Andrew Lang - Letters to Dead Authors

There, among the vines that bear twelve times in the year, more excellent than all the vineyards of Touraine, while the song-birds bring you flowers from vales enchanted, and the shapes of the Blessed come and go, beautiful in wind-woven raiment of sunset hues; there, in a land that knows not age, nor winter, midnight, nor autumn, nor noon, where the silver twilight of summer-dawn is perennial, where youth does not wax spectre-pale and die; there, my Lucian, you are crowned the Prince of the Paradise of Mirth.

Who would bring you, if he had the power, from the banquet where Homer sings: Homer, who, in mockery of commentators, past and to come, German and Greek, informed you that he was by birth a Babylonian? Yet, if you, who first wrote Dialogues of the Dead, could hear the prayer of an epistle wafted to “lands indiscoverable in the unheard-of West,” you might visit once more a world so worthy of such a mocker, so like the world you knew so well of old.

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I am informed that the Natural History of Young Ladies is attributed, by some writers, to another philosopher, the author of The Art of Pluck .

Rape of the Lock.

In Mr. Hogarth’s Caricatura.

Elwin’s Pope, ii. 15.

“Poor Pope was always a hand-to-mouth liar.” — Pope , by Leslie Stephen, 139.