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He will go a long way if he does not throw himself into the river, and even so he will get as far as the drag-nets at Saint-Cloud." "If I had any advice to give the gentleman," remarked Barbet, "it would be to give up poetry and take to prose. Poetry is not wanted on the Quais just now."
This was spoken with all his heart; but it was quite out of keeping with the conversation which had preceded it, and White's poetry was almost as disagreeable to the party as Freeborn's prose. "White, you should turn Catholic out and out," said Sheffield. "My dear good fellow," said Bateman, "think what you are saying. You can't really have gone to a schismatical chapel. Oh, for shame!"
But those accents are all in the wrong, and Ephorus is wholly in fault. For those who pass over the paeon, do not perceive that a most delicate, and at the same time most dignified rhythm is passed over by them. But Aristotle's opinion is very different, for he considers that the heroic rhythm is a grander one than is admissible in prose, and that an iambic is too like ordinary conversation.
It had the effect, also, to turn his attention almost wholly to prose writing, in which he became distinguished, as we shall see hereafter. A single verse of these ballads only has descended to our times. It is from the second mentioned the capture of the pirate, as follows: "Come, all you jolly sailors, You all so stout and brave; Come, hearken, and I'll tell you What happened on the wave. Oh!
His prose was clever but irregular; he wasn't always to be depended upon for grammar; in everything he was unstable; yet the owner's secretary reported the owner as saying that some day, if Babson married the right woman, he would "settle down and make good."
Pretty deep, wasn't it?" Sibyl was arranging the books and music in their proper places. "You know I am not myself poetical," she answered calmly; "but I like Mr. Marr, and therefore I like his verses, Hugh." "Oh, Sibyl! surely not so well as Mr. Leslie's story?" said Bessie earnestly. "Poetry and prose cannot be compared, neither can Mr. Marr and Mr.
Hortensius was still alive, and highly revered, and Cicero had recently written his elaborate De Oratore in which, with the apparent calmness of a still unquestioned authority, he laid down the program of the writer of ornate prose who conceived it as his chief duty to heed the claims of art.
Judging from the letters of Congreve, his only writings in prose which it has been my good fortune to meet with, and which, as I remember, contain some admirable remarks on the distinction between wit and humour, I should conclude that one part of his character as a writer has yet to make its way to the public notice.
No one who has examined with care and thoughtfulness the aspects of Life and Nature but must allow that in the contemplation of such a spectacle, great and most moral truths must force themselves on the notice and sink deep into the heart. BRUSSELS, August, 1840. If none of my prose works have been so attacked as "Eugene Aram," none have so completely triumphed over attack.
I would not quarrel with Rossetti's version, however, if it had not been often put forward as an example of a translation which was equal to the original. It is certainly a wonderful version if we compare it with most of those that have been made from Villon. Mr. Stacpoole's, I fear, have no rivulets of music running through them to make up for their want of prose exactitude.
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