that of the loftiest and, seemingly, that of the wildest odes, had a
logic of its own, as severe as that of science; and more difficult,
because more subtle, more complex, and dependent on more, and more
fugitive causes. In the truly great poets, he would say, there is a
reason assignable, not only for every word, but for the position of
every word; and I well remember that, availing himself of the
synonymes to the Homer of Didymus, he made us attempt to show, with
regard to each, why it would not have answered the same purpose; and
wherein consisted the peculiar fitness of the word in the original
text.

In our own English compositions, (at least for the last three years of
our school education,) he showed no mercy to phrase, metaphor, or
image, unsupported by a sound sense, or where the same sense might
have been conveyed with equal force and dignity in plainer words [3].
Lute, harp, and lyre, Muse, Muses, and inspirations, Pegasus,
Parnassus, and Hippocrene were all an abomination to him. In fancy I
can almost hear him now, exclaiming "Harp? Harp? Lyre? Pen and ink,
boy, you mean! Muse, boy, Muse? Your nurse's daughter, you mean!
Pierian spring? Oh aye! the cloister-pump, I suppose!" Nay certain
introductions, similes, and examples, were placed by name on a list of
interdiction. Among the similes, there was, I remember, that of the
manchineel fruit, as suiting equally well with too many subjects; in
which however it yielded the palm at once to the example of Alexander
and Clytus, which was equally good and apt, whatever might be the
theme. Was it ambition? Alexander and Clytus!-Flattery? Alexander and
Clytus!--anger--drunkenness--pride--friendship--ingratitude--late
repentance? Still, still Alexander and Clytus! At length, the praises
of agriculture having been exemplified in the sagacious observation
that, had Alexander been holding the plough, he would not have run his