Laudator Temporis Acti

James Hilton (1900-1954), Lost Horizon (1933), chapter 9:

"'Slacker,'" explained Conway, "is a slang word meaning a lazy fellow, a good-for-nothing. I wasn't, of course, using it seriously."

Chang bowed his thanks for the information. He took a keen interest in languages, and liked to weigh a new word philosophically. "It is significant," he said after a pause, "that the English regard slackness as a vice. We, on the other hand, should vastly prefer it to tension. Is there not too much tension in the world at present, and might it not be better if more people were slackers?"

"I'm inclined to agree with you," Conway answered with solemn amusement.

Related posts:

• Planet of the Apes
• Ode to Indolence
• The More Idle, the More Deserving
• Work and Leisure
• Praise of Laziness
• Lazy Man's Song
• Exquisite Pregnant Idleness
• How Can I Work?
• Dolce Far Niente
• Weekdays of Unfreedom
• The Dreary Vacuum of Idleness
• Idleness and Business
• Archilochus on the Idle Life
• Idleness
• Futile Work
• Otium Cum Dignitate

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to Miss Lucy ——— (July 22, 1835):

What would life be without arithmetic, but a scene of horrors?

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to the Countess Grey (September 22, 1833):

Have you any company? For your own sakes, I wish not. You must be sick of the human countenance, and it must be a relief to you to see a cow instead of a christian.

Henry Herbert La Thangue (1859-1929), Sussex Farm

John Kennedy Toole (1937-1969), A Confederacy of Dunces (1980), chapter 10:

"Have you read widely in Boethius?"

"Who? Oh, heavens no. I never even read newspapers."

"Then you must begin a reading program immediately so that you may understand the crises of our age," Ignatius said solemnly. "Begin with the late Romans, including Boethius, of course. Then you should dip rather extensively into early Medieval. You may skip the Renaissance and the Enlightenment. That is mostly dangerous propaganda. Now that I think of it, you had better skip the Romantics and the Victorians, too. For the contemporary period, you should study some selected comic books."

"You're fantastic."

"I recommend Batman especially, for he tends to transcend the abysmal society in which he's found himself. His morality is rather rigid, also. I rather respect Batman."

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to Mrs. Grote (August 31, 1843):

You seem to have had a very amusing life, with singing and dancing; but you cannot excite my envy by all the descriptions of your dramas and melodramas; you may as well paint the luxuries of barley-meal to a tiger, or turn a leopard into a field of clover. All this class of pleasures inspires me with the same nausea as I feel at the sight of rich plum-cake or sweetmeats; I prefer the driest bread of common life.

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to Lady Dufferin (undated):

I hope the process of furnishing goes on well. Attend, I pray you, to the proper selection of an easy-chair, where you may cast yourself down in the weariness and distresses of life, with the absolute certainty that every joint of the human frame will receive all the comfort which can be derived from easy position and soft materials...You may depend upon it, happiness depends mainly on these little things.

See also his letter to Lord Murray (September 29, 1843):

A comfortable house is a great source of happiness. It ranks immediately after health and a good conscience.

A.B.R. Young, Reminiscences of an Irish Priest 1845-1920 (Dundalk: Dundalgan Press, 1931), pp. 61-62:

My education at Nutgrove was not a great success. The system then in vogue was to put boys in classes according to their ages. I being nearly 13, but woefully backward for that age, was duly installed in the age class, the boys of which were reading Lucian and Caesar, while I had never as much as seen a Greek letter or heard a Latin word. Accordingly I daily received my chastisement for, what dear old Phil[ip Jones] considered my daily failure to be, laziness.

By the way, his peculiar brand of punishment was thus inflicted—he would grasp a boy's left wrist and with a hazel rod (hundreds of which he grew in the Grove, and cut and seasoned for the purpose) inflict crash after crash on the imprisoned "paw," as he called it, until the pain gave way to numbness.

His reason for only striking the left hand, he quite frankly gave. It was to save the "writing claw" so that the wretched victim would be able to write his weekly letter home.

Id., p. 63:

In the Register of those who pass the entrance examination of Trinity College, Dublin, each one has his place of schooling entered under the heading "Cujus sub ferula educatus," freely translated this means, "Where were you at school?" Any boy who entered direct from Drogheda in my time must have squirmed and shifted uneasily in his seat if had had the Latin query literally explained to him! Rev. Edward Maynard Goslett, LL.D., was a pedagogue of the old school. He flogged knowledge into his pupils, and enforced discipline with the cane.

As an example of his method I may give just one instance. His temper was ungovernable and once aroused he lost all self-control. On the occasion which I am about to relate he acted more like a maniac than a sane person. A German master had rendered himself most objectionable to the boys, who one holiday when the doctor was to be away from home, went for the Herr and gave him a sound drubbing. On the return of the Head the affair was reported to him. Without a moment's delay he rushed to his study, seized a new bundle of canes, ordered all the school to assemble in the Prep. Hall, and thrashed everyone soundly, breaking in the process a dozen canes!

Fortunately I was absent during this ordeal, having dined out with my kind old friend, Dr. Pentland. As I was one of the ringleaders in chastening Herr Fred Müller I deserved the flogging as much as anyone else.

Hat tip: Ian Jackson.

Related posts:

• Plagosus Orbilius
• Inexpensive Instruments of Instruction
• A Close Connection Between the Skin and the Memory

Here are some of the trees on my newly acquired land, lining the driveway leading from the barn to the gate:


Unfortunately, the trees are members of the alien species Pyrus calleryana (Bradford pear). Where plants are concerned, I am a nativist and xenophobe, opposed to immigration and naturalization. My guide in these matters is Douglas W. Tallamy, Bringing Nature Home: How You Can Sustain Wildlife with Native Plants (Portland: Timber Press, 2007; rpt. 2009), who writes (pp. 14-15):

Early on in my assault on the aliens in our yard, I noticed a rather striking pattern. The alien plants that were taking over the land—the multiflora roses, the autumn olives, the oriental bittersweets, the Japanese honeysuckles, the Bradford pears, the Norway maples, and the mile-a-minute weeds—all had very little or no leaf damage from insects, while the red maples, black and pin oaks, black cherries, black gums, black walnuts, and black willows had obviously supplied many insects with food. This was alarming because it suggested a consequence of the alien invasion occurring all over North America that neither I—nor anyone else, I discovered, after checking the scientific literature—had considered. If our native insect fauna cannot, or will not, use alien plants for food, then insect populations in areas with many alien plants will be smaller than insect populations in areas with all natives. This may sound like a gardener's dream: a land without insects! But because so many animals depend partially or entirely on insect protein for food, a land without insects is a land without most forms of higher life (Wilson 1987).

The reference is to Edward O. Wilson, "The Little Things That Run the World (The Importance and Conservation of Invertebrates)," Conservation Biology 1.4 (December 1987) 344-346, who writes (at 345):

The truth is that we need invertebrates, but they don't need us. If human beings were to disappear tomorrow, the world would go on with little change. Gaia, the totality of life on Earth, would set about healing itself and return to the rich environmental states of a few thousand years ago. But if invertebrates were to disappear, it is unlikely that the human species could last more than a few months.

For more on Pyrus calleryana see Theresa M. Culley and Nicole A. Hardiman, "The Beginning of a New Invasive Plant: A History of the Ornamental Callery Pear in the United States," BioScience 57.11 (December 2007) 956-964.

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to Sir Wilmot Horton (1835):

It is impossible now to be universal: men of the greatest information and accuracy swarm in the streets,—mineralogists, astronomers, ornithologists, and lousologists; the most minute blunder is immediately detected.

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to R. Sharpe (1835):

You have met, I hear, with an agreeable clergyman: the existence of such a being has been hitherto denied by the naturalists; measure him, and put down on paper what he eats.

John Ruskin (1819-1900), The Poetry of Architecture (New York: John Wiley & Son, 1873), pp. 74-75:

This being the case, it is evident that the chief feeling induced by woody country is one of reverence for its antiquity. There is a quiet melancholy about the decay of the patriarchal trunks, which is enhanced by the green and elastic vigour of the young saplings; the noble form of the forest aisles, and the subdued light which penetrates their entangled boughs, combine to add to the impression; and the whole character of the scene is calculated to excite conservative feeling. The man who could remain a radical in a wood country is a disgrace to his species.

Now, this feeling of mixed melancholy and veneration is the one of all others which the modern cottage must not be allowed to violate. It may be fantastic or rich in detail; for the one character will make it look old-fashioned, and the other will assimilate with the intertwining of leaf and bough around it: but it must not be spruce, or natty, or very bright in colour; and the older it looks the better.

A little grotesqueness in form is the more allowable, because the imagination is naturally active in the obscure and indefinite daylight of wood scenery; conjures up innumerable beings, of every size and shape, to people its alleys and smile through its thickets; and is by no means displeased to find some of its inventions half-realized in a decorated panel or grinning extremity of a rafter.

