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manians and Russians and those who drink the waters of the Ebro and the Rhone shall read his verses. He shamelessly omits those who drink the waters of the Des Moines river. I can see the quiet smile that would play upon his face if he knew that an Iowa schoolmaster was trying to canonize him this afternoon. How he would chuckle and turn to his beloved Maecenas and say “I told you so.”

This is the eleventh year I have read the odes with a class of sophomores, and each year has meant an increased devotion to the author on the part of the teacher. In hours of discouragement I sometimes have doubts about the efficacy of homeopathic doses of Livy; by sad experience I have learned that the great Lucretius is caviare to half of those who elect to read him. But I have never had any misgivings about Horace, that he is stimulating mental food for all of those who are really worthy of a college education. Of course I am ready to admit that the golden fragments of Sappho are more delicate and more exquisitely beautiful than any lines of Horace; we have our poet's admission that he never attempted to emulate the epic strains of Homer or the exalted dithyrambic music of Pindar. It is obvious too that his theory of life is nothing more than a wise synthesis of what his unsympathetic critics have been pleased to call the commonplaces of Greek philosophy. But admitting all of this, there is still a vitality in his golden heart, a vigor in his genial personality, that has made and will continue to make him a comrade of earnest men and women. For the student who is striving to refine his thought and diction there is scarcely any exercise that will count for more than an attempt to render into adequate and appropriate English the curiously felicitous phrases of Horace. If he does not become a cameo cutter or an etcher in language himself, the effort he has made will at least place him in a position where he will appreciate better the gift of literary style in others. The style is the man and there can be no genuine refinement of diction without a corresponding refinement of character. I mention this lest I should be thought guilty of having overlooked one of the large values of a course in Horace. But there are four other rich gifts that he has to offer, to which I would briefly call your attention.

1. He is a loving interpreter of the beauty of Italy, and of the beauty of a certain ideal land that lies somewhere beyond the north wind's blast, in the world of Platonic ideas.

2. By precept and example he is the illuminator of the path along which robust friendship must travel.

3. He is the formulator of a cheerful life philosophy, simple enough to meet the needs of the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker, and comprehensive enough to satisfy a minister of state.

4. He is a sincere expositor of the life and thought of the first century before Christ, of the dying Roman Republic, of the nascent and crescent Roman Empire that was to give Roman law, Greek art and philosophy and the Christian faith and doctrine to the barbarians of Northern and Western Europe.

The charm of Italy had laid a deep hold on Horace, and it is a joy to make journeys with him to chosen hills and valleys in the land of his heart's desire. We are ready to go with him to Gades, to the land of the fierce Cantabrians, over the sands of the Sahara to that far western shore where ever rolls the tide of the Moorish sea. All these places will have a new meaning and significance if we breathe his charmed atmosphere. In our inner hearts, however, we know that neither love of fame nor love of gain will carry him to these wild places. Instead there will be Tibur with the torrent of the tumbling Anio dashing itself to spray beneath the temple of the sybil, where old age may find repose and the weary traveler or soldier may find release from life's burdens and distractions. Or perhaps it will be the fair valley above Tarentum, that once won by its beauty Phalanthus for its king, where finefleeced sheep graze on sweet grasses, where silver olive yards skirt the hills, and from sunrise to sunset there is the drowsy hum of bees. There nature grants a long springtime and mild winters; rich grape clusters crown the autumn. Hymettus, Venafria and Falernia combined do not offer such gifts. And we hear the poet's voice: “That spot and those blessed hilltops are calling you and me, and there you will sprinkle the glowing ashes of your poet friend with the tears that are his due.”

