came Æschylus, the inventor of the tragic robe and comely mask, who made a stage with planks of moderate size, and taught the actors magnificent diction and stately gait on the buskin. Then succeeded the old comedy, which had no little merit; but its liberty degenerated into licence, and into a violence, which the law must check; the law was submitted to, and then the chorus to its shame became dumb, being deprived of the right of abuse. No style have our poets left untried, nor slight the glory they have earned, when they ventured beyond the Grecian track, and dared to sing of our national exploits, putting on the stage either tragedies or comedies on Roman subjects. Nor would the Latin name be more famed for deeds of valour and for arms, than for literature, were not the toil and trouble of correction a stumblingblock to every one of our bards. But do you, in whose veins is the blood of Numa, censure every poem, which many a day and many an erasure has not chastened, and by repeated improvements has amended to the finishing touch.

295-308. Genius cannot afford to dispense with the rules of art. The critic has his place in literature.

That genius is happier than poor wretched art is the creed of Democritus, who excludes from Helicon all poets in their senses; therefore a large proportion of would-be-poets care not to pare their nails or shave their beard, haunt retired spots, eschew public baths. He, think they, will get himself the estimation and name of a poet, who never trusts to the barber Licinus that precious pate incurable by the hellebore of three Anticyras. Ah, what a wrong-headed fellow am I! I get my bile purged from me, as spring draws on; otherwise, there is not a living wight who would write better verses: however, after all it does not matter so much. For now will I discharge the office of a whetstone, which, though it cannot cut, makes iron sharp. No poet I, but yet I will teach the poet's duty and office, whence he draws his treasures, what trains and fashions the bard; what graces him, what not; which are the paths of excellence, and which of error. 309-322. Knowledge is the foundation of good writing. Poetry without sense is but a harmonious trifling.

Of good writing the foundation and source is moral wisdom. Now the Socratic dialogues will supply you with matter, and words will follow readily, when matter is provided. The writer who has learnt what our country expects of us, what our friends look for, the love we owe to parents, to a brother, to a guest, the duties of a senator and a judge, the parts of a general sent to command in war, he, I feel sure, knows how at once to give to each character his proper speech. Í would advise a well-instructed imitator to have an eye to the model which life and manners give, and hence to draw the language of reality. Sometimes a play embellished with moral sentiments, and rightly representing manners, though lacking grace and force and art, delights the people more, and interests them to the end of the piece, rather than verses void of scnse, and prettily-sounding trifles.

323-333. The Greeks had genius; the Romans are a money-getting

race.

The Greeks had genius, the Greeks could speak with well-rounded mouth this was the Muse's gift to them; they coveted nought but renown. But the Roman boys are taught to divide the as by long calculations into a hundred parts. Supposing the son of Albinus says: "If from five ounces be subtracted one, what is the remainder?". At once you can answer, "A third of an as." "Good, you will be able to keep your property. If an ounce be added, what does it make?" "The half of an as." Ah! when this rust of copper, this slavish love of saving money has once imbued the soul, can we hope for the composition of verses worthy to be rubbed with the oil of cedar, or to be kept in cases of polished cypress?

334-346. The object of the poet should be to give instruction and delight.

Poets aim either to benefit, or to delight, or to unite what will give pleasure with what is serviceable for life. In moral precepts be brief; what is quickly said, the mind readily receives and faithfully retains: all that is superfluous runs over from the mind, as from a full vessel. Fictions meant to please should be as like truth as possible; the play. ought not to demand unlimited belief; after the dinner of an ogress, let no live boy be taken from her stomach. The centuries of the senators drive from the stage poems devoid of moral lessons; the aristocratic knights disapprove of dry poems; that poet gets every vote, who unites information with pleasure, delighting at once and instructing the reader. Such a poem brings money to the publishers, and is sent across the sea, and gives immortality to its illustrious author.

347-360. Perfection in a poem we do not expect, but we do expect care and pains.

Yet faults there are, that we can gladly pardon; for a chord does not always return the sound which the hand and mind intend, and, when we expect the flat, very often gives us a sharp; and arrows often miss the threatened mark. But the truth is, where most in a poem is brilliant, I would not be offended at a few blots, which inattention has carelessly let drop, or the infirmity of human nature failed to guard against. What then is the truth? If a copyist, often warned, ever makes the same mistake, he is inexcusable; if a harper is always at fault on the same string, he is derided; so, a very heedless writer is to my mind a second Chorilus, whose rare excellencies surprise me, while still I laugh; whilst I, the same man, am indignant, if good old Homer sometimes nods. However, it is allowable, if in a long work sleep steals over a writer.

361-365. A short comparison between poetry and painting.

As painting, so is poetry; some takes your fancy more, the nearer you stand, some, if you go to a little distance; one poem courts obscurity, another is willing to be seen in a strong light, and dreads. not the keen judgment of the critic; one poem pleases but once, another, called for many a time, yet still will please.

366-390. All men, nearly, would be poets; but mediocrity in poetry is insufferable; wherefore be careful before you publish.