Meindert Hobbema (1638-1709), A Cottage in the Woods
Hat tip: Eric Thomson

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to Mrs. ——— (September 7, 1835):

Who, but the idiots of the earth, would fling a country like this into confusion, because a Bill (in its mutilated state a great improvement) is not carried as far, and does not embrace as much, as the best men could wish?

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to Sir Wilmot Horton (February 8, 1836):

I am going slowly down the hill of life. One evil in old age is that, as your time is come, you think every little illness is the beginning of the end. When a man expects to be arrested every knock at the door is an alarm.

See also his letter to Mrs. Crowe (January 5, 1840):

Among the many evils of getting old, one is, that every little illness may probably be the last. You feel like a delinquent who knows that the constable is looking out after him.

Rowland Watkyns (c.1614-1664), "The Wish," in his Flamma Sine Fumo: or, Poems Without Fictions (London: Printed for William Leake, 1662), p. 63:

Hoc est summum mei, caputque voti;

A Little house, a quiet wife,
Sufficient food to nourish life,
Most perfect health, and free from harm,
Convenient cloths to keep me warm.
The liberty of foot, and mind,
And grace the ways of God to find.
This is the summe of my desire,
Until I come unto heavens quire.

On "a little house" see Two Little Houses; Klein aber Mein; Oikos Philos, Oikos Aristos; Small Houses; More on Small Houses; and Parva Domus, Magna Quies.

Watkyns describes the opposite of "a quiet wife" in his poem "The Shrew" (p. 61):

Ventus ab Aquilone:

Behold her lip, how thin it is; her nose
How sharp, her voice how shrill, which doth disclose
A froward shrew; who hath her by mishap,
Shall surely hear a constant thunder-clap:
Silence is her disease; for like a mill
Her clapper goes, and never standeth still.
By night Hobgoblins houses haunt: this sprite
Doth vex, and haunt the house both day and night.
The Rack the wheele, the Spanish Inquisition
Torments not like her tongue; A sad condition
Her husband lives in; like a coward he
Must leave the field, and always vanquisht be.
He must commend, what she doth well approve,
And disallow of what she doth not love.
We tame wild fouls, bears, lions: but no Art
To tame a shrew could any yet impart.

Eastman Johnson, Thy Word is a Lamp unto My Feet
and a Light unto My Path

I recently happened on a charming villancico by the Bolivian composer Roque Jacínto de Chavarría (1688?–1719), with the title Fuera, Fuera! There is a performance by Florilegium and the Arakaendar Bolivia Choir, conducted by Ashley Solomon, with commentary by mezzo soprano Angélica Monje, on YouTube. Lyrics and an English translation can be found here. The score might be in Latin American Colonial Music Anthology (Washington: General Secretariat, Organization of American States, 1975), which is unavailable to me.

If you listen to the villancico, don't be fooled, as I was at first, into thinking that you hear the choir singing "It's a lie!" or "It's alive!" about halfway through. They are actually singing "Achalay" or "Achallay," a joyful exclamation in the Quechua language. See Mily Crevels and Pieter Muysken, edd., Lenguas de Bolivia, Tomo I: Ámbito Andino (La Paz: Plural Editores, 2009), p. 322, where the word is glossed:

'¡Qué felices estamos!' (pareja en la fiesta bailando)

Instead of the same old Christmas carols this year, it would be a delightful change to hear a choir sing Fuera, Fuera!

Friedrich Rückert (1788-1866), The Golden Age (Die goldne Zeit, my translation, stanza by stanza with the German):

The golden age has not vanished, for it is eternally new and young; enough gold will still be discovered, if only you have enough desire for it.

Die goldne Zeit ist nicht entschwunden,
    Denn sie ist ewig neu und jung;
    Noch wird des Goldes g'nug gefunden,
    Habt ihr dazu nur Lust genung.

In the sky the golden stars stand and sing all through the night, that you might learn from them the golden lyre's golden sound.

Am Himmel stehn die goldnen Sterne
    Und tönen all' die Nacht entlang,
    Damit der Mensch von ihnen lerne
    Der goldnen Zither goldnen Klang.

Wine foams up from earth's full breast; gold in color, it beckons to you; to make it yet more golden, drink it from golden goblets at the feast.

Es schäumt aus voller Brust der Erde
    Der Wein auf, der euch golden winkt,
    Den ihr, damit er goldner werde,
    Beim Fest aus goldnen Bechern trinkt.

Most golden of all, your beloved's golden hair is woven into braids, and between them the twin suns of her eyes glow with golden fire.

Doch zu dem goldensten der Bande
    Webt sich der Liebsten goldnes Haar,
    Und zwischendurch mit goldnem Brande
    Glüht ihrer Augen Sonnenpaar.

So abandon the woe that has befallen you, and be ready for new pleasure; let each build for himself, out of golden materials, his own golden age!

So laßt das Weh, das euch betroffen,
    Und seid zu neuer Lust bereit;
    Erbauet aus den goldnen Stoffen
    Sich Jeder seine goldne Zeit!

I am much indebted to Arsen Darnay for the following verse translation, which follows the meter of the original German:

The golden time has not yet vanished,
For it is ever new and young,
Gold sufficient will still be found,
If you desire it enough.

The golden stars are up in heaven
And make their sound the whole night long,
So humanity may learn from them
The golden lyre's golden sound.

From earth's full breast upward it foams, the
Wine that golden winks at each,
That you, to lift, to raise its golden hue
Drink at the feast from golden cups.

But the beloved's golden hair weaves
Itself into the gold-most knot,
And from within, with golden fire,
Her eyes gleam like a pair of suns.

So leave the pain that has you captured
And be prepared for joys renewed;
Let each of you from golden matter
Build each for each his golden time!

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to his daughter Saba (October 6, 1835):

All that I refuse to see is, where particular things were done to particular persons;—the square where Joan of Arc was burnt,—the house where Corneille was born. The events I admit to be important; but, from long experience, I have found that the square where Joan of Arc was burnt, and the room where Corneille was born, have such a wonderful resemblance to other rooms and squares, that I have ceased to interest myself about them.

See also his letter to the Countess Grey (May 12, 1837):

I find about one quarter of the things worth seeing which are said to be so....My journey will confirm me in the immense superiority of England over the rest of the world.

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to Mrs. Baring (October, 1834):

What is real piety? What is true attachment to the Church? How are these fine feelings best evinced? The answer is plain: by sending strawberries to a clergyman. Many thanks.

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to Francis Horner (November 25, 1816):

I endeavour in vain to give them more cheerful ideas of religion; to teach them that God is not a jealous, childish, merciless tyrant; that he is best served by a regular tenour of good actions,—not by bad singing, ill-composed prayers, and eternal apprehensions. But the luxury of false religion is, to be unhappy!

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), letter to Lady Holland (September 9, 1809):

I hear you laugh at me for being happy in the country, and upon this I have a few words to say. In the first place, whether one lives or dies, I hold, and have always held, to be of infinitely less moment than is generally supposed; but if life is to be, then it is common sense to amuse yourself with the best you can find where you happen to be placed. I am not leading precisely the life I should choose, but that which (all things considered, as well as I could consider them) appeared to me to be the most eligible. I am resolved, therefore, to like it, and to reconcile myself to it; which is more manly than to feign myself above it, and to send up complaints by the post, of being thrown away, and being desolate, and such like trash. I am prepared, therefore, either way. If the chances of life ever enable me to emerge, I will show you that I have not been wholly occupied by small and sordid pursuits. If (as the greater probability is) I am come to the end of my career, I give myself quietly up to horticulture, etc. In short, if it be my lot to crawl, I will crawl contentedly; if to fly, I will fly with alacrity; but, as long as I can possibly avoid it, I will never be unhappy. If, with a pleasant wife, three children, a good house and farm, many books, and many friends, who wish me well, I cannot be happy, I am a very silly, foolish fellow, and what becomes of me is of very little consequence.

Francis Parkman (1823-1893), History of the Conspiracy of Pontiac, and the War of the North American Tribes against the English Colonies after the Conquest of Canada (Boston: Charles C. Little and James Brown, 1851), p. 141 (from Chapter V, imagining "some lonely trapper" in the Rocky Mountains):

The rough earth is his bed, a morsel of dried meat and a draught of water are his food and drink, and death and danger his companions. No anchorite could fare worse, no hero could dare more; yet his wild, hard life has resistless charms; and, while he can wield a rifle, he will never leave it.

Albert Bierstadt (1830-1902), My Camp in the Rocky Mountains

John Byrom (1692-1763), "A Hint to a Young Person, for his Better Improvement by Reading or Conversation," in his Miscellaneous Poems, Vol. I (Manchester: J. Harrop, 1773), pp. 90-91:

In reading Authors, when you find
Bright Passages that strike your Mind,
And which perhaps you may have Reason
To think on at another Season,
Be not contented with the Sight,        5
But take them down in Black and White;
Such a Respect is wisely shown
That makes another's Sense one's own.

