QUINTUS, the most popular, and, next to Catullus and Virgil, the greatest of the Roman poets, was born vi. Dec. A.C. 689 (Dec. 8, B.C. 65), during the consulship of L. Aurelius Cotta and L. Manlius Torquatus, and died Nov. 27, A.C. 746 (B.C. 8). Horace is his own biographer. All the material facts of his personal history are to be gathered from the allusions scattered throughout his poems. A memoir, attributed to Suetonius, of somewhat doubtful authenticity, furnishes a few additional details, but none of material moment, either as to his character or career. His father was a freedman (Sat. I. vi., 6, 46-47), and it was long considered that he had been a slave of some member of the great family of the Horatii, whose name he had assumed, in accordance with the common usage in such cases. But this theory has latterly given place to the suggestion, based upon inscriptions, that he was a freedman of the town of Venusia (the modern Venosa), the inhabitants of which belonged to the Horatian tribe (G. F. Grotefend, Enzyklopädie von Ersch und Gruber, 2d ed., vol. x., p. 457, Leipzig, 1833; and C. L. Grotefend, Ephemerid. Literar., Darmstadt, 1834, p. 182; and Mommsen's Inscriptiones Regni Neapolitani, Lipsiae, 1852). The point is, however, of little importance, as the name, distinguished as it was, has derived more lustre from the poet than from any of the patriots and heroes by whom it had previously been borne. The elder Horace had received his manumission before his son was born (Sat. I. vi., 8). He had realized a moderate independence in the vocation of coactor, a name borne indifferently by the collectors of public revenue, and of money at sales by public auction. To which of these classes he belonged is uncertain, but most probably to the latter (Sat. I. vi., 86). With the fruits of his industry he had purchased a small property near Venusia, upon the banks of the Aufidus, the modern Olanto, in the midst of the Apennines, upon the doubtful boundaries of Lucania and Apulia. Here the poet was born, and in this picturesque region of mountain, forest, and stream, the boy became imbued with the love of nature, which distinguished him through life. The third ode of the fourth book affords a pleasing glimpse of the child, wandering out of bounds along the slopes of Mount Vultur, and being found, after an anxious search, asleep under a covering of laurel and myrtle leaves, which the wild pigeons had spread to shield this special favourite of the gods from the snakes and wild animals. The augury of the future poet, said to have been drawn from the incident at the time, was no doubt an afterthought of the poet's own, but the picture which the lines present of the strayed child asleep with his hands full of spring flowers is welcome, whatever may be thought of the omen. In his father's house, and in those of the Apulian peasantry around him, Horace had opportunities of becoming familiar with the simple virtues of the poor—their independence, integrity, chastity, and homely worth, which he proved to contrast with the luxury and vice of imperial Rome.

Of his mother no mention occurs, directly or indirectly, throughout his poems, and it is reasonable to infer from this circumstance, taken in connection with the indications which they present of strong natural affection, that she died during his infancy. He appears also to have been an only child. No doubt he had at an early age given evidence of superior powers, and to this it may have been in some measure owing that his father thought him worthy of a higher education than could be obtained under a provincial schoolmaster (Sat. I. vi., 71, et seq.), and, although but ill able to afford it, carried him to Rome when about twelve years old, and gave him the best education which the capital could supply. No expense was spared to save the boy from any sense of inferiority among his fellow-students of the higher ranks. He was waited on by numerous slaves, as though he were the heir to a considerable fortune. But at the same time he was not allowed to entertain any shame for his own order, or to aspire to a position which he was unequal to maintain. His father taught him to look forward to filling some situation akin to that in which he had himself acquired a competency, and to feel that in any sphere culture and self-respect must command influence, and afford the best guarantee for happiness. Under the stern tutelage of Orbilius Pupillus, a grammarian of high standing, richer in reputation than gold, whom the poet has condemned to a bad immortality for his flogging propensities, he learned grammar, and became familiar with the earlier Latin writers, and with Homer. He also acquired such other branches of instruction as were usually learned by the sons of Romans of the higher ranks. But, what was of still more importance, during this critical period of his first introduction to the seductions of the capital, he enjoyed the advantage of his father's personal superintendence, and of a moral training, which kept him aloof, not merely from the indulgence, but even from the contact of vice. His father went with him to all his classes (Sat. I. vi., 81, et seq.), and, being himself a man of shrewd observation and natural humour, he gave his son's studies a practical bearing, by directing his attention to the follies and vices of the luxurious and dissolute society around him (Sat. I. iv., 105, et seq.), and showing their incompatibility with the dictates of reason and common sense. From this admirable father, Horace appears to have inherited that manly independence for which he was remarkable, and which, while assigning to all ranks their due influence and respect, never either overestimates or compromises its own. Under the homely exterior of the Apulian freedman we see the soul of the gentleman. His influence on his son was manifestly great. In the full maturity of his powers Horace penned a tribute to his worth (Sat. I. vi., 68, et seq.) with a fervour manifestly prompted by the full heart of a man who had often had cause to feel the blessings of that influence throughout the vicissitudes of a chequered life. It had given tone and strength to his character, and in the midst of manifold temptations had kept him true to himself and his genius.

