at the Post Office, New York, N. Y., under the Act of Congress of March 1, 1879

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Aeneid 1.694; 1.478; 1.636


(1) Some time ago I received the following letter: I have reached again, in my teaching of Vergil, Aeneid 1.694, and I am once more impressed with the difficulty of rendering that line satisfactorily. As the marjoram is a small plant of the mint family, in what way can it suggest shade? Your note does not touch upon this difficulty, nor does any of the editions of Vergil to which I have access.

On looking the matter up, in many different editions, I found that my correspondent was right about the editors.

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It makes no real difference how the syntax of this passage is explained. It matters little whether (1) we say that dulci adspirans umbra helps to express the means of amaracus complectitur, and so may be joined by et to the instrumental ablative floribus, with the added explanation that et and que are frequently used to unite expressions which, though unlike in form, are alike in meaning and function, or (2) we regard et as joining only floribus and dulci umbra, which in turn are taken together with adspirans. The meaning clearly is that the amaracus had flowers and threw shade.

On the latter matter, the umbra of the amaracus, I found just one thing which gave any help at all: Robinson Ellis's note on Catullus 61.6-7, cinge tempora floribus suave olentis amaraci, part of the address to Hymenaeus.

Ellis's note runs as follows:

Columella indeed seems to imply that amaracus had a conspicuous flower; for he combines it with narcissus and pomegranate blossom (balaustium), and this after a simile in which he compares the bright children of the gardens with the moon, Sirius, Mars, Hesperus and the rain-bow (x. 288-297). Both Catullus and Vergil also speak of the flowers of amaracus (Aen. i. 694), and Vergil, like Columella, implies that it was a plant of some height (umbra). If, then, amaracus was marjoram, it must have been an exotic, indeed an oriental variety, hardly comparable with the plant known in the colder parts of Europe.

In Pauly-Wissowa, Real-Encyclopädie der Classischen Altertumswissenschaft, under Amarakos, 2, P. Wagler, writing in 1894, held that amaracus was probably Origanum Majorana L., something different from our marjoram, which, he says, was brought from

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Arabia to Italy in the fourteenth or the fifteenth century. He says it did not commonly grow wild, but was cultivated in gardens: this latter statement rests on Pliny the Elder (21.176). Wagler does not, however, anywhere describe it, with reference, I mean, to its size. In Pliny's description of amaracus (21.59, 61, 67, 176, etc.) I find nothing about its size. To-day marjoram plants grow two feet high. If a lot of such plants were growing together, as they were evidently growing in Venus's grove, then, even if we assume the identity of our modern plant with the ancient amaracus, we may say that a child or young boy could be laid among them, and they would envelop him with umbra and odor. The Britannica says that wild marjoram, a perennial common in dry copses and on hedge-banks, has many stout stems 1 to 3 feet high.

One thing is plain. Whatever plant Vergil meant, he meant something big enough to give shade. It may be noted here that Vergil's myrtle was different from our myrtle, at least in Aeneid 3.23 (see the editors there). (2) Another correspondent asked my opinion of the following note, copied from an old edition, on Aeneid 1.478:

Versa pulvis inscribitur hasta. Non hasta Troili, quam adhuc manu retineret; nam amissis armis, id est dilapsis, ferebatur: et sola lora manu implicata retinebat. Igitur hasta Achillis, quae per Troili pectus adacta, et cum eo resupino inversa, ferro pulverem sulcabat1.

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this note, is possible only if Troilus was hit in the back while running away. If he was hit in the breast, and, as in the picture given by Vergil, he was resupinus, flat on his back, then the point of the spear, not the butt, would be writing in the dust.

It would seem that the unknown editor cited by my correspondent was bothered by the words amissis

. armis, 474. If, however, we take verses 474478, as a whole, as we are in duty bound to do, and then recall that common characteristic of Vergil's narrative style, the characteristic which I have ventured to call Vergil's "indirection" (see the Introduction to my edition, § 225, and the references under the caption Indirection, in the Index, page 552), we shall see that in 474, when he wrote amissis armis, Vergil

meant armis extra (or praeter) hastam amissis.

The edition was not named. It was merely described as published in New York in 1822, and as having all its notes in Latin.

Surely we get far finer pathos if we understand hasta, in 478, of Troilus's own spear. The spear on which, poor foolish lad, he had relied, even against Achilles is now writing in the dust! Even in death he clings with his left hand to the reins (his car, part of his warlike equipment), and with his right hand he clings to his spear: the point of the spear is, not in Achilles's heart, but in the dust.