When you're asleep upon your Bed
A Thought may come into your Head,        10
Which may be of good use, if taken
Due Notice of when you're awaken;
Of midnight Thoughts to take no heed,
Betrays a sleepy Soul indeed;
It is but dreaming in the Day        15
To throw our nightly Hours away.

In Conversation, when you meet
With Persons chearful, and discreet,
That speak, or quote, in Prose, or Rhime,
Things or facetious, or sublime,        20
Observe what passes, and anon,
When you come Home think thereupon;
Write what occurs, forget it not,
A good Thing sav'd 's a good Thing got.

Let no remarkable Event        25
Pass with a gaping Wonderment,
A Fool's device—Lord, who would think!
Commit it safe to Pen and Ink
Whate'er deserves Attention now;
For when 'tis pass'd, you know not how,        30
Too late you'll find it, to your Cost,
So much of human Life is lost.

Were it not for the written Letter,
Pray, what were living Men the better
For all the Labours of the Dead,        35
For all that Socrates e'er said?
The Morals brought from Heav'n to Men
He would have carried back again:
'Tis owing to his Short-Hand Youth
That Socrates does now speak Truth.        40

39 Short-Hand: Byrom invented a new system of tachygraphy.

Herodotus 2.162.3 (tr. A.D. Godley):

When Apries heard of it, he sent against Amasis an esteemed Egyptian named Patarbemis, one of his own court, instructing him to take the rebel alive and bring him into his presence. When Patarbemis came and summoned Amasis, Amasis (who was on horseback) rose up and farted, telling the messenger to take that back to Apries.

πυθόμενος δὲ ταῦτα ὁ Ἀπρίης ἔπεμπε ἐπ᾽ Ἄμασιν ἄνδρα δόκιμον τῶν περὶ ἑωυτὸν Αἰγυπτίων, τῷ οὔνομα ἦν Πατάρβημις, ἐντειλάμενος αὐτῷ ζῶντα Ἄμασιν ἀγαγεῖν παρ᾽ ἑωυτόν. ὡς δὲ ἀπικόμενος τὸν Ἄμασιν ἐκάλεε ὁ Πατάρβημις, ὁ Ἄμασις, ἔτυχε γὰρ ἐπ᾽ ἵππου κατήμενος, ἐπαείρας ἀπεματάισε, καὶ τοῦτό μιν ἐκέλευε Ἀπρίῃ ἀπάγειν.

Compare this image from a Japanese painting (Edo period, now at Waseda University):


On the painting, see Kenneth Henshall, A History of Japan: From Stone Age to Superpower, 3rd ed. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), p. 72 (footnote omitted):

In any event, the rule of the shōguns, which had lasted for almost 700 years, was at an end. The foreign devils were back, and did not look like leaving. When these devils had first appeared, a popular cartoon, based on the Japanese tradition of 'farting contests' (he-gassen), had shown Westerners being blasted away by Japanese farts. But such a scenario was, so to speak, just so much hot air. The foreign devils were not blown away. On the contrary, it was the foreigners who, metaphorically speaking, had finally blown open the doors of the closed country. Western fart power had prevailed.

Labels: noctes scatologicae

Francis Parkman (1823-1893), History of the Conspiracy of Pontiac, and the War of the North American Tribes against the English Colonies after the Conquest of Canada (Boston: Charles C. Little and James Brown, 1851), pp. 142-143 (from Chapter V, footnote omitted:)

The nursling of civilization, placed in the midst of the forest, and abandoned to his own resources, is helpless as an infant. There is no clew to the labyrinth. Bewildered and amazed, he circles round and round in hopeless wanderings. Despair and famine make him their prey, and unless the birds of heaven minister to his wants, he dies in misery. Not so the practised woodsman. To him, the forest is a home. It yields him food, shelter, and raiment, and he threads its trackless depths with undeviating foot. To lure the game, to circumvent the lurking foe, to guide his course by the stars, the wind, the streams, or the trees,—such are the arts which the white man has learned from the red. Often, indeed, the pupil has outstripped his master. He can hunt as well; he can fight better; and yet there are niceties of the woodsman's craft in which the white man must yield the palm to his savage rival. Seldom can he boast, in equal measure, that subtlety of sense, more akin to the instinct of brutes than to human reason, which reads the signs of the forest as the scholar reads the printed page, to which the whistle of a bird can speak clearly as the tongue of man, and the rustle of a leaf give knowledge of life or death. With us the name of the savage is a byword of reproach. The Indian would look with equal scorn on those, who, buried in useless lore, are blind and deaf to the great world of nature.

Horace, Odes 1.20 (tr. Niall Rudd):

You will drink from modest cups a cheap Sabine wine that I stored away in a Greek jar and sealed with my own hand on the day when you, dear Maecenas, illustrious knight, were given such applause in the theatre that the banks of your fathers' river, yes, and the playful echo from the Vatican Hill, repeated your praises. At home you can drink Caecuban and the grape that is crushed in the presses of Cales; my cups are not mellowed by the vines of Falernum or Formian hillsides.

Latin text from D.R. Shackleton Bailey's Teubner edition (rpt. 2008), p. 24:

Vile potabis modicis Sabinum
cantharis, Graeca quod ego ipse testa
conditum levi, datus in theatro
    cum tibi plausus,

c<l>are, Maecenas, eques, ut paterni        5
fluminis ripae simul et iocosa
redderet laudes tibi Vaticani
    montis imago.

Caecubum et prelo domitam Caleno
tu bibes uvam; mea nec Falerni        10
temperant vites neque Formiani
    pocula collis.

In his critical apparatus Shackleton Bailey records a conjecture for potabis in line 1:

potabo H. Schütz

This conjecture was proposed in Q. Horatius Flaccus, erklärt von Hermann Schütz...Erster Theil: Oden und Epoden, 2. Aufl. (Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1880), p. 93, note on 1.20.10. But Schütz was not the first to conjecture potabo.

H. Paldamus, Horatiana (Gryphisvaldiae: Typis Friderici Guilelmi Kunike, 1847), p. 5 (note) attributes the same conjecture to Praedicovius:

laude sua non defraudandus lepidissimus poetae editor, Praedicovius, qui urbane correxit: Vile potabo immodicis Sabinum.

Praedicovius is Johann Christian Gottfried Praedicow, in his Quinti Horatii Flacci Opera, qualia restituit, suisque ipsius sumtibus, adjuncta textus, in carminibus quidem Mitscherlichiani, in sermonibus vero atque epistolis Bentlejani, diversitate, typis exscribenda curavit Jo. Christ. Godofr. Praedicow (Vitebergae: Apud auctorem, 1806), a book unavailable to me. Apparently Praedicow (or Prädikow) made more than 900 "emendations" of Horace in this edition!

But in his conjecture potabo for potabis Praedicow was anticipated by the English poet John Byrom (1692-1763). In Byrom's Miscellaneous Poems, Vol. I (Manchester: J. Harrop, 1773), there is a curious series of "Critical Remarks in English and Latin, Upon several Passages in Horace" in verse form. One of these (on pp. 335-338) discusses Horace's Ode 1.20:

Vile potabis modicis Sabinum
Cantharis,—— Hor. Lib. I. O. 20.

        I.

Have ye no Scruple, Sirs, when ye rehearse
This hissing Kind of an Horatian Verse?
To me, I own, at Sight of triple ——is,
Suspicion said that something was amiss;
And, when one reads the triple Sapphic thro',
'Tis plain that what Suspicion said was true.

        II.

Critics, as Custom goes, if one shall bring
The plainest Reason, for the plainest Thing,
Will stick to Horace, as he sticks to Print,
And say, sometimes, that there is Nothing in't.
Or, here, Mistake perhaps, may be my Lot;
Now tell me, Neighbours, if 'tis so, or not.

        III.

This Ode, or (since apparently Mishap
Has lost the true Beginning of it) Scrap,
Informs Mæcenas that poor Sabine Wine
Shall be his Drink, in Horace's Design;
Wine which the Poet had incask'd, the Day
That People shouted for the Knight away.

        IV.

This is the first Thing that it says——the next,
Without one Word of intervening Text,
Says, he shall drink (and in poetic Shape
Wine is describ'd) the very richest Grape;
My Cups Falernian Vintage, Formian Hill
(Is all that follows after) never fill.

        V.

These, and these only, in the printed Code,
Are the two Periods of this pigmy Ode:
And how they stand, in Contradiction flat,
Whoe'er can construe Latin must see that.
The Critics saw it, but forsook their Sight,
And set their Wits at work, to make it right.

        VI.

How they have done it——such as have a Mind
To know their Fetches, if they look, may find;
And smile thereat; one Ounce, that but coheres,
Of Mother Wit, is worth a Pound of theirs;
Who having, by their Dint of Learning, seen
That Moon is Cheese, soon prove it to be green.

        VII.

'Twill be enough to give ye just a Taste,
From Delphin here, of criticising Haste;
"Mæcenas, setting on some Journey out,
"Sent Horace word, before he took his Rout,
"As Cruquius, Lubin, Codex too pretend,
"That he would sup with his assured Friend.