At what age Horace lost his father is uncertain. Most probably this event occurred before he left Rome for Athens to complete his education, as was then the practice, in the Greek literature and philosophy, under native teachers. This he did some time between the age of seventeen and twenty. At Athens he found many young men of the leading Roman families—Bibulus, Acidinus, Messala, and the younger Cicero—engaged in the same pursuits with himself. His works prove him to have been no careless student of the classics of Grecian literature, and with a natural enthusiasm he made his first poetical essays in their flexible and noble language. With his usual good sense, however, he soon abandoned the hopeless task of emulating the Greek writers on their own ground, and directed his efforts to transusing into his own language some of the grace and melody of these masters of song (Sat. i. xi., 31-35). In the political lull between the battle of Pharsalia, a.u.c. 706 (B.C. 48), and the death of Julius Caesar, a.u.c. 710 (B.C. 44), Horace was enabled to devote himself without interruption to the tranquil pursuits of the scholar. But when after the latter event Brutus came to Athens, and the patrician youth of Rome, fired with zeal for the cause of republican liberty, joined his standard, Horace was infected by the general enthusiasm, and accepted a military command in the army which was destined to encounter the legions of Anthony and Octavius. His rank was that of tribune, equivalent to a colonelcy of foot in our own army, and for this he must have been indebted either to the personal friendship of Brutus, or to an extraordinary dearth of officers, seeing that he was not only without experience or birth to recommend him, but possessed no particular aptitude, physical or moral, for a military life. His appointment excited jealousy among his brother officers, who considered that the command of a Roman legion should have been reserved for men of nobler blood. (Sat. I. vi., 46, et seq.) It was probably here that he first came into direct collision with the aristocratic prejudices which the training of his father had taught him to defy, and which, at a subsequent period, grudged to the freedman's son the friendship of the emperor and of Mecenas. At the same time he had doubtless a strong party of friends, who had learned to appreciate his genius and attractive qualities. It is certain that he secured the esteem of his commanders, and bore an active part in the perils and difficulties of the campaign, which terminated in the total defeat of the republican party at Philippi, a.u.c. 712 (B.C. 42). A playful allusion by himself to the events of that disastrous field (Odes, II. vi., 9, et seq.) has been turned by many of his commentators into an admission of his own cowardice. This is absurd. Such a confession is the very last which any man, least of all a Roman, would make. Horace says, addressing his friend Pompeius Varius—

" With thee I shared Philippi's fiery flight, My shield behind me left, which was not well, When all that brave array was broke, and fell In the vile dust full many a towering wight."

Such an allusion to the loss of his shield could only have been dropped by a man who felt that he had done his duty, and that it was known he had done it. The lines may thus be safely regarded, according to the views of Lessing and others, as a not ungraceful compliment to his friend, who continued the struggle against the triumvirate with the party who threw themselves into the fleet of Sextus Pompeius. This interpretation is confirmed by the language of the next verse, where, in the same spirit, he applies the epithet "paventem" (craven) to himself.

"But me, poor craven, swift Mercurius bore, Wrapp'd in a cloud through all the hostile din, While war's tumultuous eddies, closing in, Swept thee away into the strife once more."

It was no shame in Horace to have despaired of a cause which its leaders had given up. After the suicide of Brutus and Cassius the continuance of the contest was hopeless; and Horace may in his short military career have seen, in the jealousy and selfish ambition of many of his party, enough to make him suspicious of success, even if that had been attainable. Republicans who sneered at the freedman's son were not likely to found any system of liberty worthy of the name.

