ment, in
which the nouns are worsted, though they have come off with some of the
spoils of war; and peace is made on terms dictated by Priscian, Servius,
and Donatus. Spangenberg's Grammatical War is a not uninteresting, not
uninstructive squib, and the salt of it, or saltpetre of it, has not all
evaporated after the lapse of some three centuries. There are bits that
remind one of the Greco-Turkish war of a few weeks ago.

[Note: Terror and Affright, Il. 15, 19: [Greek: hos phato kai rh'
hippous keleto Deimon te Phobon te | zeugnymen]. These horses of Ares
furnished the names Deimos and Phobos for the two satellites of the
planet Mars. Such traces of familiarity with the classics are refreshing
to one who lives in an age when allusion is under the ban. How many
appreciate the appropriateness of the Baltimore County Timonium, named
after Mark Antony's growlery in Plutarch? Not many of the sports who
some years ago laid their bets on Irex recalled the line of the Odyssey
13, 86:

[Greek:

oude ken irex
kirkos homarteseien elaphrotatos peteenon.]]

But there is no military science in Bunyan's Holy War nor in
Spangenberg's Grammatical War: why should there be? Practical warfare is
rough work. To frighten, to wound, to kill,--these three abide under all
forms of military doctrine, and the greatest of these is frightening.
Ares, the god of war, has two satellites, Terror and Affright. Fear is
the Gorgon's head. The serpents are very real, very effective, in their
way, but logically they are unessential tresses. The Gorgon stares you
out of countenance, and that suffices. The object is the removal of an
obstacle. Killing and wounding are but means to an end. Hand-to-hand
fighting is rare, and it would be easy to count the instances in which
cavalry meets the shock of cavalry. Crossing sabres is not a common
pastime in the red game of war. It makes a fine picture, to be sure, the
finer for the rarity of the thing itself.

To frighten, to wound, to kill, being the essential processes, war
amounts to the same thing the world over, world of time and world of
space. Whether death or disability comes by Belgian ball or Spencer
bullet, by the stone of a Balearic slinger, by a bolt from a crossbow,
is a matter of detail which need not trouble the philosophic mind, and
the ancients showed their sense in ascribing fear to divine inspiration.

[Note: The Scandinavian scholar, JESPERSEN.]

If the pr