Herder has discussed, in connection with two groups of poetry which he distinctly calls _Volkspoesie_, each race from which the particular collection arose. Both directly and indirectly he presents in each of these peoples the peculiar characteristics by which he identifies a community with his ideal conception of _Volk_. In his collection of _Volk_ songs he has presented literature from many and varied peoples of the earth, but he has discussed at length, to show the traits which stamp their _Volkspoesie_ as such, only two of these groups. An examination of the common factors which the author sees as essential elements of each of these races ought to give us in one form his conception of _Das Volk_. The two races are: (1) Those whom he believes to be the ancient Gauls, from whom we have the collection known as “The Songs of Ossian”[10]; (2) the ancient Hebrews.[11] OSSIAN Herder places the people among whom this body of literature arose in the islands known as the “Hebrides,” in the highlands of Scotland, and in Ireland. Rugged mountains covered with roaring forests or spotted with desert tracts surround the inhabitants. Mists and clouds, midnight and storm, abound both on mountain tops and in the intervening valleys. Their huts are bordered by rocks and narrowly shut in by foggy darkness or from rough cliffs; they overlook the sea. At the time at which we see them these highland dwellers look often upon wilderness full of sacred views, upon battlefields, lonesome graves, and blotted-out footsteps. These old Highlanders believed in an all-high Being, whom they conceived to be self-existing. The cloud was the dwelling place of patriotism and love. The voice of renown, that is of song sung by friends yet alive to the honor of their departed ones, still highly esteemed, introduced these departed to their ancestors. With a sigh and tear as password, they were received at once into the smiling presence of their forefathers, who had clear, transparent figures like to the curled clouds. Their hands were weak, their voices deep and soft. They swayed themselves over the entire abode of their race and rejoiced in boundless space. Space they prized above everything else. Fright and horror were considered as narrow and shut in. Hence they called the grave the narrow house, and weak courage, the breath of a narrow soul. The noble dead never became old, but grew constantly wiser because they conversed with the good of other times. On the other hand, the souls of the wicked were driven whirling into a thick fog which always hung over an offensive smelling morass. They never came out of this fog, and never saw the sun. One did not know the name of the other. The black water of the morass lake was their only converse; the voice of the Heron and the quacking of ducks their music. Ossian’s folk attributed every sudden death to an invisible hand which threw a stone out of the clouds and which they called an “arrow of the destroying woman.”