When Horace found his way back to Italy it was to find his paternal acres confiscated. His life was spared, but nothing was left him to sustain it but his pen and his good spirits. He had to write for bread—Pausertas impulit audax ut versus facerem (Epis. II. ii., 51)—and in so doing he appears to have acquired not only considerable repute, but also sufficient means to purchase the place of scribe in the Quaestor's office, a sort of sinecure Clerkship of the Treasury, which he continued to hold for many years, if not to the close of his life (Sat. II. vi., 36). It was upon his return to Rome that he made the acquaintance of Virgil and Varus, who were already famous, and to them he was indebted for his introduction to Mecenas. The particulars of his first interview with his patron he has himself recorded (Sat. I. vi., 55, et seq.). It is a curious circumstance in the history of a friendship, among the closest and most affectionate on record, that nine months elapsed after their meeting before Mecenas again summoned the poet to his house, and enrolled him in the list of his intimate friends. This event took place in the third year after the battle of Philippi; and as the only claim of Horace, the man of humble origin and the retainer of a defeated party, to the notice of the minister of Augustus must have been his literary reputation, it is obvious that even at this early period he had established his position among the wits and men of letters in the capital. The acquaintance rapidly ripened into mutual esteem. It secured the position of the poet in society, and the generosity of the statesman placed him above the anxieties of a literary life. Throughout the intimate intercourse of thirty years which ensued there was no trace of condescension on the one hand, nor of servility on the other. Mecenas gave the poet the place next his heart. He must have respected the man who never used his influence to obtain those favours which were within the disposal of the emperor's minister, who cherished an honest pride in his own station, and who could be grateful without being obsequious. Horace is never weary of acknowledging how much he owes to his friend. When he praises him, it is without flattery. When he soothes his anxieties, or calms his fears, the sincerity of his sympathy is apparent in the warmth of his words. When he resists his patron's wishes, he is firm without rudeness. When he sports with his foibles, he is familiar without the slightest shade of impropriety.

By Mecenas Horace was introduced to Octavius, most probably soon after the period just referred to. In a.u.c. 717, a year after Horace had been admitted into the circle of his friends, Mecenas went to Brundisium, charged by Octavius to negotiate a treaty with Marcus Antonius. On this journey he was accompanied by Horace, who has left a graphic record of its incidents (Sat. I. vi.). It is probable that on this occasion or about this time the poet was brought to the notice of the future emperor. Between the time of his return from this journey and the year 722, Horace, who had in the meantime given to the world many of his poems, including the ten Satires of the first book, received from Mecenas the gift of the Sabine farm, which at once afforded him a competency and all the pleasures of a country life. The gift was a slight one for Mecenas to bestow, but he no doubt made it as the fittest and most welcome which he could have offered to his friend. It made Horace happy. It gave him leisure and amusement, and opportunities for that calm intercourse with nature which he "needed for his spirit's health." Never was a gift better bestowed or better requited. It at once prompted much of that poetry which has made Mecenas famous, and has afforded ever new delight to successive generations. The Sabine farm was situated in a romantic valley about 15 miles from Tibur (Tivoli), and among its other charms, possessed the valuable attraction for Horace, that it was within an easy distance of Rome. When his spirits wanted the stimulus of society or the bustle of the capital, which they often did, his ambling mule could speedily convey him thither; and when jaded on the other hand by

"The noise, and strife, and questions wearisome, And the vain splendours of imperial Rome,"

he could by the same easy means of transport, in a few hours bury himself among the hills, and there, under the shadow of his favourite Lucretius, or by the banks of the Digenita, either stretch himself to dream upon the grass, lulled by the mur- murs of the stream, or look after the culture of his fields, and fancy himself a farmer. The site of this farm has been pretty accurately ascertained, and it is at the present day a favourite resort of travellers, especially of Englishmen, who visit it in such numbers, and trace its features with so much enthusiasm, that the resident peasantry, "who cannot conceive of any other source of interest in one so long dead and unsainted, than that of co-patriotism or consanguinity," believe Horace to have been an Englishman (Letter by Mr Dennis. Milman's Horace, London, 1849, p. 109). The property was of moderate size, and produced corn, olives, and wine, but was not highly cultivated. Here Horace spent a considerable part of every year. Latterly, when his health failed, he passed the winter in the milder air of a villa at Tivoli. The Sabine farms was very retired, being about four miles from Varia (Vico Varo), the nearest town, well covered with timber, and traversed by a small but sparkling stream. It gave employment to five families of free coloni, who were under the superintendence of a bailiff; and, besides these, eight slaves were attached to the poet's establishment. With his inexpensive habits this little property was sufficient for all his wants (Satius beatus unicus Sabinius). Here he could entertain a stray friend from town,—his patron Maecenas, upon occasion,—and the delights of this agreeable retreat and the charm of the poet's society, were doubtless more than a compensation for the plain fare or the thin home-grown wine, Vile Sabinius, with which its resources alone enabled him to regale them.

