Chapter I

"I think Homer, as a poet, inferior to Scott."
_T. C. Grimckè--Pamphlet_.

The gentleman whose words I have just used, maintained on all occasions the superiority of modern over ancient literature. He prefers the better portions of Milman's "Samor, Lord of the Bright City," to the better portions of the Odyssey; and contends that "Scott's description of the battle of Flodden Hill, the midnight visit of William of Deloraine to Melrose Abbey, &c., are unequalled by anything in the Iliad or Æneid."

Now such comparisons are plainly unreasonable. "To read Homer's poems, is to look upon a brightly colored nosegay whose odor is departed," or, if not departed, at least lost to our dull and ignorant sense. The subtle odor of idiom and provincial peculiarity--the stronger odor of association are entirely lost to us. I may better illustrate my idea. Every one will recollect the following couplet in the description of William of Deloraine:

"A stark moss-trooping Scot was he,
As e'er couched border lance by knee."

Reversing the order of things, suppose these lines read by a Greek of twenty-seven centuries ago; suppose him even well acquainted with the English tongue--could he appreciate their beauty? Let the Greek attempt to _translate_ the lines into his own language. He begins with _stark_. The nice excellence of this word he knows nothing of. He finds that its meaning is somewhere between _stout_ and _swift_, and gives the Greek word "οχυς." The first downward step has been taken. He next pounces upon the term, _moss-troopers_. He translates this "Ληστης ιπποτʼ ανδρειος." _Couched_, is an idiom which he cannot translate; he gives us by way of equivalent, "εβαλλε." _Border lance_, is beyond his version. He contents himself with a simple "δορυ,"--for how is the word _Border_ to be translated? It is a word depending on collateral matters for its meaning. These matters--involving the storied reyd and feud--must be known before the word can be understood; and twenty centuries would blot out all remembrance of the Percy and Douglas feuds. The word _Border_ is therefore, wholly lost in the version.

The Greek version would read when completed--

Ληστης, καλεδονος οχυς ην ιπποτʼ ανδρειος
ʼΟυ, το δορυ μηδεις αθεμιστον, αμεινον εβαλλε,

which may be re-translated into

This Scot was a swift horse-riding robber,
And no one balanced spear by knee better,

--verses as little resembling the original as "an eyas does a true hawk."

Translated into Latin, the original lines would read

Scotticus fuit eques, strenuus raptoque pollutus
Quo nullus hastam a genu tam apte librabat,

as great a failure as the Greek.

If Scott would suffer so much in the eyes of the Greek and Latin reader, it is only fair to presume that Homer and Virgil suffer as much in our eyes.

We perceive the merits of our modern poet; we are blind to the merits of the ancient. We are consequently incapable of judging between them. Mr. Grimckè's comparison is unreasonable.

{315} II.

"Humility is certainly beautiful, but vanity is not always uncomely."--_Anon._

It is singular how little we appreciate the humility of some men. Launce says, "I am an ass," and we, coinciding with him in the sentiment, scarcely think of giving him credit for his humility. We perhaps take the trouble to approve of his want of vanity--but this is only a negative sort of approbation. Humility seems such a man's province--as natural to him as the grass to a snail. To be appreciated, humility must manifest itself in high natures. We are captivated by the spectacle of highness contenting itself with lowliness. The grass is natural to the snail, but the home of the lark is the sky--and when he descends to the meadow, we, mindful of his fleetness of pinion, marvel at his descent and love him for his simple humility. The "great Lyttleton" was a man of the most perfect modesty. A fine specimen of this may be found in the last paragraph of his work upon the English laws, "And know, my son, that I would not have thee believe, that all which I have said in these bookes is law, for I will not presume to take this upon me. But of those things which are not law, inquire and learn of my wise masters learned in the law." Sir John Mandeville, who wrote in the fourteenth century, was also remarkable for his modesty as a writer. I will quote a fine sample of it. "I, John Maundeville, knyghte aboveseyd (alle thoughe I be unworthi) have passed manye londes, and many yles and contrees, and cerched manye fulle straunge places, and have ben in manye a fulle gode honourable companye, and at manye a faire dede of armes--alle be it that I dide none myself, for myn unable insuffisance--etc."

VANITY in a weak man is disgusting; all pretension is disgusting. But "vanity is not always uncomely." The vanity of a strong man is sometimes beautiful. I remember an instance or two of this beautiful vanity. Some lines of Spenser--a part, I believe, of the preface to his Dreams of Petrarch, occur to me.

"This thing he writ who framed a calendar;
Who eke inscribed on monument of brass
Words brillianter than lighte of moon or star
And destinyed to lyve till alle things pass."

Southey too has given us a magnificent specimen of vanity in the opening to "Madoc,"

"Come listen to a tale of times of old:
_Come, for ye know me; I am he who framed
Of Thalaba the wild and wondrous song._"

The younger D'Israeli has placed in the mouth of Vivian Grey some expressions which, regarded as outbreaks of lofty confidence, and youthful reliance upon self, are strikingly beautiful. I refer more particularly to the page or paragraph ending with the words--"_and have I not skill to play upon that noblest of all instruments--the human voice?_"