        VIII.

Horace writes back——and this, it seems, the Ode——
'Tis mighty kind to take me in your Road;
But you must be content with slender Fare,
Such as my poor Tenuity can spare:
Vile potabis——Sabine wine the best——
As learnedly Theod. Marcil. has guest.

        IX.

So far, so good——but why should Horace, slap,
Say you shall drink the Wines of richest Tap?
That is, quoth Margin of the Delphin Tome,
Domi potabis——you shall drink at Home;
Hæc vina quidem bibes apud te,
Says Note, non ita vero apud me.

        X.

Certè, it adds, as Pliny understood,
The Knights own Wine was exquisitely good——
Good, to be sure, tho' Pliny had been dumb;
But how does all that has been said o'ercome
The Contradiction? —— Why, with this Assistance,
'Tis plain they supp'd together —— at a Distance.

        XI.

One easy Hint, without such aukward Stirs,
Dissolves at once the Difficulty, Sirs:
Let Horace drink himself of his own Vinum——
Vile POTABO modicii Sabinum
Canth'ris——and Mæcenas do so too——
Tu bibes Cæcubum——and all is true.

        XII.

No verbal Hissing spoils poetic Grace,
Nor Contradiction stares ye in the Face;
But Verse Intention, without farther Tours:
I'll drink my Wine, Mæcenas——and you yours.
Should not all Judges of Horatian Letter
Or take this Reading, or propose a better?

All three men (Schütz, Praedicow, and Byrom) seem to have arrived at the conjecture potabo independently. But credit for being the first belongs to Byrom.

John Rawlet (1642–1686), "An Account of My Life in the North," in his Poetick Miscellanies (London: Printed for Samuel Tidmarsh, 1687), pp. 90-93:

            Bene qui latuit bene vixit.

Since you, dear friend, wonder how here I live,
This homely Verse a brief account shall give;
I live, if not in pleasure, yet at ease,
Not in loud laughters, but in silent peace;
And tho I rarely meet with merriment,
I more a stranger am to discontent:
Here's no excess, nor are things needful scant;
I seldom feast, but yet I never want.
No dainties here to luxury invite,
Our food serves well the sober appetite,
Which need not be with poignant Sawces drest,
Our healthful Hunger of all Sawce is best.
Doctors we have none, nor much need them here;
The Doctors we more than Diseases fear:
For Country-folks think they sell death too dear.
Altho I lie not on a rich Down-bed,
Yet do sweet sleeps refresh my weary head.
No Walks or Gardens here, but yet the Field
And fragrant Meadows equal pleasures yield;
No Lutes or Viols entertain my ear,
But more melodious Birds I daily hear.
Riches I have not, nor do riches need,
Whilst here at easy rates we clothe and feed.
I have no Servants whom I may command,
Nor have I work that needs a Servants hand,
I am not high enough to envied be,
Nor do I one whom I should envy, see;
Here's no applause to make me proud or vain,
Nor do I meet with censures or disdain:
My people, if they are not wise and great,
Are not untractable through self-conceit;
No factious, giddy heads that make a Schism
For fear of Popery or Arminianism:
No sawcy, arrogant controllers, such
That cry, This is too little, this too much:
No such vile wretches who their Preacher hate
'Cause he reproves sin at too smart a rate:
Wherefore I envy not flocks of more wealth,
Which give more trouble whilst they have less health.
If of Companions I have no great store,
With my own mind I may converse the more;
And from my old Friends tho I am confin'd,
Letters may keep us in each others mind:
Or if, whilst buried here, I lose their love,
I'l fix my mind on surer things above.
But need I Friends, need I Companions crave,
Whilst I as many Friends as Neighbours have?
Or if I want the joy of bosom Friends,
I 'scape the pain which still that joy attends:
For whilst they live our hearts oft ake with fear;
But break and bleed when of their death we hear.
And if I want the comfort of a Wife,
I have the pleasures of a single life;
If I no Gallants here, nor Beauties see,
From slavish Love and Courtship I am free:
What fine things else you in the South can name,
Our North can shew as good, if not the same:
Ev'n as in Winter you have shorter Nights,
But Summer us with longer Days requites.
Thus if my want of joy makes life less sweet,
Death then will seem less bitter when we meet.
But what is this Worlds Joy? 'Tis Innocence,
And Virtue that do truest joys dispence:
If Innocence and Virtue with me dwell,
They'l make a Paradice of an Hermits Cell.

The motto (Bene qui latuit bene vixit) comes from Ovid, Tristia 3.4.25, and means "He who has succeeded in staying hidden has lived well." In line 11, "poignant" sauces are those that are "Sharp, pungent, piquant to the taste or smell" (Oxford English Dictionary).

The Board of Directors of the venerable American Philological Association (founded in 1869) are thinking about changing the organization's name. I'm not a member, and I have no say in the matter, but of course as an antediluvian and curmudgeon, a laudator temporis acti, I oppose such a needless change.

Here are some thoughts on a related topic, corporate name changes, which I wrote nine years ago (October 2003) on a now defunct web site:

It amazes me when companies throw away decades of hard-won brand recognition on a new corporate name. Bell Atlantic was named after the inventor of the telephone, Alexander Graham Bell, but a few years ago the company inexplicably changed its name to Verizon. Bell Atlantic was obviously a phone company based in the eastern United States, but who could guess, from its name, what Verizon sells? The name is apparently an amalgam of "veritas" (the Latin word for truth) and "horizon" — what truth and horizon have to do with each other or the phone business escapes my feeble comprehension. Bell Labs likewise changed its name to Lucent, an English word which means "gleaming".

Other corporations have also shed venerable family names. Woolworth Corporation changed its name first to Venator Group, then to Foot Locker. "Venator" means hunter in Latin, but the connection between Venator Group and hunting is a mystery. Dayton's is now Marshall Field's.

New Zealand outdoor clothing chain Fairydown has just changed its name to Zone, because some men were uncomfortable wearing shirts with the Fairydown label. Sir Edmund Hilary, who wore Fairydown clothing when he climbed Mount Everest, isn't among them. He said, "Reading that connotation into the name is just absolutely stupid. It's a good brand. I have a Fairydown jacket and I am very proud to wear it."

There are obvious fads in these new names. Lucent made the ending -ent popular. Two Lutheran aid societies (Aid Association for Lutherans and Lutheran Brotherhood) recently combined as Thrivent Financial, and Universal Foods is now Sensient Technologies. At least Lucent is a real word. Thrivent and Sensient are ugly-sounding and misshapen coinages. In English we say thriving and sentient, but only a Mrs. Malaprop could dream up thrivent and sensient. Some other corporate names which are supposed to sound new-fangled and "with it" (but actually sound bizarre) are Navistar (formerly International Harvester) and Novartis (born of the marriage of Ciba Geigy and Sandoz).

Believe it or not, but there are actually companies which get paid big bucks for thinking up these crazy monikers. So-called "identity firms" include Landor, Idiom, A Hundred Monkeys, Interbrand, NameLab, NameBase, Name/It, NameTrade, Namestormers, TrueNames, and ABC Namebank.

One favorite ploy is deliberately to misspell an English word and make that your corporate name. Cellular One was spelled correctly, but its new name Cingular Wireless is not. Presumably Cingular is supposed to mean "singular" (unique), although it reminds me of Latin "cingula" (girdle). Another orthographically challenged corporate name is Xcel Energy (formerly Northern States Power).

Like a criminal changing his name after release from prison, some corporations rush to change their names after they get into trouble. ValuJet changed its name to AirTran after a 1996 crash in the Florida Everglades which killed 110 people. After its involvement in the Enron debacle became known, Andersen Consulting changed its name to Accenture. Enron itself came about as the merger of InterNorth of Omaha and Houston Natural Gas in 1986. The first choice for the corporate name was Enteron, until someone looked in the dictionary and realized that "enteron" means "alimentary canal, digestive tract." Maybe they should have stuck with Enteron, since events proved that Ken Lay and his cronies were totally full of crap, like a bloated large intestine.

Philip Morris sold poison for decades — two of its advertising icons, Marlboro Men Wayne McLaren and David McLean, died of lung cancer caused by smoking. Now Philip Morris wants to refurbish its tarnished corporate image by calling itself Altria Group. Chairman and Chief Executive officer Geoffrey C. Bible explains the name change thus on the corporate web site:

The significance of the name "Altria" is derived from the Latin word "altus," which reflects the corporation’s desire for its family of companies to always "reach higher" in striving to achieve greater financial strength and growth through operational excellence, consumer brand expertise and a growing understanding of corporate responsibility.

Corporate responsibility from a manufacturer of cancer sticks. Yeah, sure.

There are some products which could use a name change. Flonase reminds me of "flow" plus the Latin word for nose (nasum), i.e. a runny nose. I picture a toddler with the glazed donut look between nose and upper lip. And NasalCrom evokes "nasal crumbs," an unappealing image.

