Loyola University Maryland - Evergreen / Green and Gray Yearbook (Baltimore, MD)

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THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 27 Horace and xx egit tellers} ' HE advice of a classical writer may seem little adapted A to modern literature. Indeed there are few authors who would consider Horace a suitable teacher, although his “ Ars Poetica ’ contains principles of writing, nearly all of which are as applicable to the present day, as they were to the time when the masterpiece was written. It has been well said of this little work, that ‘‘ it is good taste reduced to principles.” V e find no rigid treatise upon the forms and art of poetry, no text-book on the intricacies of metre, but we peruse the careful, shrewd observations and opinions of a genius, the pre- cepts, taught by experience, of one of the greatest poets of the world. The poem is supposed to be a letter of advice to a father and his sons, about to enter the field of literature; com- mentators say it should be called the art of criticism, rather than the art of poetry. Pope has properly named his own treatis‘e, which is similar to it, an Essay on Criticism. The principles which Horace puts into verse, although handed down from Rome’s Augustan age, are not, like the crumbling pillars found in the ruins of the Eternal City, mere memorials of an empire, over the downfall of which many cen- turies have rolled. His sound advice reminds us of his own words, for it certainly “ wishes to be viewed in the light, and does not fear the sharp judgment of the critic.” It would be well if many writers of the present day model- led their w orks on his- teaching. To give an effect of color, “ often one or two purple patches,” says Horace, “ are tacked upon writings begun with a serious purpose and which prom- ised fine material.” The votaries of the purple patch system are very numerous at the present time — we catch glimpses of

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26 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL “ ‘ What is it? ’ she says quick. “ ‘ YOU,’ he answers, steady and clear. ‘ If I risk my life for that man out there, who, God knows, I would sooner see die than come back here, it’s you, — or he stays there. “ She sorter starts and looks at him, as though she was dreaming. Then, givin’ a little laugh that was cut short in the middle and wasn’t good to hear, she says : “ ‘ Go ; anything, for he’ll die out there.’ Billy never said another word, but, turning on his heel, he goes up to where the logs is, and picking out a big one, jumps on and shoves her off. When he struck the first stretch of water he leaned for- ward like a circus-rider, swinging easily to the roll of the log. All this time Charlie, who had been looking and seeing what he had to do, waited until the log shot abreast, then jumped. He lit square on the log, but would have fallen off if Billy hadn’t grabbed him. Down they went until they struck the drop, then as their log dived, Billy picked Charlie up in his arms, jumped high and dropped as gracefully as a cat, on one of the logs that were floating in the pool. “Well, you oughter heard us holler! Billy never said a word, but with Charlie, who had fainted, lying in his arms like a big child, went up to where the girl was settin’ with tearless eyes and sweet face lookin’ at him. “ Layin’ the man down beside her he says, kinder sad : “ ‘ Take him, honey, he’s yours. For, as God is my Judge, I won’t deprive a girl of the man she loves, as you love him.’ With this he turns and starts up the river trail. “ ‘ Hey, boss,’ yells one of the men, ‘ aint you agoin’ to run this drive clar thro ? ’ “ ‘ To h — with the drive,’ says Billy. ‘ I’m tired, tired.’ “ Nor has horn, hair nor hoof mark been seen of him since.” Frederic C. Lee, ’10.

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28 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL them in the latest novels, in the magazines and journals, but nowhere are they so sure to be found as in the columns of a newspaper. The writers who are hired to amuse the populace by handing out line after line of commonplaces, think it neces- sary to bait their articles with some of these same “ purple patches.” The modern novelist as well feels at times a sort of moral obligation to suspend his “ thrilling interest,” as the advertise- ments call it, in order to indulge in an elaborate description, which he fancies would be envied by Sir Walter Scott. Truly do these aspirants bring in “ the grove and altar of Diana, the river Rhine and the rainbow,” when “ it is not the place for these things.” This is by no means the only example in Horace that can be directly applied to present literature. In fact we can hardly glance over a few lines of the “ Ars Poetica ” without finding some striking truth applicable to the modern profession of letters. In Horace’s words, “ Public material will become peculiarly your own, if you do not delay in the cheap and beaten path, or scrupulously render word for word as a faith- ful translator.” What a legion of modern novels follow the “ cheap and beaten path,” tread and retread upon the well-known road, until it is necessary to reach the public by another way! A good book is merely the progenitor of a long line of imitations, each one possessed of less merit than the one before. If it happens to be a detective story, the press is soon crowded with books of this type. The novel of the social problem repeats itself, and issues anew from the hands of every writer, just as the so-called moral question continually fills the pages of fiction in a slightly different form, and is all the fashion in the world of reading. Horace recognized one of the qualities of a great book, when he said : “ I shall write my song from well-known lore.