O elder youth, both by your father's teaching are you trained to what is correct, and naturally you have good judgment; yet what I also say, do you make your own, and remember that in certain subjects mediocrity is allowable, and a tolerable success; for instance, a chamber-counsel and a pleader of fair ability falls short of the excellence of eloquent Messala, and yields in knowledge to Cascellius Aulus, and yet he is valued; but mediocrity in poets is condemned by gods and men, aye, and booksellers too. As during pleasant banquets discordant music and perfumed oil coarse in quality and poppy mixed with bitter honey are offensive, for the dinner might have dispensed with these accompaniments: so poetry, the end and nature of which is to delight the soul, if it fall somewhat short of excellence, inclines to what is faulty. One ignorant of a game stands aloof from the contest in the Campus, and, if unskilled in ball or quoit or hoop, remains an inactive spectator, lest the crowded ring raise an unreproved laughter: but he who is no versifier, yet dares to try to make verses. Prithee, why should he not? Is he not free, nay, free-born, above all, is he not rated as possessed of equestrian fortune, and is he not clear from all moral censure? But you, my friend, wil say and do nothing against the bent of your genius, such is your judgment, such your sense; however, if at some future time you write something, let it first be read before Mæcius as critic, before your father and me, and let it be kept back for nine years on the parchments in your desk; you can destroy what you have never published; a word once uttered you cannot recall.

391-407. The origin and office of poetry in early days.

Once in the woods men lived; then holy Orpheus, heaven's interpreter, turned them from slaughter and their foul manner of life; hence he was said to have soothed tigers and ravening lions; hence too it was said that Amphion, founder of the Theban citadel, moved rocks to the strains of his lyre, and led them by alluring persuasion, whithersoever he listed. In days of yore it was wisdom's office to set the marks between public and private property, between things sacred and profane, to restrain men from vague concubinage, to appoint rights for man and wife, to build cities, to engrave laws on tablets of wood: thus came honour and renown to prophetic bards and their poems. Afterwards, glorious Homer and Tyrtæus roused manly hearts to martial wars by their songs; oracles were

delivered in verse, and the path of life pointed out, and the favour of princes sought by the strains of the Muses, and the drama invented, to come at the end of the long toils of the year; so that you, my friend, may see you have no reason to be ashamed of the Muse skilled in the lyre, and Apollo who chants to its melody. 408-418. Genius is necessary for a poet, and yet, without art and study, genius will fail.

Whether by genius or by art an excellent poem is produced, has often been the question: but I do not see what can be done by study without a rich vein of intellect, nor by genius when uncultivated: so true is it that either requires the help of either, and that the two combine in friendly union. He who passionately desires to reach in the race the goal, must first endure and do much as a boy, suffer from toil and cold, abstain from love and wine; he who at the Pythian games sings to the flute, has first been to school and feared a master. Nor is it enough to say, "I compose wondrous poems; murrain take the hindmost! I think it a shame to be left behind, and to confess that I am utterly ignorant of that which I never learnt."

419-452. Let poets avoid flatterers. Quintilius was an honest friend, whose mission it was to tell an author unpleasant truths. As an auctioneer collects crowds to buy wares, so a poet, if rich in lands and money put out at interest, bids flatterers flock to the call of gain. But if he be one who can give a handsome dinner, and be bail for a poor man whose credit is gone, or if he can deliver one who is embarrassed by ugly lawsuits, then I shall be surprised, if the fond happy soul is clever enough to distinguish between a false and true friend. You, if you have made or intend to make a present to any one, do not bring the man full of grateful joy to hear your verses: for he will cry, "Beautiful! good! correct!" he will turn pale with wonder over them, he will even drop dewy tears from his loving eyes, he will jump as with delight, he will strike the ground with his foot. As hired mourners at a funeral in words and actions outdo those whose grief is sincere; so does the man who laughs behind your back seem more moved than a real admirer. Patrons are said to press hard with many a cup, and test with wine the man whom they desire thoroughly to try, whether he be worthy of their friendship; so, if you compose poems, be not unaware of the feeling concealed under the exterior, like that of the fox in the fable. If one read a passage to Quintilius, he would say, "Friend, correct this or that." If one said he could not improve it after two or three trials, then he would bid him erase it, and return the ill-formed verses to the anvil of correction. But if one preferred the defence of a fault to the amending of it, he wasted not a single word more, nor threw away his pains to prevent a man from having the fondest love of himself and his own writings, without any rival admirer. A good and sensible man will censure spiritless lines, blame harsh

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ones, put a smearing mark with the back of his pen to inelegant verses, will prune ambitious ornaments, force you to make plain your obscurities, will blame an equivocal phrase, and note what should be altered; so will he shew himself a second Aristarchus, and never say, "Why offend a friend for trifles?" seeing that these trifles bring serious trouble on the poet, hooted off the stage once for all after an unlucky reception.

453-476. A poet goes as mad as Empedocles; let all beware of him, and keep out of the way of one who will not be helped.

Like one troubled with the evil scab, or jaundice, or frantic madness and Diana's wrath, even so the insane poet all men in their senses fly from, and fear even to touch; the boys hoot at him and heedlessly follow. He with his eyes in the sky belches forth verses, and strays about; then, like a bird-catcher intent on blackbirds, falls into a well or pit; he may cry from afar, "Ho, citizens, come to the help!" but not a soul cares to pull him out. If any one does trouble himself to bring aid, and to let down a rope, how can you tell, I say, whether he did not purposely throw himself in, and wishes not to be saved? So I'll tell you the tale of Sicilian Empedocles, how, wishing to be deemed an immortal god, he leapt in cold blood into burning Etna. Let poets have the right and liberty to perish, if they so please. He who saves a man against his will does the same as if he killed him. The poet has so acted more than once, and if now pulled out, will not for the future become a reasonable man, or lay aside the desire for notorious death. Nor is there any good cause to be shown, why he will always be making verses; whether he has defiled his father's grave, or impiously disturbed some ill-omened accursed plot; anyhow, he is raving mad, and like a bear, who has managed to break the opposing bars of a cage, so he puts to flight the lettered and unlettered alike, by his reading that bores to the death; but if he catches any one, him he holds fast, and kills by his recitation, like a leech, that will not leave the skin, till it is gorged with blood.