The creeping curse of commercialization infects even academia these days, where students are considered clients, and so it's no surprise to find that institutions of higher learning are imitating corporations by changing their names. Beaver College, founded in 1853, changed its name to Arcadia University in 2001. President Bette E. Landman explained that the old name "too often elicits ridicule in the form of derogatory remarks pertaining to the rodent, the TV show 'Leave It to Beaver' and the vulgar reference to the female anatomy."

One of my favorite corporate name change fiascos occurred last year in neighboring Wisconsin, where Wisconsin Energy renamed its subsidiary Wisconsin Electric-Wisconsin Gas to WE Energies. Wags instantly christened the company "Wiener-gies," to the chagrin of the marketing bozos responsible. For a time there was a parody web site with logos for Wiener-gies, such as a bratwurst in a bun, but it doesn't seem to have survived in cyberspace.

By the way, I've decided to re-brand myself. Henceforth you can call me E-Mike, rather than just plain Mike.

Cioran (1911-1995), De l'inconvénient d'être né (Paris: Gallimard, 1973), p. 222 (ellipsis in original, my translation):

A zoologist, who in Africa has observed apes close up, is surprised by the monotony of their lives and their great lethargy. Hours and hours of doing nothing ... Don't they experience boredom then?

Typical question of a man, of a busy monkey. Far from fleeing monotony, animals seek it out, and what they fear most is to see it end. For monotony ends only to be replaced by fear, cause of all feverish activity.

Inactivity is divine. Yet it is against inactivity which man has rebelled. He alone in nature cannot stand monotony, he alone at all costs wants something to happen, no matter what. By this he shows that he is unworthy of his origin: the need for novelty is characteristic of a misguided ape.

The French:

Un zoologiste qui, en Afrique, a observé de près les gorilles, s'étonne de l'uniformité de leur vie et de leur grand désoeuvrement. Des heures et des heures sans rien faire ... Ils ne connaissaient donc pas l'ennui?

Cette question est bien d'un homme, d'un singe occupé. Loin de fuir la monotonie, les animaux la recherchent, et ce qu'ils redoutent le plus c'est de la voir cesser. Car elle ne cesse que pour être remplacée par la peur, cause de tout affairement.

L’inaction est divine. C’est pourtant contre elle que l'homme s'est insurgé. Lui seul, dans la nature, est incapable de supporter la monotonie, lui seul veut à tout prix que quelque chose arrive, n’importe quoi. Par là, il se montre indigne de son ancêtre: le besoin de nouveauté est le fait d’un gorille fourvoyé.

When quoting from authors who write in a foreign language, I usually try to find an existing translation, for a few reasons. First, I'm lazy and prefer someone else to do the work. Second, I'm afraid of making a fool of myself, by posting a howler. Finally, my own translations seem to me too flat and over-literal.

But sometimes, for practice, I attempt my own translation, and I may ask a friend to vet my version before I post it. In this case, I picked on Ian Jackson, because I had read and admired several of his translations from French to English. He replied with a long, interesting email, in which he described how he approaches translation, and suggested some changes to my version, with reasons for each change. He cautioned me not to accept his suggestions uncritically, but I prefer his translation (based on mine, and probably not what he would have come up if he had started from scratch) to my own:

A zoologist, who in Africa has observed apes close up, is surprised by the monotony of their lives and their massive indolence. Hours and hours of doing nothing ... Are they never bored?

It's a question typical of man — that busy monkey. Far from fleeing monotony, animals seek it out, and what they dread most is to find it at an end. For monotony ends only to be replaced by fear, cause of all frantic activity.

Inactivity is divine. Yet it is against inactivity that man has rebelled. He alone, in all of Nature, cannot endure monotony, he alone at all costs wants something to happen, no matter what. By this he shows that he is unworthy of his heritage: an ape that craves novelty is lost.

For comparison's sake, here is another version, by Richard Howard, from his translation of the entire book (The Trouble with Being Born):

A zoologist who observed gorillas in their native habitat was amazed by the uniformity of their life and their vast idleness. Hours and hours without doing anything ... Was boredom unknown to them?

This is indeed a question raised by a human, a busy ape. Far from fleeing monotony, animals crave it, and what they most dread is to see it end. For it end only to be replaced by fear, the cause of all activity.

Inaction is divine; yet it is against inaction that man has rebelled. Man alone, in nature, is incapable of enduring monotony, man alone wants something to happen at all costs — something, anything ... Thereby he shows himself unworthy of his ancestor: the need for novelty is the characteristic of an alienated gorilla.

Excerpts from Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book I (tr. Frank Justus Miller, rev. G.P. Goold):

190-191:

All means should first be tried, but what responds not to treatment must be cut away with the knife, lest the untainted part also draw infection.

cuncta prius temptanda, sed inmedicabile curae
ense recidendum, ne pars sincera trahatur.

213 (Jupiter speaking):

And as a god disguised in human form [I] travelled up and down the land.

et deus humana lustro sub imagine terras.

322-323 (description of Deucalion and Pyrrha, would make a good epitaph for a husband and wife):

There was no better man than he, none more scrupulous of right, nor than she was any woman more reverent of the gods.

non illo melior quisquam nec amantior aequi
vir fuit aut illa metuentior ulla deorum.

400:

Who would believe it unless ancient tradition vouched for it?

quis hoc credat, nisi sit pro teste vetustas?

414-415 (on birth of humans from stones thrown by Deucalion and Pyrrha, quoted by Thoreau in Walden):

Hence come the hardness of our race and our endurance of toil; and we give proof from what origin we are sprung.

inde genus durum sumus experiensque laborum
et documenta damus qua simus origine nati.

500-502 (Apollo gazing on Daphne):

He marvels at her fingers, hands, and wrists, and her arms, bare to the shoulder; and what is hid he deems still lovelier.

                              laudat digitosque manusque
bracchiaque et nudos media plus parte lacertos;
si qua latent, meliora putat.

553-556 (one of the first tree-huggers, Apollo embraces Daphne, who has just been turned into a laurel tree):

But even now in this new form Apollo loved her; and placing his hand upon the trunk, he felt the heart still fluttering beneath the bark. He embraced the branches as if human limbs, and pressed his lips upon the wood.

hanc quoque Phoebus amat positaque in stipite dextra
sentit adhuc trepidare novo sub cortice pectus
conplexusque suis ramos ut membra lacertis
oscula dat ligno.

585-587 (Inachus mourns his daughter Io, applicable to any father whose daughter is missing):

He knows not whether she still lives or is among the shades. But, since he cannot find her anywhere, he thinks she must be nowhere, and his anxious soul forbodes things worse than death.

                                          nescit, vitane fruatur
an sit apud manes; sed quam non invenit usquam,
esse putat nusquam atque animo peiora veretur.

661-663 (spoken by the river-god Inachus, on one of the disadvantages of being immortal):

And even by death I may not end my crushing woes. It is a dreadful thing to be a god, for the door of death is shut to me, and my grief must go on without end.

nee finire licet tantos mihi morte dolores;
sed nocet esse deum, praeclusaque ianua leti
aeternum nostros luctus extendit in aevum.

Simon Fairlie, Growing Up Dystechnic:

I emerged from the system able to scan iambic pentameters, recite chunks of Racine, write thousands of words on the military exploits of the Merovingian emperors and bowl a leg break, but unable to use a shovel properly, milk a cow, or recognize a carburettor.

....

But now, fifty years later, economic trends are conspiring to make dystechnia so prevalent that it is becoming dominant. The outsourcing of manufacturing, the replacement of hand tools by machines, the decline in the number of farmworkers, the proliferation of disposable and solid state machinery — all these, amongst other developments, have marginalised manual labour and made it economically obsolete.

....

By no means all, but a worrying proportion of, volunteers I meet in the course of my work are at the same level of manual competence as I when I left school — they have never been taught how to wield a hammer, how to dig a trench, how to sharpen a knife, how to use a file or how to tie a knot.

John Norris (1657–1711), "My Estate," in A Collection of Miscellanies: Consisting of Poems, Essays, Discourses & Letters, 3rd ed. (London: Printed for S. Manship, 1699), pp. 60-61:

                I.

How do I pity that proud wealthy Clown
That does with Scorn on my low State look down!
    Thy vain Contempt dull Earth-worm cease,
    I won't for Refuge fly to this,
    That none of Fortune's Blessings can
    Add any Value to the Man,
This all the wise acknowledge to be true;
But know I am as rich, more rich than you.

                II.

While you a Spot of Earth possess with Care
Below the Notice of the Geographer,
    I by the Freedom of my Soul
    Possess, nay more, enjoy the whole;
    To th' Universe a Claim I lay;
    Your Writings shew perhaps you'll say,
That's your dull Way, my Title runs more high,
'Tis by the Charter of Philosophy.

                III.

From that a firmer Title I derive
Than all your Courts of Law could ever give.
    A Title that more firm doth stand
    Than does even your very Land,
    And yet so generous and free
    That none will e'er bethink it me,
Since my Possessions tend to no Man's Loss,
I all enjoy, yet nothing I ingross.

