and almost flat, these do not form the staple of his Satires: there
are passages of dignified declamation and passionate invective which
suffer less in translation, and which may be so rendered as to leave
a lasting impression of pleasure upon the mind of the reader. Like
Horace, he has an abundance of local and temporary allusions, in
dealing with which the most successful translator is the one who
fails least: unlike Horace, when he quits the local and the
temporary, he generally quits also the language of persiflage, and
abandons himself unrestrainedly to feeling. Persiflage, I suppose,
even in ordinary life, is much less easy to practise with perfect
success than a graver and less artificial mode of speaking, though,
perhaps for that very reason, it is apt to be more sought after: the
persiflage of a writer of another nation and of a past age is of
necessity peculiarly difficult to realize and reproduce. Nothing is
so variable as the standard of taste in a matter like this: even on
the minor question, what expressions may and what may not be
tolerated in good society, probably no two persons think exactly
alike: and when we come to inquire not simply what is admissible but
what is excellent, and still more, what is characteristic of a
particular type of mind, we must expect to meet with still less
unanimity of judgment. The wits of the Restoration answered the
question very differently from the way in which it would be answered
now; even Pope and his contemporaries would not be accepted as quite
infallible arbiters of social and colloquial refinement in an age
like the present. Whether Horace is grave or gay in his familiar
writings, his charm depends almost wholly on his manner: a modern
who attempts to reproduce him runs an imminent risk first of losing
all charm whatever, secondly of missing completely that
individuality of attractiveness which makes the charm of Horace
unlike the charm of any one else.