Fluences is a section of troutswirl devoted to studying haiku, and haiku-like work, by 20th and 21st century western poets. Each installment will take a closer look at a poem, or a group of poems, by a poet who has either dabbled in haiku, been influenced by haiku, or whose work has had an influence, in some way or another, on 20th and 21st century English-language haiku.
Fluences is overseen by Nick Avis.
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
an exercise in fabricated metaphor
The metaphors are
gone, and so is my faith . . .
sun over a moor
Nakamura Kusatao (24)
The fabrication of an image is achieved through appropriation and/or use of the imagination. There are three perspectives regarding fabricated or imagined images in haiku: they must be real or actually have happened; they can be fabricated but still must be capable of having happened or being real; reality is not necessary.
As for metaphor, the haiku community has been led to believe over the years that the use of metaphor in haiku, like all western poetic devices, is inappropriate if not forbidden.
Consider the following haiku by Basho (1644-1694) from his haibun, Oku-no-Hosomichi, The Narrow Road to the Deep North (1689 to 1691). (25) It is one of Basho’s best known and best poems:
where stalwart soldiers
once dreamed a dream
Makoto Ueda (26)
traces of dreams
of ancient warriors
natsukusu ya tsuwamonodomo ga yume no ato (27)
The adjectives “stalwart” and “ancient” are not found in the original and are added by the translators, yet both are implied in the prose preceding the haiku. “Stalwart,” meaning brave or resolute (Webster’s), though accurate, seems redundant. “Ancient” reflects the fact that Basho was thinking of the distant past, although it does not add very much to the poem.
According to Ueda and Shirane, “warrior” is the literal translation for tsuwamono to which the plural suffix domo is added. (28) The word yume (dream or dreams in the above translations) is singular and allows the translator to pluralize it although the singular would be the norm. (29)
There are two words in the original Japanese that have multiple meanings, a technique Basho often employed. According to Shirane, ato can mean site, aftermath, trace or track; and yume, can mean dream, ambition or glory. (30)
These multiple meanings can rarely be translated with one word in English and the resulting variations in the translations can be substantial. As a consequence, the variations in the interpretation of the poem can also be substantial.
Shirane translates ato as “traces;” Keene, as “aftermath” (31); Stryk, as “remains” (32); Earl Miner, as “vestiges” (33). Ueda, using the word “where,” interprets ato as place, the most benign of its meanings and the most literal. All of these translations, except Ueda’s, tend to be metaphorical.
The English words used in translation also have multiple meanings and each one brings something different to the poem. “Traces,” “vestiges” and “remains” are or can be synonymous.
In addition to its obvious meanings “traces” also means: “The path or way which anything takes.” (OED) This suggests fate or simply the way things are. It can be metaphorical in the sense that the soldiers’ dreams led them, inevitably, along a path of destruction.
“Aftermath” means: “the crop of grass which springs up after the mowing in early summer” (OED); “a result or consequence, esp. an unpleasant one.” (Webster’s) The first meaning is metaphorical and the second one implies that the soldiers’ dream was the cause of the tragic outcome.
“Remains” can also mean: “Those left, surviving, or remaining out of a number of persons” (OED); “to continue to exist, endure, persist; traces of the past; a dead body, corpse.” (Webster’s) These multiple meanings add depth to the interpretation of the poem, whether metaphorical or otherwise.
Translating yume as dream or dreams seems universal and by implication a soldier’s dream would include in most cultures glory and ambition. In Ueda’s translation the soldiers all have the same dream; in Shirane’s, each has his own dream. Mizuho (1876-1955), whom Ueda calls one of Basho’s “interpreters,” says “It is as though each soldier’s dream were lingering on each blade of grass.” (34)
The word “apparition” in Pound’s Metro Poem also has multiple meanings; and the multiplicity of meanings in both poems enriches them.