To the note in my edition I may add a few words here. As Troilus fell over backwards, facing his foe, part of his body was somehow caught in (by) the car; his head struck the ground. In the picture Vergil is describing, he lies on his back. As his (frightened) horses drag him along, his right hand, fastened with a death grip to his spear, flies back full length, its point up, its butt writing in the dust.

In Silius Italicus, an imitator of Vergil, 4.254 ff., we have a passage mayhap based on Aeneid 1.474-478. There a man



tractus equi, vinctis conexa ad cingula membris. Longa cruor sparso liquit vestigia campo, et tremulos cuspis ductus in pulvere signat. This gives, in part, the same picture as most editors find in Vergil's lines.

(3) Another correspondent, who described himself as taking a Summer Session course in a certain College, wrote taking issue with the instructor in that course, who had translated dii in Aeneid 1.636 in two different ways, (1) as the genitive singular of dies, and (2) as the nominative plural of deus. Neither translation seemed to the student to give a good sense. He declared that he had himself solved the difficulty, by supplying mittunt as the verb to dii, taken as the nominative plural of deus. He thought it reasonable to supply mittunt in 636, because mittit occurs in 633. Against this suggestion, however, lie two objections, both serious. In the first place, if mittunt be supplied, we have a troublesome case of asyndeton between mittit in 633 and mittunt in 636. In the second place, the whole passage takes on an extraordinary aspect, because we have Vergil saying that Dido sent to the shores certain things (named in detail), but that the gods sent the munera laetitiamque! For what purpose, then, one may ask, did Dido send the tauri, the sues, the cum matribus agni?

Conington read dei and construed it as the genitive singular of deus; he regards the whole phrase munera laetitiamque dei as equivalent to vinum. This seems to me a curiously awkward and un-Vergilian description of wine. To see how unclear a description this would be we have only to turn back to Aeneid 1.214–215. In adopting this reading and explanation, Conington was anticipated, as it happens, by Servius.

We have strong ancient testimony in support of the reading dii, as the genitive singular of dies, in this

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part from Servius. Servius mentions three readings, dei (which he explains as equal to Liberi patris), dii, and die; he interprets both dii and die as the genitive singular of dies.

I cannot agree at all with Conington's dictum that "it would be difficult to affix any precise sense to the line if 'dii' were read". What objection is there to the translation 'as gifts wherewith to enjoy the day'? The use of an appositive expression to denote purpose is too common to require illustration here. If one asks what sort of a genitive dii, regarded as the genitive singular of dies, is, I should imitate the careful procedure of Professor Bennett in his important work, The Syntax of Early Latin, 2.70–79, where, with pedagogical discretion, he groups "very many combinations of the genitive with nouns which fall under no one category, but represent a great variety of relations" under the caption Free Uses of the Genitive with Nouns. I say, with no sense of shame at all, that there are many case-constructions, particularly of the genitive and of the ablative, which I do not find it easy, to put the matter mildly, to enter under any one of the recognized categories. It is enough in such cases to remember that the proper business of the genitive, especially in Latin, is to modify a noun.


C. K.

Undoubtedly Aeneas is the hero of the Aeneid, as Vergil intended him to be, and the master spirit in the development of the great epic of the Romans. Yet, we are forced to admit, after a careful study, that Ascanius, his son, is the little hero, second only in importance to the father, cheering, comforting and inspiring him, even sharing with him, whenever possible, joys and sorrows. As the babe in Tennyson's Princess revives the spark of motherhood in the unnatural princess and as little Eppie in Silas Marner kindles within the old miser a new affection for those around him, so 'the boy Ascanius' is the impelling and compelling personality behind the father, without whom there could hardly have been any pius Aeneas, 'tossed about on land and sea', and experiencing every peril and misfortune that he might establish the Latin race and lay the foundations of mighty Rome.

To show that 'the boy Ascanius' is the impelling and compelling personality working throughout the poem and inspiring the father to do and to dare for the sake of his dear son and for the future greatness of Rome is the purpose of this character study. Aeneas and Dido have been thoroughly exploited as factors in the Aeneid—Aeneas as a type of a Trojan-Roman warrior, pious, patriotic, God-fearing, and Dido as a type of an Oriental queen, emotional, passionate, fatalistic, but 'the boy Ascanius' has never received the consideration which he deserves in the study of Vergil's masterpiece. In the poem he is mentioned by name no less than seventy times and he is referred to in several other instances. The total number of instances involved is

thus about eighty. On six' occasions he is called puer Ascanius. As we trace his character in the drama, we shall find that Vergil presents him in successive periods as a boy, a hunter, a warrior, a builder and the hope of Rome. When the boy Ascanius' first makes his appearance, he is introduced to us by the conjunction at, which invariably ushers in a change of scene or a new character. Here he is described in Jupiter's outline of the future course of Roman history in these words:

The boy Ascanius, who has now the new name of Iulus-Ilus he was, while the royalty of Ilion's state stood firm-shall let thirty of the sun's great courses fulfil their monthly rounds while he is sovereign, then transfer the Empire from Lavinium's seat, and build Alba the Long with power and might2.

