he untilled sea."

This is close enough to the Greek, but

"_And flowing on in order four ways they thence did get_"

is not precisely musical. Why is Hermes "The Flitter"? But I have often
ventured to remonstrate against these archaistic peculiarities, which to
some extent mar our pleasure in Mr. Morris's translations. In his
version of the rich Virgilian measure they are especially out of place.
The "AEneid" is rendered with a roughness which might better befit a
translation of Ennius. Thus the reader of Mr. Morris's poetical
translations has in his hands versions of almost literal closeness, and
(what is extremely rare) versions of poetry by a poet. But his
acquaintance with Early English and Icelandic has added to the poet a
strain of the philologist, and his English in the "Odyssey," still more
in the "AEneid," is occasionally more _archaic_ than the Greek of 900
B.C. So at least it seems to a reader not unversed in attempts to fit
the classical poets with an English rendering. But the true test is in
the appreciation of the lovers of poetry in general.

To them, as to all who desire the restoration of beauty in modern life,
Mr. Morris has been a benefactor almost without example. Indeed, were
adequate knowledge mine, Mr. Morris's poetry should have been criticised
as only a part of the vast industry of his life in many crafts and many
arts. His place in English life and literature is unique as it is
honourable. He did what he desired to do--he made vast additions to
simple and stainless pleasures.

CHAPTER VI: MRS. RADCLIFFE'S NOVELS

Does any one now read Mrs. Radcliffe, or am I the only wanderer in her
windy corridors, listening timidly to groans and hollow voices, and
shielding the flame of a lamp, which, I fear, will presently flicker out,
and leave me in darkness? People know the name of "The Mysteries of
Udolpho;" they know that boys would say to Thackeray, at school, "Old
fellow, draw us Vivaldi in the Inquisition." But have they penetrated
into the chill galleries of the Castle of Udolpho? Have they shuddered
for Vivaldi in face of the sable-clad and masked Inquisition? Certainly
Mrs. Radcliffe, within the memory of man, has been extremely popular. The
thick double-columned volume in which I peruse the works of the
Enchantress belongs to a public library. It is quite the dirtiest,
greasiest, most dog's-eared, and most bescribbled tome in the collection.
Many of the books ha