The life of Horace from the time of his intimacy with Maecenas appears to have been one of comparative ease and of great social enjoyment. Augustus soon admitted him to his favour, and sought to attach him to his person in the capacity of secretary. This offer Horace was prudent and firm enough to decline; while at the same time he had the tact not to offend the master of the world by his refusal. To the close of his life his favour at court continued without a cloud. Augustus not only liked the man, but entertained a profound admiration for the poet. Believing in the immortality of his writings, it was natural the emperor should cultivate the good will and seek to secure the "deathless meed" of his favourite's song. That Horace had fought with Brutus against him was no prejudice. To have espoused the cause, and enjoyed the confidence of one whose nobility of purpose his adversaries never scrupled to acknowledge, formed, indeed, in itself a claim upon his successful rival's esteem. Horace was no renegade; he was not ashamed of the past, and Maecenas and Augustus were just the men to respect him for his independence, and to like him the better for it. They could appreciate his superiority to the herd of parasites and time-servers around them; and like all the greatest actors on the political stage, they were above the petty rancours of party jealousy, or the desire to enforce a renunciation of convictions opposite to their own. It was by never stooping to them unduly that Horace secured their esteem, and maintained himself upon a footing of equality with them, as nearly as the difference of rank would allow. There is no reason to suspect Horace, in the praises which he has recorded of Augustus, either of insincerity or sycophancy. He was able to contrast the comparative security of life and property, the absence of political turmoil, and the development of social ease and happiness, which his country enjoyed under the masterly administration of Augustus, with the disquietude and strife under which it had languished for so many years. The days of a republic had gone by, and an enlightened despotism must have been welcomed by a country shaken by a long period of civil commotion, and sick of seeing itself played for as the stake of reckless and ambitious men. He was near enough to the councils of the world's master to see his motives and to appreciate his policy; and his intimate personal intercourse with both Augustus and Maecenas no doubt enabled him to do fuller justice both to their intentions and their capacity, than was possible perhaps to any other man of his time. The envy which his intimacy with these two foremost men of all the world for a time excited in Roman society by degrees gave way, as years advanced, and the causes of their esteem came to be better understood. Their favour did not spoil him. He was ever the same kindly, urbane, and simple man of letters he had originally been. He never presumed upon his position, or looked superciliously on others less favoured than himself. At all times generous and genial, years only mellowed his wisdom, and gave a sharper lustre to the beauty of his verse. The unaffected sincerity of his nature, and the rich vein of his genius, made him courted by the rich and noble. (Odes, ii. xviii., 9, et seq.) He mixed on easy terms with the choicest society of Rome, and what a society must that have been which included Virgil, Varius, Plotius, Tibullus, Pollio, and a host of others, who were not only ripe scholars, but had borne and were bearing a leading part in the great actions and events of that memorable epoch? It is to this period that the composition of his principal odes is to be attributed. To these, of all his writings, Horace himself ascribed the greatest value, and on these he rested his claims to posthumous fame. They were the result of great labour, as he himself indicates: "Operosa parvus Carmina fingo" (Odes, IV. ii., 31), and yet they bear pre-eminently the charm of simplicity and ease. He was the first to mould the Latin tongue to the Greek lyric measures; and his success in this difficult task may be estimated from the fact, that as he was the first so was he the greatest of the Roman lyrists. Quintilian's criticism upon him can scarcely be improved: "Lyricorum Horatius fere solus legi dignus. Nam et insurgit aliquando, et plenum est jucunditatis et gratiae, et variis figuris, et verbis felicissime audax." In this airy and playful grace, in happy epithets, in variety of imagery, and exquisite felicity of expression, the Odes are still unsurpassed among the writings of any period or language. If they want the inspiration of a great motive, or the fervour and resonance of the finest lyrics of Greece, they possess at all events an exquisite grace and terseness of expression, a power of painting an image or expressing a thought in the fewest and fittest words, and a melody of tone, which imbue them with a charm quite peculiar, and have given them a hold upon the minds of educated men, which no change of taste has shaken. That they are inferior to his Greek models is not to be wondered at. Even although Horace had possessed the genius of Pindar or Sappho, it is doubtful whether, writing as he did in an artificial language, which he was compelled to make more artificial by the adoption of Grecian terms of expression, and being therefore without the free and genial medium of expression which they had at command, he could have found an adequate utterance for his inspiration. But his genius was akin to neither of these; and that good sense, which is his great characteristic, withheld him from ever either soaring too high or attempting to sustain his flight too long. He knew the measure of his powers, and in his greatest efforts therefore no undue strain upon them is to be detected. His power of passion is limited, and his strokes of pathos are few and slight. Above all, he did not possess the faculty, which, in a lyrical writer, is the highest, of losing himself in a great theme. Whatever subject he treats, we never lose sight of the poet in the poem. This quality, while it is fatal to lyric poetry of the highest class, helps, however, to heighten the charm of the mass of his odes, especially those which are devoted to his friends, or which breathe the delight with which the contact with the ever fresh beauties of natural scenery inspired him. Into these he throws his whole heart, and in them we feel the fascination which made him beloved by those who came within the circle of his personal influence, and which makes him as it were the well known and intimate friend of all to whom his writings are a familiar study. Horace was not and could not have been a national poet. He wrote only for cultivated men, and under the shadow of a court. The very language in which he wrote must have been unintelligible to the people, and he had none of those popular sympathies which inspire the lyrics of Burns or Béranger. The Roman populace of his time was perhaps as little likely to command his respect as any which the world has ever seen; and there was no people, in the sense in which we understand the word, to appeal to. And yet Horace has many points in common with Burns. "A man's a man for a' that," in the whole vein of its sentiment is thoroughly Horatian; but the glow which kindles the heart and fires the brain is subdued to a temperate heat in the gentler and physically less energetic nature of Horace. In his amatory verses the same distinction is visible. None of his erotic poems are vivified by those gusts of emotion which animate the love poetry of the poets we have named and of other modern song writers. Never indeed was love less ideal or intense in a poet of unquestionable power. Horace is not insensible to beauty. No writer hits off with greater neatness the portrait of a beauty, or conjures up more skilfully before his reader an image of seductive grace. But the fire of genuine passion is wanting. Horace's ardour seems never to have risen above the transient flush of desire. His heart is whole though Cupid may have clapped him on the shoulder. The Lalages and Lycées, the Glycerae and Phrynes of his Odes are pretty playthings of an hour, who amused his fancy and delighted his senses, but never robbed him of a night's repose or of a day's appetite. The attempt to make them out as real objects of attachment is one of the many follies in which his commentators have wasted much dreary labour. Horace might, no doubt, have sung of himself, like Béranger, in his youth,