                IV.

Throughout the Works divine I cast my Eye,
Admire their Beauty, and their Harmony.
    I view the glorious Host above,
    And him that made them, Praise and Love.
    The flowry Meads and Fields beneath,
    Delight me with their odorous Breath.
Thus is my Joy by you not understood
Like that of God, when he said all was good.

                V.

Nay (what you'd think less likely to be true)
I can enjoy what's yours much more than you.
    Your Meadow's Beauty I survey,
    Which you prize only for its Hay.
    There can I sit beneath a Tree,
    And write an Ode or Elegy.
What to you care, does to me pleasure bring,
You own the Cage, I in it sit and sing.

MAD Magazine, Artist: Mark Frederickson

Strabo 15.1.60 (tr. Horace Leonard Jones):

As for the Garmanes, he [Megasthenes, Indica fragment 41 Schwanbeck] says that the most honourable of them are named Hylobii and that they live in forests, subsisting on leaves and wild fruits, clothed with the bark of trees, and abstaining from wine and the delights of love; and that they communicate with the kings, who through messengers inquire about the causes of things and through the Hylobii worship and supplicate the Divinity.

τοὺς δὲ Γαρμᾶνας τοὺς μὲν ἐντιμοτάτους ὑλοβίους φησὶν ὀνομάζεσθαι, ζῶντας ἐν ταῖς ὕλαις ἀπὸ φύλλων καὶ καρπῶν ἀγρίων, ἐσθῆτος φλοιῶν δενδρείων, ἀφροδισίων χωρὶς καὶ οἴνου· τοῖς δὲ βασιλεῦσι συνεῖναι, δι᾽ ἀγγέλων πυνθανομένοις περὶ τῶν αἰτίων καὶ δι᾽ ἐκείνων θεραπεύουσι καὶ λιτανεύουσι τὸ θεῖον.

Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 1.15.72 (tr. William Wilson):

Thus philosophy, a thing of the highest utility, flourished in antiquity among the barbarians, shedding its light over the nations. And afterwards it came to Greece. First in its ranks were the prophets of the Egyptians; and the Chaldeans among the Assyrians; and the Druids among the Gauls; and the Samanaeans among the Bactrians; and the philosophers of the Celts; and the Magi of the Persians, who foretold the Saviour's birth, and came into the land of Judaea guided by a star. The Indian gymnosophists are also in the number, and the other barbarian philosophers. And of these there are two classes, some of them called Sarmanae, and others Brahmins. And those of the Sarmanae who are called Hylobii neither inhabit cities, nor have roofs over them, but are clothed in the bark of trees, feed on nuts, and drink water in their hands. Like those called Encratites in the present day, they know not marriage nor begetting of children.

Φιλοσοφία τοίνυν πολυωφελές τι χρῆμα πάλαι μὲν ἤκμασε παρὰ βαρβάροις κατὰ τὰ ἔθνη διαλάμψασα, ὕστερον δὲ καὶ εἰς Ἕλληνας κατῆλθεν. Προέστησαν δ´ αὐτῆς Αἰγυπτίων τε οἱ προφῆται καὶ Ἀσσυρίων οἱ Χαλδαῖοι καὶ Γαλατῶν οἱ Δρυΐδαι καὶ Σαμαναῖοι Βάκτρων καὶ Κελτῶν οἱ φιλοσοφήσαντες καὶ Περσῶν οἱ Μάγοι (οἳ μαγείᾳ καὶ τοῦ σωτῆρος προεμήνυσαν τὴν γένεσιν, ἀστέρος αὐτοῖς καθηγουμένου εἰς τὴν Ἰουδαίαν ἀφικνούμενοι γῆν) Ἰνδῶν τε οἱ γυμνοσοφισταί, ἄλλοι γε φιλόσοφοι βάρβαροι. Διττὸν δὲ τούτων τὸ γένος, οἳ μὲν Σαρμᾶναι αὐτῶν, οἳ δὲ Βραχμᾶναι καλούμενοι. Καὶ τῶν Σαρμανῶν οἱ ὑλόβιοι προσαγορευόμενοι οὔτε πόλεις οἰκοῦσιν οὔτε στέγας ἔχουσιν, δένδρων δὲ ἀμφιέννυνται φλοιοῖς καὶ ἀκρόδρυα σιτοῦνται καὶ ὕδωρ ταῖς χερσὶ πίνουσιν, οὐ γάμον, οὐ παιδοποιίαν ἴσασιν, ὥσπερ οἱ νῦν Ἐγκρατηταὶ καλούμενοι.

ὑλόβιοι Richardus Montacutius (Richard Montagu): ἀλλόβιοι codd.

Law Code of Manu 6.1-6 (tr. Patrick Olivelle):

¹ After living this way in the householder's order according to rule, a twice-born bath-graduate should duly live in the forest, controlling himself and mastering his organs, ² When a householder sees his skin wrinkled, his hair turned grey, and his children's children, he should take to the wilderness. ³ Giving up village food and all his belongings, he should go to the forest, entrusting his wife to his sons or accompanied by her. ⁴ Taking with him his sacrificial fires and the implements required for his domestic fire rituals, he should depart from the village to the wilderness and live there with his organs controlled. ⁵ Using various kinds of ritually clean sage's food (3.257n.), or vegetables, roots, and fruits, he should continue to offer the same great sacrifices (3.68-70) according to rule. ⁶ He should wear a garment of skin or tree bark; bathe in the morning and evening; always wear matted hair; and keep his beard, body hair, and nails uncut.

John A. Grimes, A Concise Dictionary of Indian Philosophy: Sanskrit Terms Defined in English, new and rev. ed. (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996), p. 337, s.v. Vānaprastha:

forest dweller (from pra-sthā = "go forth" + vana = "wood")

Rev. M.C.F. Morris, Yorkshire Reminiscences (with Others) (London: Oxford University Press, 1922), pp. 164-165:

Being a native of Northumberland Kingsley took much interest in the old speech and customs of that county. He used to allude from time to time to an old ceremony common in his boyhood, called a Braule. This, he thought, originated in the Scottish Court among other French importations. This old dance was interesting from the effect it had on musical form. On his last visit to Northumberland he tried to revive his memory of this old custom, and to recover the old tune and patter. The ceremony was supposed to cure flatulence: the 'patient' was surrounded, and each of the group laid hold of a lock of his hair with the right hand; and then, with the time marked with a stamp, the whole circle danced round repeating a patter in verses, the opening words being, 'A braule, a braule, ae Craigie's horn.' When the first stanza was complete, the direct motion stopped, and each turned round, and laid hold of the hair with the left hand, and then the rotation became retrograde for the next stanza, and then again direct for the third, at the end of which each of the circle pulled at his lock of hair as if he intended to keep it. The 'patient', of course, had to revolve as the spokes, and it was a matter of interest to him that the spokes kept time. Mr. Kingsley told me he did his best to recover the chant, but in vain. Had he succeeded, the find would have been a highly interesting one to musicians.

Kingsley is Rev. William Kingsley (1815-1916), rector of South Kilvington, near Thirsk.

Hat tip: A friend.

Labels: noctes scatologicae

Robert Chamberlain (1607-?), "In Praise of a Country Life," from his Nocturnall Lucubrations: or Meditations Divine and Morall Whereunto are added Epigrams and Epitaphs (London: Printed by M.F. for Daniel Frere, 1638):

The winged fancies of the learned quill,
Tel of strange wonders, sweet Parnassus hil,
Castalia's Well, the Heliconian Spring,
Star-spangled valleyes where the Muses sing.
Admired things another Storie yields,
Of pleasant Tempe and th' Elysian fields;
Yet these are nothing to the sweet that dwells
In low built cottages, and country cells.
What are the Scepters, Thrones, and Crowns of kings,
But gilded burdens, and most fickle things?
What are great offices but cumbring troubles
And what are honours but dissolving bubbles?
What though the gates of greatnes be frequented
With chains of glittering gold? he that's contented
Lives in a thousand times a happier way,
Than he that's tended thus from day to day.
Matters of state, nor yet domestick jars,
Comets portending death, nor blazing stars
Trouble his thoughts; hee'l not post hast run on
Through Lethe, Styx, and fiery Phlegiton
For gold or silver: he will not affright
His golden slumbers in the silent night,
For all the precious wealth, or sumptuous pride
That lies by Tiber, Nile, or Ganges side.
Th' imbroider'd meadows, & the crawling streams
Make soft and sweet his undisturbed dreams:
He revels not by day, nor in the nights,
Nor cares he much for Musicall delights;
And yet his humble roofe maintains a quire
Of singing Crickets round about the fire.
This harmlesse life he leads, and I dare say
Doth neither wish, nor feare his dying day.

The last line echoes the last line of Martial 10.47: summum nec metuas diem nec optes.