It is not every lover that can effectually describe the thing he loves. Especially difficult is the task for the lover of Italy. The feelings and sentiments that arise at the thought of that land of lands are as elusive as the charm that provokes them. The etcher with his magic needle and the poet with magic mastery of words create for us an ideal world. It is not the least of Horace's merits that he created an ideal Italy—and many men have journeyed in that fair country who have never seen the bay of Baiae or the Sabine Hills. Who has been to Mount Voltur in Apulia? Hardly one in a hundred thousand of those who have travelled there in spirit. We all remember that day of miracle when the '

wonder-child following the elusive melody of Calliope's harp led us on thru holy groves up the hillsides to the high upland meadows, where we could look across the rich farm lands of low-lying Forentum to the eagle's nest which the peasant folk of Acherontia had built. Thru the gracious gift of Horace we have all become princes of illusion and when the day is hard we go and rest with him in a certain sequestered valley beneath Mount Lucretilis-protected from the dogstar's heat by the mountain's shadow, we hear the pipes of Pan floating across the valley from some distant hillside; and there with Tyndaris we taste the wine (even tho we be teetotalers) and we partake of the abundance of our poet's Sabine farm. Not once but many times have we had this experience, an experience which could hardly be enriched by an actual visit to the valley of the Digentia.

Perhaps you have met the German researcher who has trudged from Tibur to Licenza searching for the fountain of Bandusia. He could give you the latitude and longitude, the mean depth and width in centimeters, the average yearly flow of every spring in that long valley. It may be he could show you photographs of all of them. But you felt sure that he had never seen the real fountain of Bandusia which is somewhere on the coasts of Bohemia or in some other imaginary land. You could not be deceived in the matter, for too often at midday you had stolen away for a brief moment to carry a garland to the nymph who presided over that fountain; sitting on the rocks beneath the sacred ilex tree you had watched the wandering herd and the oxen wearied with the plow as they came to those cool waters for refreshment. Even in the mild Italian December you had sat there and had watched the peasant folk in their rustic dances celebrating the festival of Faunus. The smoke rose like a prayer from the ancient altar, where many generations had offered sacrifice, remembering in gratitude how Faunus with gentle heart had made his way across their sunny meadows, protecting the yeanlings of their flocks from the ravening wolves. This was something more than Marie Antoinette's gilded dream of a return to nature. We know that this scene, fairer than an Italian landscape of Claude Lorraine, is a permanent part of our mental furniture, and we have little care to know the exact latitude or longitude of the spot.

Horace had a genius for friendship; he knew well the path along which robust friendship must travel. Sincerity, loyalty, high ethical intelligence, a genial sense of humor that can speak the truth with a smile—these are the lights that illuminate that path, and Horace had them all. It is possible without much difficulty to piece together his theory of friendship. In recommending Pompeius to another friend he says: “Welcome Pompeius as your intimate friend; give him freely whatever he may ask, for his mind is set on nothing except that which is true and just.” This is at once the corner-stone and the keystone of the finest comradeship. We hear the same note again in that exquisite letter of introduction he wrote for Septimius—perhaps the most graceful letter of introduction in all literature. It is a clear-cut cameo of a group of friends,

a each holding his own place of high honor and distinction and beneath is written: “None may join us except the courageous and the upright." We may have some doubts about the character of the young Tiberius who is the King Arthur in this magic circle,—but we can have no doubt that Horace is sincere when he says that courage, justice, truth, honor constitute the basis of true friendship.

In the third satire of the first book Horace, frankly recognizing the imperfection of human nature, lays down in an informal way four fundamental rules of friendship. They are still valid.

1. When you survey your own evil ways with eyes dimmed with disease, do not investigate the shortcomings of your friends with the keen vision of an eagle or an Epidaurian serpent. Sixty years later, in the Sermon on the Mount, we hear: "Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye and considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye."

2. Do not be superficial in your judgments of your friends. Do not allow the cut of a man's hair or the set of his coat to be of more importance in your eyes than his qualities of mind and heart.

3. Remember that the line of demarcation between certain virtues and vices can not be sharply defined. Your friend is a trifle too harsh, let him be regarded as frank and fearless; he is a little too quick-tempered, let him be counted among the high-spirited. Be careful lest you call him an insincere dissembler, when he is merely protecting himself against envy, slander and insincerity.

4. Use the same standards in weighing the faults of friends that you wish to be used in weighing your own.

All of this was written sixty years before the Sermon on the Mount, but in spirit it is strangely akin to such commands as: “Judge not that ye be not judged, for with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again."

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