Two interesting observations regarding the season word are that the leaves of the summer grasses “are scorched at their tips under the flaming sun,” and “Basho’s summer grass is ‘warm’ with blood.” The summer grasses would be thick and deep. (35)
An “ancient battlefield is a sacred place . . . a kind of purgatory . . . where the souls of the slain soldiers, still retaining their anger and resentment, utter war cries day and night.” This is a fairly common theme in Noh drama. (36)
Basho’s haiku alludes to a famous battle at Takadachi castle and the tragic history leading up to its destruction (c. 1190.) Basho’s prose speaks of the fleeting nature of (military) glory; how it vanishes in the space of a dream; how it quickly became this grass or this grass is all that remains of it or this grass now covers it, depending on the translation. (37) He also alludes to these lines by Tu Fu: “Countries may fall, but their rivers and mountains remain. When spring comes to the ruined castle, the grass is green again.” (38)
In the prose preceding the poem Basho also alludes to a Noh play in which a man dreamed a lifetime of glory and defeat while taking a nap before supper. (39)
These literary and cultural allusions, which necessarily result in some appropriation, do not raise any concerns with Basho scholars, translators or interpreters. Such allusions are considered to add depth to a haiku and form part of what Haruo Shirane calls “cultural memory.”
Knowledge of such allusions is not always essential to interpret a haiku although it can be, but it is essential for a fuller understanding of it. Allusion is a key element or technique in many of Basho’s haiku and has been part of Japanese haiku ever since. In English haiku it is generally overlooked.
As for the soldiers’ dreams, Basho lived during a period of peace in Japan and he lived, by all accounts, a very peaceful life. (40) At best he can only imagine the battle, let alone the dreams of the soldiers who fought in it. Having never gone to war and never been in or seen one himself, he cannot even relate to the experience.
The image is rather abstract and can only reside in the imagination although most would have some appreciation of what is meant by soldiers’ dreams. No doubt in Basho’s time associating soldiers’ dreams with ambition and glory was firmly rooted in the cultural memory. Why else would the word yume mean all three? Today most cultures would make the same associations Basho did although there would likely be a great deal more ambivalence concerning the glory of war and soldiers’ dreams would have to include nightmares. Still, the soldiers’ dream of ambition and glory is more of an idea than a concrete image however well or universally understood.
Basho appropriated the image of grasses (surrounding ancient ruins) from a poem by Tu Fu, even though this is exactly what he saw, and he abstracted the idea of soldiers’ dreams from “cultural memory.” The interpretations of Tu Fu’s and Basho’s poems, on one level, are also very similar and metaphorical: the impermanence and futility of human endeavor, and the permanence and complete indifference of nature. Pound’s description of hokku as “one idea set on top of another” seems to apply quite well to this haiku by Basho.
Konishi (b. 1915), another of Basho’s interpreters, noted that: “For the first time in the history of haikai, an idea has become the subject of a poem.” (41) Ideation, generally thought of as forbidden in haiku, is at the root of fabricated images.
Shiki’s views regarding the use of imagination to create images in haiku seem to cover the full spectrum. He began by severely criticizing Basho for the poverty of his imagination and excessively praising Buson for the extraordinary range of his. He said “the fact that [Basho] discarded scenes which arise from imagination and are outside observation, as well as human affairs he had not experienced, shows that Basho’s realm was rather small.” Of Buson he said his imagination soars and “ranges beyond his country’s borders.” Later, he said that the imagination is “shallow” and that “many of the works which rely on [the imaginative method] are often bad.” (42)
Notwithstanding these contradictory statements, Shiki stressed realism and “direct, individual observation of the external world,” and his poems reflect this emphasis. (43) His observation that Buson used his imagination to create images much more so than Basho did is quite obvious from reading their poems, even in translation.
After Shiki, images from the imagination became more widespread and the more radical Modern Japanese haiku poets would often abandon reality altogether. Buson was, however, their predecessor, as these two examples clearly show:
About to bloom,
And exhale a rainbow,
The peony (44)
plum blossom’s scent—
has it risen so high?
a halo round the moon (45)
Bruce Ross says that Pound’s Metro Poem is “not really a haiku, which demands, for one thing, objectively real images.” (46) This reflects the traditional view, although the word “objectively” is redundant since the word “real” means something that has “an objective existence.” (OED)
Both images in Pound’s Metro Poem are not real based on Pound’s account in his Essay of what actually happened. He describes the faces as appearing one by one, but the poem has them all appearing at once in a singular apparition. This is consistent with the second image in which the petals are on the black bough, not landing on it. The second image is appropriated and likely imagined by Pound who took a year to come up with it. He never did say he actually saw the second image and it would not have concerned him in the least that he had fabricated and imagined either or both images.