Richard Dawkins, The Greatest Show on Earth: The Evidence for Evolution (New York: Free Press, 2009), p. 165, with footnote:

My undergraduate imagination at Oxford was fired by the lectures of the prodigiously knowledgeable Harold Pusey who, despite his dry and prolonged delivery, had a gift for seeing beyond dry bones to the flesh-and-blood animals that had to make a living in some departed world.*

* An Oxford don of the old school, who believed he was there to teach undergraduates, he would not have survived in today's research-assessment culture. With scarcely a single published article to his name, his legacy rests in the generations of grateful pupils to whom he imparted his wisdom and at least some of his immense learning.

Richard Cobb (1917-1996), Something to Hold Onto: Autobiographical Sketches (London: John Murray, 1988), p. 1:

About the only thing to be said in favour of ces événements of May-June 1968, is that they happened when they did, that is in the middle of the Oxford University term. I was a tutor at the time at Balliol, and my teaching load made it impossible for me to have crossed over to Paris to witness what was going on. Not that, in any case, I would have had any desire to see, even from a prudent distance, the endless and meaningless violence, the uprooted trees, the burning cars, the idiotic graffiti, the posturing, the mountains of filth and rubbish, and to smell the whiff of tear-gas and smouldering rubber. There is something indecent about sitting in on someone else's revolution (not that this disgusting carnival could have been gratified with the dark title of a revolution). I am grateful that I missed out on that episode of French history in action, as portrayed in Thirty-one Tableaux and a hundred side-shows. I would not have enjoyed the sight of the burning books or the flames coming out of the roof of the Sorbonne Library, I would have found it hard to stomach the lying slogans: maintenant nous sommes tous des juif allemands, a triple insult to the Germans, the Jews, and the German Jews, on the part of bored, teen-age, middle-class pseudo-revolutionaries who were French and spoilt and from the VIIIme and the XVIme arrondissements. I did at least draw a little satisfaction from a member of the Central Committee of the French Communist Party whom, in June, I got to address Balliol J[unior] C[ommon] R[oom], and who called the events of the previous month: ces enfantillages. Very nasty childish tricks, indeed.

Maintenant nous sommes tous des juif allemands = "Now we are all German Jews."

Hat tip: Ian Jackson.

Related post: Identity Theft.

Excerpts from Joseph Mitchell (1908-1996), "Dragger Captain," in Up in the Old Hotel (New York: Vintage Books, 1993), pp. 537-573 (on Captain Ellery Thompson):

p. 548:

"When I was sixteen, I got into first-year high school, but I couldn't stand it. I went to Pa and told him, 'One more day of that mess—amo, amas, amat—just one more day, and I'll drown myself.'"

pp. 564-565:

"When we brought the net in and emptied it on deck, the professors helped us sort. They squatted down and took right hold. There was all the difference in the world between them and the other scientists. They worked as hard as us, except for stopping now and then to jot down a note. And they didn't throw any Latin around. They used fishermen's fish names. They didn't call a squirrel hake a Hippogloppus hoppogloppus; they called it a snot head, the same as we do."

pp. 566-567:

In addition, one shelf of the canned-goods cupboard in the cabin is crammed with books, most of which are about fish. These belong to Ellery; he is building a scientific library of his own. He started it with Fishes of the Gulf of Maine, by Henry B. Bigelow and William W. Welsh, an old United States Bureau of Fisheries reference work that is a classic of American ichthyology. Mr. Merriman and Mr. Warfel found a copy for Ellery in a secondhand bookstore in Boston and gave it to him for Christmas in 1944. Ellery has great respect for it. He has read and reread it, he lends it to other captains, and he frequently quotes from it. Mr. Warfel believes that Ellery is no longer hostile to Latin and is quite sure that he has memorized the Latin fish names in Bigelow & Welsh. Ellery profanely denies this. He slips up every so often, however. Two sharks appear in multitudes in the Stonington grounds at certain seasons, the spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthias) and the smooth dogfish (Mustelus canis). Not long ago, in conversation with Mr. Warfel, Ellery mentioned a big shark that swam up while the net was coming out of the water and tore a hole in it trying to get at the fish inside, and Mr. Warfel asked, "What was it—a spiny dog or a smooth dog?" "It was an acanthias," Ellery said.

From Karl Maurer:

Michael, regarding this charming poet William Lathum (for whom I feel much indebted to you), I wonder if you’ve noticed two places where the meter seems to betray a printer’s error, because it lacks a syllable? E.g. in the first poem you quote, line 4 “Is all of clay, the floor and the roofe” – that could have been e.g. “Is all of clay, the floor, <walls> and the roofe”. And in “Post mortem” line 10, “That none can safely say, this was his, or his”. That perhaps should be, “That none can safely say, <that> this was his, or his”. Then the poem more plainly has two parts, 1-10 and 11-20, each of 9 pentameters and 1 hexameter. (For he likes to end sections with long lines; compare the poem “I feel a tingling chillness”, where the first half is 6 pentameters + 1 hexameter, the second, 6 pentameters + 1 heptameter. And the first poem is all pentameters + 1 hexameter at the end.)

Of course, verse by amateurs teems with extra or missing syllables, but poets as careful as Lathum never, ever do. (Not at least in my opinion. Reading Donne, for example, I am now and then astonished to find even a good editor preferring an unmetrical variant, when the plainly right reading is right there in his apparatus.)

In the first poem, re 23 “premier main” – acc. to the OED “main” is an English word, in heraldry; so I suppose the adj. doesn’t need to show a gender. And at line 13 it might be well to gloss “and selfe Miller’s”, which I guess means “and the Miller itself”.

I looked up the article by Marshall you mentioned. He is surely right that this poet ought to be better known. That dialogue between body and soul has immense charm; it has a sort of mingling of sadness and subtle humor that in verse I always love.

John Rawlet (1642–1686), "On Solitude," in his Poetick Miscellanies (London: Printed for Samuel Tidmarsh, 1687), pp. 59-67:

        I.

Welcome sweet Solitude, who loves not thee
    Loves not himself; for only he
    Who from the busie throng is quit,
He to retire into himself is free,
    He with himself may sit.

        II.

Than our Dear self is any thing more Dear?
    Shall we then seem to hate or fear
    What most we love? yet so do they
Who rather had be rambling here, and there,
    Than with themselves to stay.

        III.

Some hideous frightful thing there is within,
    Even a consciousness of Sin:
    That if alone doth them affright;
Which to torment them when it doth begin,
    Straightway they take their flight.

        IV.

Even from themselves poor Men they strive to fly;
    Thrust into vicious Company,
    There hoping for a little Peace
From Noise, from Sport, from Riot, and thereby
    Their Torments they increase.

        V.

Who weary of himself, himself still flies,
    And Vice for a diversion tries;
    Hence greater weariness shall feel:
The Plaister which his folly doth devise,
    Wounds worse than did the Steel.

        VI.

Thus the Slave loaden with his Guilt and Chain,
    From Prison breaks, but not from pain;
    His Irons gall him in the road,
Untill at last he's hurried back again
    To feel a double Load.

        VII.

Thus in the numerous herd, the wounded Hart
    Would shroud himself, but still the Dart
    Sticks in his Flesh, widens his Wound;
He cannot in the Croud shake off his smart,
    Nor scape the following Hound.

        VIII.

Then welcome, Solitude, abhor'd by none,
    But fools and vicious Men alone;
    Whilst courted by the Wise and Good,
Who by Fruition have its blessings known,
    Its pleasure's understood.

        IX.

Whilst they hither, from the World remove,
    In all that's Good they do improve,
    And here where nothing can annoy,
Rendring themselves worthy of their own love,
    Themselves they do enjoy.

        X.

Wearied with Noise and Hurry here, we have
    The Rest and Silence of a Grave;
    The Mind too freed from stir and noise,
Begins to feel what pious minds most crave,
    Foretasts of Heavenly joyes.

        XI.

The Moon from view retir'd, receives most light
    From Heaven, and Heaven-ward shines most bright:
    But what time we her Full do call,
When she comes forth expos'd to common sight,
    'Tis then Eclipses fall.

        XII.

Here Virtue's fixt, which justling Crouds did shake,
    Here it doth Sanctuary take,
    When Lusts and Passions it pursue;
Here gathering strength, doth brave resistance make,
    And all her Foes subdue.

        XIII.

The mind exhausted by the multitude,
    Here hath its strength renew'd;
    Like Fields opprest by constant Plough,
It doth when Fallow laid in Solitude,
    More Rich and Fertile grow.

        XIV.

They who from others seem the most recluse,
    For others Good most Fruit produce;
    Who labour under Ground, there find
The Gold which after serves for common use,
    And doth enrich Mankind.

        XV.

Rich Streams of Blessings from the Hermits cell
    O'reflow the World, which none can tell
    From whence they flow, but like some Fountain,
Unknown as th' head of Nile, he oft doth dwell
    In the obscurer Mountain.

        XVI.

The learned tribe whose works the World do bless,
    Finish those works in some recess;
    Both the Philosopher and Divine,
And Poets most who still make their address
    In private to the Nine.

        XVII.

