guilty of the like unwarranted prolixity. Moreover, when Apuleius by a quip says of Meroe, sic reapse nomen ejus tunc Jabulis Socratis convenire sentiebam, you are puzzled by the ingenuity of Adlington's rendering[1]: 'being so named because she was a Taverner, until you turn to the French and find in taverniére the source of error. Again, Diophanes, the magician in Milo's story, is consulted by a certain merchant, Cerdo by name. (The Latin is unmistakable: Cerdo quidam nomine negotiator.) Now, Adlington boldly translates 'a certaine Cobler,'[2] and instantly the Frenchman's quelque savatier explains the blunder. Toutfoys mon cheval et lautre beste lasne de Milo ne me voulurent souffrir avec eulx paistre: so Michel at the beginning of the Fourth Book. And thus Adlington: ' but myne own horse and Miloes Asse would not suffer me to feed there with them, but I must seeke my dinner in some other place.'[3] 'The renderings agree precisely in a gross inaccuracy, and the Latin—nec me cum asino vel equo meo compascuus coetus attinere potuit adhuc insolitum alioquin prandere fanum—is involved enough to explain Adlington's reliance upon the French. Another passage[4] is even more convincing. Ad quandam villam possessoris beati perveniunt, writes Apuleius, whom Adlington translates: 'we fortuned to come to one Britunis house'*; nor would it appear who this Britunis might be, unless you turned to Michel's French and read, en aucun village chiez ung riche laboureur nomme Brulinus. 'This strange correspondence in error might be enforced by countless examples. But by this it is evident that, although Adlington did not, like Angell Day, Sir Thomas North, George Nichols
