This sort of life must have been very annoying to such a man as Charles Torrens; however, he has now freed himself from it. “Good-by,” he said, as we shook hands, and parted; “you’ll come to us again, Perry. I was a harum-scarum dog when you knew me last; but if the river of life is rough, there is nothing like an affectionate wife to steady the boat![Pg 182]”
ESSAY ON THE POEMS OF HOMER, AND THE MANNERS OF THE AGE IN WHICH HE LIVED.
“Philo-Musus” has sent us an essay, of considerable length, upon the merits and beauties of the Art of Poetry. We are persuaded, however, that of such merits and beauties none of our readers need to be informed; and therefore “Philo-Musus” lies at our publisher’s till called for.
We are going, however, to make some observations upon one advantage to be derived from poetry, which our good friend has altogether omitted. We mean the power which it possesses of handing down to posterity an exact picture of the customs and manners of a very distant age. By its aid we can trace through successive years the variations which gradually take place in warfare and in letters, in habits and in costume; we can gaze with reverence upon the superstitions which have become extinct, and smile upon comparing the nascent follies of the age of demigods with the full-blown follies of the age of men. Homer, as he stands pre-eminent among the ancient bards in all other requisites, is equally so in this. Notwithstanding the force of his numbers, the fertility of his invention, the grandeur of his story, and the excellency of the moral precepts which are interspersed throughout it, we are inclined to value him less upon these considerations than upon the faithful representation which he has given us of the manners of his heroes. For these reasons we have put his name at the top of this paper, although in the course of it we shall probably indulge ourselves in more frequent digressions than ever the old gentleman himself made use of. To those who had rather have from us a well-digested essay than a series of straggling remarks, we must say what we have often said before:—“We are boys, and we have not the presumption to suppose ourselves capable of criticising the studies, or regulating the taste, of our schoolfellows.[Pg 183] Our aim has not been, and is not, to instruct, but to amuse.” With this preface, we put our Homer before us, mend our pen, and begin.
The “Odyssey,” which describes the travels and sufferings of an individual, has, of course, more numerous sketches of private life than the “Iliad,” the actors in which seem, as it were, to be upon a public stage, and to stalk in the tragic buskin from one end of the poem to the other. But we cannot help wondering at the manner in which the poet has so frequently interwoven in his most gorgeous descriptions some allusion to the commerce or the arts of his countrymen; his similes, in particular, are perpetually borrowed from the works of the farmer or the mechanic. Some have found fault with Homer upon this head, arguing that the images which he introduces are, in some instances, too mean for the dignity of the epic style. He has been defended from the charge by abler pens than ours; and therefore we shall only observe, at present, that allowing these passages to be blemishes, they are blemishes more valuable to us than the greatest beauties could have been: if his descriptions of rustic manners are faults, Homer, like his own Achilles, would be less interesting were he less faulty.
The first observation which occurs to us (for we intend to write, like sentimental ladies, quite at random) is that the besiegers of Ilium were ignorant of one of the fiercest pests of modern times, coined money.
Ἔνθεν ἄρ’ οἰνίζοντο καρῃκομόωντες Ἀχαιοἰ,
Ἄλλοι μὲν χαλκῷ, ἄλλοι δ’ αίθωνι σιδήρῳ,
Ἄλλοι δὲ ῥινοῖς, ἄλλοι δ’ αὺτοῖσι βόεσσιν,
Ἄλλοι δ’ ἀνδραπόδεσσι·
Each, in exchange, proportioned treasures gave;
Some brass, or iron; some an ox, or slave.
Not a word in the bargain of pounds, shillings, and pence. If these noxious ideas had then existed, we should have had the sellers of the wine exclaiming, in the style of one of our old ballad writers:
Noe pence, nor halfpence, by my faye,
But a noble in gold so round!
[Pg 184]