Thus on the Banks of Thames great Cowley chose
    His private Chertsey for repose;
    Cowley whose Verse like those rich streams,
So deep, as clear, in various numbers flows,
    And long shall last as Thames.

Related posts:

• Nietzsche on the Popularity of Cell Phones
• Horace on the Popularity of Cell Phones
• Schopenhauer on Solitude
• Solitude
• The Noise Needers
• Solitary Men

Josephine Preston Peabody (1874-1922), Diary and Letters (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1925), p. 73:

Professor [Charles Eliot] Norton lectured in Italian 4 this afternoon. The dear old man looks so mildly happy and benignant while he regrets everything in the age and the country—so contented, while he gently tells us it were better for us had we never been born in this degenerate and unlovely age—that I remain fixed between wrath and unwilling affection.

This is an update on The Body as a House and The Body as a House in Greek and Latin. The image of the body as a house appears in a poem by William Lathum with the title "Prosopopeia Corporis Animae valedicturi: Adios a rivederci" (i.e. "Address of the Body about to say Farewell to the Soul: Goodbye, Until We Meet Again"), in his Phyala Lachrymarum...Together with sundry choyce Meditations of Mortalitie (London: Printed by R.Y. for George Lathum, 1634), pp. 39-40:

My lovely frend, that long hast been content
To dwell with mee in my poore Tenement,
Whose bulke and all the stuffe, both warp and woofe,
Is all of clay, the floor and the roofe:
Though yet thou ne're foundst fault; ne didst upbraid      5
This homely hermitage, so meanly made;
O mine owne darling, my deere daintie one,
And wilt thou now indeed from mee be gone?
Ah, for thou seest all running to decay
The thatchie covering's now nigh falne away:      10
The windows, which give light to every roome,
Broken, and dimme, and mistie beene become,
The Mill-house, and selfe Miller's out of frame,
My Kitchin smoakes, my Larder is too blame,
And from the Studds each where the Lome doth shrink,      15
And the breeze cold blowes in at every chinke.
The brases and supporters of my house
Tremble, and waxen wondrous ruinous.
    So that all bee it grieve mee to the heart,
To thinke that thou and I (old friends) must part;      20
Yet, sith my Cabban's all out of repaire,
(Darling) farewell, goe sojourne now else where,
In some cleane place, untill that premier Main
That built mee first, rebuild mee up againe,
All of the selfe same stuffe, but with such art,      25
So polisht, and imbellisht every part,
That it shall ne're be out of Kilture more:
Then shalt thou come againe, as heretofore,
And dwell with mee for ever and for aye:
(So God us both to blesse untill that happie day.)      30

15 lome: loam, i.e. clay, plaster
16 breeze: my emendation for breeme. L. Birkett Marshall, ed., Rare Poems of the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge: At the University Press, 1936), reprints this poem on pp. 141-142, also with breeme, but I can't find any such English word with an appropriate meaning.
17 brases = braces
21 cabban = cabin
23 premier main: main in French = hand, but it's feminine, so one would expect première = first; the expression evidently refers to the Creator.
27 kilture = kilter

Hat tip: Ian Jackson.

William Lathum, "Il sonno e una morte vivente," in his Phyala Lachrymarum...Together with sundry choyce Meditations of Mortalitie (London: Printed by R.Y. for George Lathum, 1634), p. 39:

When I doe weigh how little differing
Life is from death, how little or nought at all
Death is from sleepe, when neere so small a thing
Can make them all be transubstantiall,
Oh what amazement on my minde doth fall!      5
And I do wonder how I sleepe or wake,
Sith unto death, in nature they so neere partake.
  And in the morning after quiet sleepe,
When I consider to how weak a guard
My pretious life I did commit to keepe,      10
Being for death a thing not very hard
To seize his brothers right, sith if compar'd,
Sleep's but a breathing death, death breathlesse sleep,
I feele a tingling chilnesse over all my bones to creepe.

12 Sleep and Death are brothers.

William Lathum, "Post mortem nescio cujus," in his Phyala Lachrymarum...Together with sundry choyce Meditations of Mortalitie (London: Printed by R.Y. for George Lathum, 1634), p. 38:

Why doe the mightie beare themselves so high,
And vant their parentage and long discent?
Why do the rich so swell with surquedry
Of their huge wealth, which is but to them lent,
But till their lives uncertaine terme be spent?      5
Though where's the odds, or what's the difference
Between the wealthy and the indigent,
When both unto the grave once part from hence?
Within a while their dust so mingled is,
That none can safely say, this was his, or his:      10
  So have I seene the boistrous-body'd oake,
That above all, her wide-spred armes enhanc't,
I saw it lopt with many a sturdie stroke,
From side to side I saw it thorow lanc't,
I saw it fall and headlong disadvanc't:      15
The silly shrub that there beside was growne,
I likewise saw quite rooted up and rancht;
I saw them both into the fire throwne;
I saw them wasted, and in ashes lye,
But whethers ashes were by no meanes could discry.      20

3 surquedry = "arrogance, haughty pride, presumption" (OED)
17 rancht = cut (OED, s.v. ranch, v.¹: "To tear, cut, or scratch, esp. deeply")
20 whethers = which of the two's

On this obscure poet see L. Birkett Marshall, "William Lathum, a Seventeenth-Century Poet," Review of English Studies, Vol. 8, No. 29 (Jan. 1932) 37-43.

On dead men compared with felled trees see:

• Dying Soldiers and Trees: Gautier, Horace, Simonides
• Some Homeric Similes

Labels: arboricide

Rosa Silverman, "Vivienne Westwood declares 'I am Julian Assange' as she visits WikiLeaks founder in Ecuadorean embassy," The Telegraph (October 24, 2012):

The fashion designer was wearing the T-shirt she closed her recent London Show with, bearing the words "I am Julian Assange".

Vivienne Westwood obviously is not Julian Assange; rather she supports Julian Assange. Expressions like this are my latest linguistic pet peeve.

Trayvon Martin's mother filed an application to trademark the expression "I am Trayvon." Those who wear T-shirts or hooded sweatshirts with the words "I am Trayvon" mourn his death and might want his killer boiled in oil, but they are not Trayvon.

Sometimes the first person plural is used, e.g. "We are all Palestinians now," or "We Are All Abigael Evans" (title of article by Michael Scherer, Time, Oct. 31, 2012). Speaking for myself, I am neither a Palestinian nor Abigael Evans.

These expressions remind me of the inmate in the insane asylum who insists that he is Jesus Christ, or Napoleon.

Maybe John F. Kennedy started it, with "Ich bin ein Berliner."

---

David Whitehead writes:

I reckon Stanley Kubrick beat JFK to that one: the much-parodied 'I am Spartacus' scene in the 1960 movie. I don't know whether the phrase occurs in Howard Fast’s novel (1951).

This is the scene in which slaves, asked to identify Spartacus, all say, "I am Spartacus."

Nathaniel Koonce recalls one of the "I am Spartacus" parodies—the "I am Brian" scene from the movie Monty Python's Life of Brian.

Related posts:

• Latest Linguistic Pet Peeves
• All About
• "Around" Preceding an Abstract Noun
• The Word The
• Umbrance
• Pet Peeve (re-gifting)
• Pet Peeve (I'm like)

Richard Dawkins, The Greatest Show on Earth: The Evidence for Evolution (New York: Free Press, 2009), p. 366 (footnote):

Boyle's Law states that, for a fixed quantity of gas at a given temperature, the pressure is inversely proportional to the volume. I have never forgotten Boyle's Law since my class at school, Form 4B1, was taught a single lesson by the school's senior science master, whose name was Bunjy. He was standing in for Bufty, our usual physics teacher, and we wrongly thought that, because of Bunjy's extreme age (as we thought) and extreme short sight (as was obvious from his habit of reading a book in contact with his nose), we could ignore his discipline and tease him. How wrong we were. He kept the whole lot of us in for an extra detention lesson that afternoon, which he began by making us write in our notebooks: 'Object of the lesson: To teach 4B1 good manners and Boyle's Law.'

Richard Dawkins, The Greatest Show on Earth: The Evidence for Evolution (New York: Free Press, 2009), p. 184 (footnote):

Predictably, the Peking fossil is now sometimes called Beijing Man. Why, since we are talking English rather than Chinese, do we go along with 'Beijing' at all, when referring to China's capital? There's a rather charming programme on British television called Grumpy Old Men, which is a genially edited collection of grouses and grizzles of this kind. If I were on it, I would say something like the following. We don't dab on a splash of Eau de Köln to drown out the smell of Mumbai Duck, or go waltzing to the strains of 'The Blue Dunaj' or 'Tales from the Wien Woods'. We don't compare Neville Chamberlain, the Man of München, to Napoleon's retreat from Moskva. Nor yet (though give it time) do we take our snuffling little pet Beij for walkies. What's wrong with Peking, when it's the English language we're speaking? I was delighted recently to meet a member of the British diplomatic corps, fluent in Mandarin, who had played a leading role in our embassy in what he insisted on calling Peking.