The consensus of opinion upon _A New Light on the Renaissance_,[1] was to the effect that my theories were decidedly ingenious and up to a point tenable, yet nevertheless at present they could only be regarded as non-proven. In 1912[2] I therefore endeavoured to substantiate my earlier propositions, pushing them much further to the point of suggesting an innate connection between Symbolism and certain words--such, for example, as _psyche_, which means a butterfly, and _psyche_ the _anima_ or _soul_ which was symbolised or represented by a butterfly. Of course I knew only too well the tricky character of the ground I was exploring and how open many of my propositions would be to attack, yet it seemed preferable rather to risk the Finger of Scorn than by a superfluity of caution ignore clues, which under more competent hands might yield some very interesting and perhaps valuable discoveries. In the present volume I piece together a mosaic of visible and tangible evidence which is supplementary to that already brought forward, and the results--at any rate in many instances--cannot by any possibility be written off as due merely to coincidence or chance. That they will be adequate to satisfy the exacting requirements of modern criticism is, however, not to be supposed. Referring to _The Lost Language_, one of my reviewers cheerfully but disconcertingly observed: "He must deal as others of his school have done with all the possible readings of the history of the races of men".[3] To sweeping and magnanimous advice of this character one can only counter the untoward experiences of the hapless "Charles Templeton," as recounted by Mr. Stephen McKenna: "At the age of three-and-twenty Charles Templeton, my old tutor at Oxford, set himself to write a history of the Third French Republic. When I made his acquaintance, some thirty years later, he had satisfactorily concluded his introductory chapter on the origin of Kingship. At his death, three months ago, I understand that his notes on the precursors of Charlemagne were almost as complete as he desired. 'It is so difficult to know where to start, Mr. Oakleigh,' he used to say, as I picked my steps through the litter of notebooks that cumbered his tables, chairs, and floor."[4]