Notwithstanding all the background information known about a poem, the (language of) the poem must speak for itself. Both images are capable of being real and there is no way of knowing from the language alone if they were made up. So both images are real in the poem itself. Appropriated images are usually easier to detect for obvious reasons.
In the following haiku by Buson, it is not possible to know that the poem is fabricated from the language alone:
this piercing cold—
in the bedroom, I have stepped
on my dead wife’s comb
Yet Buson’s wife outlived him by more than thirty years. (47) No one seriously suggests it is not a haiku for this reason except perhaps Blyth, who also says it is not a haiku because “Haiku has nothing to do with bedrooms or dead wives or treading on this or that thing with its emotional associations.” (48)
For the two images in Pound’s Metro poem to occur simultaneously in the Paris Metro; for the poem to reflect something that could have happened and does happen in the language of the poem, the poet must either recall his earlier experience of the real image of “Petals on a wet, black bough,” or imagine this image when he sees the faces in the crowd. Basho’s haiku is similar in this respect.
In Basho’s haiku, the poet visits the site of a battle, obviously a well known one, and sees the ruins and the summer grasses. Upon seeing them, he recalls (from cultural memory) and imagines the battle itself and the dreams of the soldiers who fought in it.
In all the translations referred to in this article, except Shirane’s because of the word “ancient,” the language of the translations also allows for the poet to be visiting the site of a battle he actually fought in.
Ueda states unequivocally that in The Narrow Road to the Deep North, Basho “changed the facts as he saw fit;” and that he did so “to present his theme more effectively.” He points out that Basho was not original in this and that “Ancient Japanese court diaries . . . were fictional to varying degrees” and “seemed to be based on the assumption that it was more important to record inner experience than outward events.” (49)
Shirane says that the season word in haiku can function as “a complex literary and cultural sign” that is “often highly fictional . . . .” (50)
Basho, like Pound, fabricated through appropriation and imagination the haiku itself or some part of it and probably some of the prose preceding the haiku as well. The vast majority of Basho’s haiku are, however, real or capable of being real.
The role of metaphor in haiku has been distorted by Henderson, Yasuda and Blyth, the three most influential translators and interpreters to introduce haiku to the English-speaking world. They simply ban metaphor and metaphorical interpretation in haiku as they do with all figures of speech. They also insist that haiku must have a season word.
At the other end of the spectrum are the views of Raymond Roseliep, one of the more radical poets of the North American haiku movement:
Metaphor I especially promote because it is the imagination’s pet tool.
To deny the poet either that tool or his creative mind in haiku is to re-
duce him to a mere poetaster. (51)
George Swede, one of haiku’s foremost critics and poets, in the late 1970s/ early 1980s took the view that metaphor was perfectly acceptable since “haiku are, after all, poetry,” noting that there are many examples in both classic and modern haiku of the restrained use of figures of speech, including metaphor. (52) The Modern Japanese poets were, however, not that restrained in their use of figures of speech.
Rod Willmot, another of haiku’s foremost critics and poets, also argued in the late 1970s/early 1980s that a “haiku contains two fundamental parts, which interact with each other metaphorically.” (53)
Shirane says that haikai, which includes haiku, “like all poetry, is highly metaphorical.” He points out, as one example, that the season word can be seen as “an implicit metaphor or extension of the poet’s inner state,” which “tends to be highly subjective.” (54)
Ueda’s translation of Basho’s haiku does not read as a metaphor, whereas Shirane’s does. How a translator perceives the role of metaphor in haiku can greatly influence their translation. Ueda very rarely translates Basho’s haiku as a metaphor or interprets them metaphorically. Shirane, as just noted, sees haiku as highly metaphorical.
Translations of some of the prose in The Narrow Road to the Deep North also tend to be metaphorical. As Ueda notes, the title itself is “more metaphorical than literal;” and even though there was an actual journey involved, Basho’s spiritual quest functions on a metaphorical level. Ueda concedes that some of the poems can be interpreted both literally and metaphorically, although he does not specifically refer to this haiku by Basho. (55) It is apparent that around this time Basho was at least thinking metaphorically.