In this prophecy are mentioned the boy's three names-Ascanius, the name by which he is best known; Iulus, his surname; and Ilus, his name during Trojan power. While Jupiter is in this prophetic frame of mind, he links Julius Caesar with Ascanius as his progenitor:

Then shall be born the child of an illustrious line, one of thine own Trojans, Caesar, born to extend his empire to the ocean, his glory to the stars-Julius, in name as in blood the heir of great Iulus3.

The key to all Aeneas's endeavors is found in 1.646. 'On Ascanius all a fond parent's anxieties are centered', for the father has just sent his bosom friend Achates to bear news to Ascanius and conduct him to the city. Throughout the poem we are always conscious that Aeneas is living and laboring for 'the sweet Ascanius', as Vergil calls him, or 'the young heir of royalty', 'my soul's darling that he is', as Venus describes him. In the earlier part of the work he is described as a young boy rejoicing in his gait, whom Venus carries, 'lapped in her bosom, into Idalia's lofty groves". The boy is the object of admiration from the Tyrians, especially Dido, marveling at the gifts of Aeneas and marveling at Iulus, who is really Cupid in disguise'.

Book I then fixes our attention upon the boy Ascanius, endeared to Jupiter, Aeneas and Venus.

In Book II Asçanius is uppermost in the father's thought when he speaks of 'the chance to which I had left my little Iulus's. Aeneas implores his father 'not to be bent on dragging all with him to ruin', nor does he desire to behold Ascanius, his father, and Creusa 'sacrificed in a pool of each other's blood'1o. Venus here again is greatly concerned for her grandson, asking Aeneas whether his child Ascanius is yet alive".

Farther on, Aeneas informs us that, when he has prepared for flight from Troy, 'My little Iulus walks by my side' and 'has fastened his hand in mine and is following with ill-matched steps'13. When Aeneas discovers the loss of Creusa, he entrusts Ascanius and Anchises and the Teucrian household gods to his com

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rades' care, 'lodging them in the winding glade'1. Then the ghost of Creusa utters these farewell words while the destruction of Troy is raging: 'Continue to love your son and mine'15. Here we see once more that the boy Ascanius is the center of the father's love and the mother's devotion. Aeneas is always true to the highest welfare of the boy, placing him above every other interest and so fulfilling Creusa's final injunction. After the fall of Troy Aeneas says, 'A banished man, I am wafted into the deep with my comrades and my son'16. He never forgets the boy, the precious charge. Relating, in Dido's palace hall, the story of his wanderings, he tells us that Andromache, Hector's wife, had not forgotten Ascanius and inquires for him from his father:

What of the boy Ascanius? is he alive and breathing upper air? he, whom you on that night at Troy-say, can his boyish mind feel yet for the mother he has lost? Is he enkindled at all to the valor of old days, the prowess of a grown man, by a father like Aeneas, an uncle like Hector?17

Andromache wishes to know if Ascanius is made of the same stuff as Aeneas and Hector, and if he guards zealously those strong family ties which neither war, death, nor hardship can sever or terminate. Then she bestows gifts upon the boy, thus expressing her great love for him, 'robes pictured with gold embroidery and a Phrygian scarf'18, as a memorial of what her hands could do, and, beholding him, she exclaims:

O sole surviving image of my own Astyanax! Those eyes are his eyes, those hands his hands, that face his face, and he would now be growing to manhood by your side in bloom like yours!19

Ascanius reminds Andromache of her own boy and is endeared to her for his resemblance to her own child. Book III adds Andromache to the circle of the boy's admirers, which ever widens as the poem unfolds before us.

In Book IV Dido conceives a great love for Ascanius owing to his personal resemblance to his father. The boy, then, occupies a prominent place in the Dido episode. In this book Ascanius, the boy, becomes Ascanius, the hunter, joining, 'all exultation'2o, in the hunt of Dido and Aeneas. "The boy Ascanius is in the heart of the glens, exulting in his fiery courser '21. A glimpse of the real boy is given when he 'prays that in the midst of such spiritless game he may be blest with the sight of a foaming boar, or that a tawny lion may come down the hill'22.

If Aeneas will not seek his destined kingdom for his own gain, will he grudge Ascanius the hills of Rome? No. Aeneas presses on for the glory that awaits the youthful Ascanius. Dido's fondness for the boy is revealed in these lines where the queen is doubtless holding him before her imagination:

Were there some tiny Aeneas to play in my hall, and

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