"J'avais vingt ans une folle maîtresse, Des frères amis, et l'amour de chansons,"

and even when he could count eight lustres, despite his own protest (Ode ii., 4, 21, et seq.), his senses were probably not dead to the attractions of a fine ankle, or a pretty face, or to the fascination of a sweet smile, or a musical voice. But his passions were too well controlled, and his love of ease too strong, to have admitted of so many flirtations as would be implied in the supposition that Tyndaris, Myrtae, and a score of others, were actual favourites of the bard. To sing of beauty has always been the poet's privilege and delight; and to record the lover's pains an easy and popular theme. Horace, the wit and friend of wits, was not likely to be out of the mode, and so he sang of love and beauty according to his fashion. Very airy and playful and pleasant is that fashion, and, for his time, in the main comparatively pure and chaste; but we seek in vain for the tenderness, the negation of self, and the pathos, which are the soul of all true love poetry. "His love duties," it has been well said, "are, as it were, like flowers, beautiful in form, and rich in hues, but without the scent that breathes to the heart." It is certain that many of them are merely imitations of Greek originals.

His Satires and Epistles are less read, yet they are perhaps intrinsically more valuable than his lyric poetry. They are of very various merit, written at different periods of his life, and, although the order of their composition may be difficult to define with certainty, much may be inferred, even from the internal evidence of style and subject, as to the development of the poet's genius. This subject has engaged much of the attention of the commentators, and all concur in placing the Satires first, and the Epistles, including the Epistle to the Pisos, De Arte Poetica, last in the order of date. As reflecting "the age and body of the time," they possess the highest historical value. Through them the modern scholar is able to form a clearer idea of the state of society in Rome in the Augustan age than of any other phase of social development in the history of nations. Mingling, as he did, freely with men of all ranks and passions, and himself untouched by the ambition of wealth or influence which absorbed them in the struggle of society, he enjoyed the best of opportunities for observation, and he used them diligently. Horace's observation of character is subtle and exact, his knowledge of the heart is profound, his power of graphic delineation great. A genial humour plays over his verses, and a kindly wisdom dignifies them. Never were the maxims of social prudence and practical good sense inculcated in so pleasing a form as in the Epistles. The vein of his satire is delicate yet racy, and he stimulates and amuses, but rarely offends by indelicacy, or outrages by coarseness. He does not spare himself upon occasion. His sarcasms, moreover, have no spice of malignity, neither are they tinged by the satirist's vice of vaunting his superiority to his neighbours. For fierceness of invective, or loftiness of moral tone, he is inferior to Juvenal; but the vices of his time were less calculated to provoke the "serva indignatio," or to call for the stern moral censure of the satirist of a more recent date. He deals rather with the weakness and follies, than with the vices or crimes of mankind, and his appeals are directed to their judgment and practical sense rather than to their conscience. The idea of duty or absolute right is not a prominent one with Horace. He inculcates what is fitting and decorous, and tends most to tranquillity of mind and body, rather than the severe virtues of a high standard of moral purity. To live at peace with the world, to shun the extremes of avarice, luxury, and ambition, to outrage none of the laws of nature, to enjoy life wisely, and not to load it with cares which the lapse of a few brief years will demonstrate to be foolishness, is very nearly the sum of his philosophy. Of religion, as we understand it, he had little. He was, however, too observant of the world around him, and too habitually accustomed to look into his own soul, not to have been profoundly impressed with the evidences of Supreme Wisdom governing the machine of the universe, and to have felt aspirations for a future in which the mysteries of the present world should find a solution. Although himself little of a practical worshipper—parex deorum cultor et infrequens—he respected the sincerity of others in their belief in the old gods. But in common with the more vigorous intellects of the time, he had outgrown the effete creed of his countrymen. He could not accept the mythology, about which the forms of the contemporary worship still clustered. The relation of the universe to its Maker was a mystery to him, and the agency of an active Providence, if it occasionally startled him out of the easy indifference of a vain philosophy, seems to have been by no means a permanent conviction of his mind, influencing his actions, or giving a lofty sweep to his speculations. The morality of enlightened and far-seeing wisdom was attainable by such a mind, and it was attained; but to the divine spirit, which raised some of the ancient writers almost to a level with the inspired authors of the books of our faith, Horace has no claim. As a living and brilliant commentary on life, as a storehouse of maxims of practical wisdom, couched in language the most apt and concise, as sketches of men and manners, which will be always fresh and always true, because they were true once, and because human nature will always reproduce itself under analogous circumstances, his Satires, and still more his Epistles, will have a permanent value for mankind. In these, too, as in his Odes, Horace helped materially in giving to the Latin language the highest amount of polish of which it is susceptible.

At no time very robust, Horace's health appears to have declined for some years before his death. He was doomed to see some of his most valued friends drop into the grave before him. This to him, who gave to friendship the ardour which other men give to love, was the severest wound that time could bring. Youth, and spirits, and health, the inevitable decay of nature, saddened the thoughtful poet in his solitude, and tinged the gayest society with melancholy. But the loss of friends, the brothers of his soul, of Virgil, Quintilis, Tibullus, and others, and ultimately of Maccenas, without that hope of reunion which springs from the cheering faith which was soon afterwards to be revealed to the world, must have by degrees stripped life of most of its charms. *Singula de nobis anni praedantur evites* (Epis. II. ii. 55) is a cheerless reflection to the man who has no assured hope beyond the present time. Maccenas's health was a source of deep anxiety to him, and one of the most exquisite odes (the 17th of the 2d book), addressed to him, in answer to some outburst of despondency, while it expresses the depth of the poet's regard, bears in it the tone of a man somewhat weary of the world:

"Ah! if untimely fate should snatch thee hence, There, of my soul a part, Why should I linger on, with deaden'd sense, And ever-aching heart, A worthless fragment of a fallen shrine? No, no! One day beholds thy death and mine! Think not that I have sworn a rootless oath! Yes, we shall go, shall go, Hand link'd in hand, whene'er thou leadest, both The last sad road below!"