Pound’s Metro Poem is written as a metaphor as is Basho’s haiku in all but one of the translations referred to in this article, and both can be interpreted metaphorically. However, what most, if not all of the critics referred to agree on, explicitly or implicitly, is that the juxtaposition of the two parts or two images of a haiku goes beyond metaphor. Bill Higginson argues that Pound achieved this intentionally when he changed the colon to a semi-colon. (56)
a haiku Shiki would have been proud to write
Amid the summer grass
the wheels of a steam engine
come to a standstill
Yamaguchi Seishi (57)
Shiki advocated the modernization of haiku including its subject matter, but he was unequivocal that modern civilization was not a fit subject for haiku. (58) He specifically prohibited trains and, by implication, train stations. (59)
Seishi obviously alludes here to Basho’s “summer grasses” haiku and he appears to be the first to have blatantly violated Shiki’s particular admonition against trains. This highlights the role of allusion in haiku to other works of art, particularly to other haiku. Seishi’s haiku stands on its own, updates Basho’s haiku in a thoroughly modern context, and serves as a kind of commentary on it and Shiki’s position on modern civilization.
Higginson says that Pound’s Metro Poem, with the colon, is simply “a sentimental metaphor” because “one thing restates another in a different way, or that the first simply introduces the second.” Whereas:
A semicolon shows that the two statements are independent of each other,
though they may be related. So that “both ‘faces’ and “petals’ should be un-
derstood as real, physical objects, each a core image that stands out against
its own background. (60)
Higginson permits the second image to have been imagined. He does not insist that it be real only that it be understood as real. He also said earlier at a Haiku Society of America meeting in 1973 that the semicolon makes the images independent and equal or “coequal,” which results in “a third thing” from their juxtaposition; and that Pound’s revision of the poem allows but does not force the reader to interpret the poem as a haiku. (61) Later, in The Haiku Handbook (1985), he says it turns “an otherwise sentimental metaphor into a genuine haiku.” (62)
Ross, on the other hand, sees Pound’s Metro Poem with the semicolon as a metaphor; Stryk, as a simile.
Regardless, Higginson, like most, if not all of, the critics referred to in the previous section, requires the juxtaposition of images in a haiku to result in something more than a metaphor, and he does not interpret the poem metaphorically.
In dictionary and encyclopedia definitions of metaphor it is usually distinguished from a simile in two principal ways: it is implied rather than explicitly stated and it creates a sense of identity rather than a mere comparison between two images. The metaphor, like the simile, however, is one image expressed in terms of another; the images are related through their similarities and not their differences; and it juxtaposes a concrete image with an abstract thought, idea or interpretation. Metaphors are rarely intended to be taken literally. (63)
Pound never did describe the interaction of the two images in his Metro Poem as a metaphor, and does not even use that word in his Essay, or very often, when discussing Imagism or the Image.
Pound called the useful technique he relied on “a form of super-position.” The word “superpose” means: “Geom. To make (one figure) coincide with another in all parts, by or as if placing one on top of the other,” and if things coincide, an identity is created. (Webster’s) Pound does not appear to be describing a metaphor and if he was, why not simply say so?
In the first version of Pound’s Metro poem, the first two phrases of the first line, “The apparition of these faces” is exactly the same length as the second line “Petals on a wet, black bough;” one is set one on top of the other and they physically coincide.
In traditional haiku, the principal technique of juxtaposition is attributable to Basho, and his famous crow poem is considered the model (c.1679):
On a bare branch
A crow is perched—
kareeda ni karasu no tomarikeri aki no kure (64)
A number of Basho’s critics, including Shiki, Blyth, and Ueda (65), suggest he appropriated the image of a crow on a bare branch from classical Chinese art and poetry, to which he simply added the autumn evening, and maybe not even that. Yamamoto (1907 – 1988), a Basho scholar and interpreter, delicately implies that Basho may have appropriated the image from a renga verse printed in 1563—over a century before Basho’s crow poem (66):
in a bare tree on the mountain peak
Again, the critics do not seem too alarmed, although Shiki feels the haiku is trite, and Yamamoto is concerned with the similarities of Basho’s haiku with the one he quotes. In the poetry competitions that Basho judged, in keeping with the rules at the time, he would have had to disqualify his crow poem because it was too close in theme to the other haiku, which came earlier. (67) Implied in this is that a haiku poet needed to be familiar with what has been and is being written.
In Basho’s crow poem there is some debate as to whether the branch is bare, withered or dead because the translation of the word kareeda in the original permits all three. (68) This is another example of Basho using words with multiple meanings.
