inspiration. Almost without exception his poems are
addressed or dedicated to men with whom he was on terms of more than
ordinary friendship. They were rare men,--fit audience, though few; men
of experience in affairs at home and in the field, men of natural taste
and real cultivation, of broad and sane outlook, of warm heart and deep
sympathies. There was Virgil, whom he calls the half of his own being.
There was Plotius, and there was Varius, bird of Maeonian song, whom he
ranks with the singer of the _Aeneid_ himself as the most luminously
pure of souls on earth. There was Quintilius, whose death was bewailed
by many good men;--when would incorruptible Faith and Truth find his
equal? There was Maecenas, well-bred and worldly-wise, the pillar and
ornament of his fortunes. There was Septimius, the hoped-for companion
of his mellow old age in the little corner of earth that smiled on him
beyond all others. There was Iccius, procurator of Agrippa's estates in
Sicily, sharing Horace's delight in philosophy. There was Agrippa
himself, son-in-law of Augustus, grave hero of battles and diplomacy.
There was elderly Trebatius, sometime friend of Cicero and Caesar, with
dry legal humor early seasoned in the wilds of Gaul. There were Pompeius
and Corvinus, old-soldier friends with whom he exchanged reminiscences
of the hard campaign. There was Messalla, a fellow-student at Athens,
and Pollio, soldier, orator, and poet. There were Julius Florus and
other members of the ambitious literary cohort in the train of Tiberius.
There was Aristius Fuscus, the watch of whose wit was ever wound and
ready to strike. There was Augustus himself, busy administrator of a
world, who still found time for letters.

It is through the medium of personalities like these that Horace's
message was delivered to the world of his time and to later generations.
How far the finished elegance of his expression is due to their
discriminating taste, and how much of the breadth and sanity of his
content is due to their vigor of character and cosmopolitan culture, we
may only conjecture. Literature is not the product of a single
individual. The responsive and stimulating audience is hardly less
needful than the poet's inspiration.

Such were the variety and abundance of Horace's experience. It was large
and human. He had touched life high and low, bond and free, public and
private, military and civil, provincial and urban, Hellenic, Asiatic,
and Italian, urban