The prophecy seems to have been realized almost to the letter. The same year (A.U.C. 746, B.C. 8) witnessed the death of both Horace and Maccenas. The latter died in the middle of the year, bequeathing his friend, in almost his last words, to the care of Augustus: *Horati Flaci, ut mei, esto memori.* On the 27th of November, when he was on the eve of completing his fifty-seventh year, Horace himself died, of an illness so sharp and sudden, that he was unable to make his will in writing. He declared it verbally before witnesses, leaving the little all which he possessed to Augustus. He was buried on the Esquiline Hill, near his patron and friend Maccenas. No trace of the tombs of either remains; but the name and fame of both are inextricably entwined, and can only perish with the decay of literature itself. The fame of Horace was at once established. In the days of Juvenal he shared with Virgil the doubtful honour of being a schoolbook (Juvenal, Sat. vii. 226). That honour he still enjoys; but it is only by minds matured by experience and reflection that Horace can be thoroughly appreciated. To them the depth of his observation, and the reach of his good sense are made daily more apparent; and the verses which charmed their fancy or delighted their ear in youth, became the counsellors of their manhood, or the mirror which focalizes for their old age the gathered wisdom of a lifetime. No writer is so often quoted, and simply because the thoughts of none are more pertinent to men's "business and bosoms" in the concerns of every-day life, amid the jostle of a crowded and artificial state of society; and because the glimpses of nature, in which his writings abound, come with the freshness of truth, alike to the jaded dweller in cities, and to those who can test them day by day in the presence of nature herself. To Petrarch and Wordsworth he was a favourite study. Richard Hooker made him a manual. Louis XVIII. had him by heart; and there is scarcely a statesman of eminence in whose mouth his sayings are not household words.

There are no authentic busts or medallions of Horace, and his descriptions of himself are vague. He was short in stature; his eyes and hair were dark, but the latter was early silvered with gray. He suffered at one time from an affection of the eyes, and seems to have been by no means robust in constitution. His habits were temperate and frugal, as a rule, although he was far from insensible to the charms of a good table and good wine, heightening and heightened by the zest of good company. But he seems to have had neither the stomach nor the taste for habitual indulgence in the pleasures of the table. In youth he was hasty and choleric, but easily placable; and to the last he probably shared in some degree the irritability which he ascribes to his class. At the same time, if his writings be any index to his mind, his temper was habitually sweet and well under control. Like all playful men, a tinge of melancholy coloured his life, if that is to be called melancholy which is more properly only that sense of the incompleteness and insufficiency of life for the desires of the soul, which must be deeply seated in all earnest natures. Latterly he became corpulent, and sensitive to the severity of the seasons, and sought at Baiae and Tivoli the refreshment or shelter which his mountain retreat had ceased to yield to his delicate frame.

The chronology of the poems of Horace has been the source of much critical controversy. The earlier labours of Bentley, Masson, Dacier, and Sandan have been followed up in modern times by those of Passow, Walckenaer, Weber, Grotedef, and Stallbaum abroad, and of Tate and Milman at home. As the subject is not one which admits of certainty, the speculation is endless, and must always be in a great measure unsatisfactory. The general result may be stated as follows. The *Satires* and *Epodes* were first in the order of composition, having been written between the years 713 and 725, after the return of Horace to Rome, and before the close of the civil wars consequent upon the defeat of Antony and his party. The two first books of *Odes* appeared between this period and the year 730. Then followed the first book of *Epistles*. The third book of *Odes* appears to have been composed about the year 735, the *Carmen Seculare* in 737, and the fourth book of *Odes* between 737 and 741. The second book of *Epistles* may be assigned to the period between 741 and 746; and to the same period may be ascribed the composition of the *Epistle to the Pisones*. The results of the speculations of Bentley and several of the leading critics are presented in a tabular form in the admirable edition of *Horace* published by Firmin Didot, Paris, 1855, with the commentary of Dübner, which is a model at once of typographical beauty and editorial skill.