The poem is a model for two reasons: the new technique, which Henderson calls internal comparison; and the simple, objective, ordinary images it contains. (69) It is, however, a model for technique only.
In addition to the haiku-like qualities already mentioned in the previous section, there are a number of interesting parallels that can be made regarding Pound and Basho as founders of poetry movements and the two poems under consideration. (70)
Basho was weary of the artificiality of Japanese court poetry and looked to classical Chinese verse for inspiration. He set out to reform the poetry of his day and had for years consciously been working on a new technique. This poem is seen as the culmination of those efforts.
Basho had been experimenting with form, content, and language. His crow poem had two different versions with different syllabic structures: 5-10-5 then the present one with 5-9-5 Japanese syllables, both longer than the usual 17. The poem is expressed in the simplest possible language and the k sounds imitate the crow’s caw, which means that the crow is not silent.
The historical importance of the poem in the development of Basho’s haiku, and haiku ever since, cannot be overestimated, although some critics, Ueda for example, say its quality as a poem is exaggerated. Blyth sees at as a masterpiece and a milestone of Japanese culture. (71)
The principal of internal comparison is best described by Henderson himself:
. . . the two parts that make up the whole are compared to each other,
not in simile or metaphor, but as two phenomena, each of which exists
in its own right . . . in which the differences are just as important as the
likenesses. Here it is not simply that ‘over the withered landscape the
autumn nightfall settles like a crow.’ It is also the contrast of the small
black body of the crow with the vast amorphous darkness of the nightfall—
and whatever else the reader may find in it. (72)
It is easy to see here Henderson’s influence on Higginson’s thinking.
Comparison and contrast between the images in a haiku is implicit in the works of Blyth, Yasuda and others. Ueda does not cite Basho’s crow poem as an example of internal comparison but he does use that very phrase when discussing haiku later in Basho’s development and in particular his “old pond” haiku. (73) Willmot says that haiku’s “metaphorical structure” requires “comparison and/or contrast.” (74) Shirane speaks of “resonance in dissonance, congruity in incon
Aristotle said over two thousand years ago that “to make good metaphors implies an eye for resemblances.” Babette Deutsch, in her Poetry Handbook, has this response: “Twentieth century critics have shown that the making of good metaphors implies an eye for differences, too, and that the meaning of a metaphor issues from more complex interactions of perceptions, feelings, and thoughts than were dreamt of in that good Greek’s philosophy.” (76)
This suggests correctly that the metaphor has evolved over time and that the modern or contemporary metaphor is or can be much broader in scope than simply relating one image in terms of another through their similarities. Perhaps metaphorical interpretation and internal comparison have much more in common than previously recognized.
This concept of metaphor is very close to how Rod Wilmott saw metaphor functioning in haiku: a metaphorical structure involving comparison and/or contrast, in which the resulting relationships are interpreted metaphorically.
Fundamentally, however, metaphorical interpretation is still premised on ideas about things rather than the thing itself, something that many, if not most, consider essential to haiku. Generally, metaphors are also not intended to be taken literally whereas images in haiku are.
Higginson interprets the poem in the following way: “Our sense of the Paris commuters as delicate, vulnerable life builds, now that we see them come up out of the dark underground into a world of falling petals and spring mist.” (77)
Higginson’s interpretation does not preclude the possibility that the event can be interpreted metaphorically, nor does the semicolon. But the problem with his interpretation is that it alters the language of the poem. It requires the event to occur, not in the station, but on the way in, just outside. Higginson describes the poet/reader entering the Paris metro. This is not capable of having happened, nor can it actually have happened because of the word “In” in the title.
In the third and final part of this Fluence, some of Pound’s other haiku-like poems will be looked at, Pound’s Image will be compared with the haiku moment, and the discussion of whether or not Pound’s Metro Poem is or can be a haiku will be concluded.
FOOTNOTES – PART TWO
24. Modern Japanese Haiku, Makoto Ueda, University of Toronto Press, 1976, p.198.
25. The Master Haiku Poet, MATSUO BASHO, Makoto Ueda, Kodansha International, 1970, pp. 30 and 169.
26. BASHO AND HIS INTERPRETERS, Makoto Ueda, Stanford University Press, 1991, pp. 242, 243.
27. Traces of Dreams, Haruo Shirane, Stanford University Press, 1998, p. 238.
28. Footnotes 26 and 27.
29. HAIKU MASTER BUSON, Yuki Sawa and Edith Shiffert, Heian International, 1978, p. 20.
30. Footnote 27, Shirane, p, 238.
31. Anthology of Japanese Literature, Donald Keene, Grove Press, 1955, p. 369.
32. ON LOVE AND BARLEY, Lucien Stryk, Penguin, 1985, p. 80.
33. Japanese Poetic Diaries, Earl Miner, University of California Press, 1969, pp. 176, 177.
34. Footnote 26, Ueda.
35. Footnote 26, Ueda.
36. Footnote 26, Ueda.
37. Footnote 27, Shirane; Footnote 31, Keene; Footnote 33, Miner; On the narrow road, Lesley Downer, Summit Books, 1989, p.70; Basho’s Narrow Road to a Far Province, Dorothy Britton, Kodansha International, 1980, pp. 56, 57.
38. Footnote 31, Keene.
39. Footnote 27, Shirane, p. 239
40. Footnote 25, Ueda, chapter 1.
41. Footnote 26, Ueda.
42. Masaoka Shiki, Janine Beichman, Twayne Publishers, 1982, pp. 58 to 60.
43. Footnote 24, Ueda, p. 7; Footnote 42, Beichman, p.31; Footnote 19, Henderson, p. 161; Footnote 27, Shirane, p. 38.
44. A ROSELIEP RETROSPECTIVE, David Dayton ed, Alembic Press, 1980, p. 20.
45. The Path of Flowering Thorn, The Life and Poetry of Yosa Buson, Makoto Ueda, Stanford University Press, 1998, p. 159.
46. Footnote 4, Ross.
47. Footnote 45, Ueda, p. 117.
48. A HISTORY OF HAIKU, Volume One, R. H. Blyth, Hokuseido Press, 1963, p. 255.
49. Footnote 25, Ueda, pp. 139 to 141
50. Footnote 27, Shirane, pp. 48, 49.
51. Footnote 44, Roseliep.
52. The Modern English Haiku, George Swede, Columbine Editions, 1981, pp. 28, 29.
53. A Haiku Path, The Haiku Society of America Inc., 1994, pp. 212, 213.
54. Footnote 27, Shirane, pp. 46 and 49.
55. Footnote 25, Ueda, pp. 136 to 138.
56. Footnote 3, Higginson; Footnote 53, pp. 93, 94.
57. Footnote 24, Ueda, p. 159.
58. Footnote, 42, Beichman, p. 31.
59. Modern Haiku, Poems by Seishi Yamaguchi, Takashi Kodaira and Alfred Marks, Mangajin, 1993, p. xvi.
60. Footnote 3, Higginson.
61. Footnote 53, pp. 93, 94.
62. Footnote 3.
63. The Cambridge Guide to Literature in English, Ian Ousby, Cambridge University Press, 1988, p. 658; Oxford Reference Encyclopedia, Oxford University Press, 1998, p. 896; Benet’s Reader’s Encyclopedia, third edition, Harper and Rowe, 1987, p. 643; A Glossary of Literary Terms, M. H. Abrams, Holt, third edition, Rinehart and Winston, 1971, pp. 60 to 63; Poetry Handbook, Babette Deutsch, fourth edition, Funk and Wagnalls, 1957, pp. 84 to 89; Webster’s; OED.
64. Footnote 25, Ueda, p. 44.
65. Footnote 64; Footnote 26, Ueda; HAIKU, Volume 3, Summer – Autumn, R. H. Blyth, Hokuseido Press and Heian International, 1982, p. 898.
66. Footnote 26, Ueda.
67. Footnote 25, Ueda, pp. 150, 151.
68. Footnote 65, Blyth.
69. Footnote 19, Henderson, pp. 18, 19.
70. Footnote 25, Ueda. The next thee paragraphs are taken from pp. 36 to 44.
71. Footnote 26, Ueda; Footnote 65, Blyth.
72. Footnote 19, Henderson, pp. 18, 19.
73. Footnote 25, Ueda, p. 53.
74. Footnote 53.
75. Footnote 27, Shirane, p. 108.
76. Footnote 63, Deutsch, p. 84.
77. Footnote 3, Higginson.