For a list of the best editions of *Horace*, and of the numerous works on the topography and chronology of his poems, reference may be made to Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, London, 1850, sub voce Horatius.

The translations of *Horace* into all the European languages are numerous. The English versions are more numerous than successful. Pope and Swift, in their imitations, have caught more of his manner than any of the translators; and probably the rendering which will convey the best idea of his peculiar charm will be that which hits a happy medium between the literal and the paraphrastic. The translation of Francis, which long held a place as the English representative of this classic, is a poor performance, and is rapidly falling into merited oblivion. That of Wrangham is weak, colourless, and trivial. Of late years many versions have issued from the press, among which those of F.W. Newman, London, 1853; Melville, London, 1850; and Robinson, London, 1846-55, are chiefly remarkable. But a good English *Horace* is still a desideratum, and, if ever supplied, it will probably be the result of the combined labours of many hands.

**HORizon** (*opos, I bound*), the plane of a great circle which divides the upper or visible from the lower or invisible hemisphere. See Astronomy; and Geography.

**Horn.** The projecting weapons on the head of the ox, the sheep, the antelope, and the rhinoceros, consist of a sheath of horn on a core of bone. Horn is composed chiefly of conglutinated albumen, gelatine, and a small portion of phosphate of lime. It is essentially distinct from bone and ivory; the antlers of the stag, although sometimes called horns, consist entirely of bone. Modifications of horn may be noticed in the scales of the armadillo, the plate armour of the tortoise, the spines of the porcupine and hedgehog, the quills of birds, and the hoofs, claws, and nails, of animals. For manufacturing purposes, the horns and hoofs of the bull and cow are in request, and there is a large import of these from South America, Southern Africa, and from Russia. The horns of the bison and buffalo, the chamois and the antelope, are used for the better kinds of work.

The manufacturer first detaches the horn from the bony core, by macerating the horn in water for a month or six weeks, when the membrane by which the horn is attached to the core putrefies and allows the two to be separated. The ash of the cores makes excellent cupels for the assay of gold and silver. The solid tips of the horn are sawn off, and are used for handles for knives, for buttons, &c.; the other portion of the horn is cut into short lengths, or soaked whole in boiling water, or heated at a fire, the effect of which is to soften it, and allow it to be spread out nearly flat. The flats are next pressed between warm and greased iron plates, the pressure varying according to circumstances. If intended for lanterns, the pressure is continued until the horn separates into distinct plates; these are placed on a board covered with hide, and scraped with a knife having a wire edge. Some of the shavings which come off are sometimes dyed and cut into various forms, and are so sensitive as to curl up by the warmth of the hand. They are sold at toy-shops under the name of "sensitive leaves." After the scraping, the sheets of horn are polished with a woollen cloth dipped in charcoal dust and water, next with rotten-stone, and lastly with horn shavings.

The effect of heat and pressure on light-coloured horn is to render it transparent; but most of the articles made of horn are coloured artificially by boiling the horn in infusions of colouring matter. If the horn be intended for combs, the pressure must be moderated, or the teeth will be brittle; if intended for drinking cups, the horn is cut into lengths, scalded, roasted, and moulded in a cone of wood, and a wooden plug is driven into it for pressing the horn into the required shape. After this, the cup is turned and polished at the lathe, and a groove is cut to receive the bottom; this is cut out of a flat piece of horn by means of a crown saw, and the bottom of the cup having been softened at the fire, the disk is forced into the groove, and the horn contracting in cooling makes a water-tight joint. For knife-handles and similar works, the horn is cut nearly to the required form, and is moulded in dies with the assistance of heat and a powerful screw-press. The work is finished by scraping and buffing with Trent sand and oil, or rotten-stone and oil. Horn is sometimes used as a vehicle for applying polishing powders to the flat works of the watchmaker. In the Great Exhibition of 1851, there were sundry small articles of chamois horn, consisting of brooches, shirt-buttons, rings, and watch-keys, by a Swiss exhibitor; there were also some transparent horn paintings from Hamburg, and a pair of polished ox-horns from Port Natal, with the head complete, measuring from tip to tip 8 ft. 4 in., and 21 in. in circumference. The best collection of articles in horn-work was, however, from Turkey. See Toirotsch-shell.