Horace.—­Well, I will not contradict you; and, to say the truth, I should do it with no very good grace, because in some of my Odes I have not spoken so modestly of my own poetry as in my Epistles.  But to make you know your pre-eminence over me and all writers of Latin verse, I will carry you to Quintilian, the best of all Roman critics, who will tell you in what rank you ought to be placed.

Virgil.—­I fear his judgment of me was biassed by your commendation.  But who is this shade that Mercury is conducting?  I never saw one that stalked with so much pride, or had such ridiculous arrogance expressed in his looks!

Horace.—­They come towards us.  Hail, Mercury!  What is this stranger with you?

Mercury.—­His name is Julius Caesar Scaliger, and he is by profession a critic.

Horace.—­Julius Caesar Scaliger!  He was, I presume, a dictator in criticism.

Mercury.—­Yes, and he has exercised his sovereign power over you.

Horace.—­I will not presume to oppose it.  I had enough of following Brutus at Philippi.

Mercury.—­Talk to him a little.  He’ll amuse you.  I brought him to you on purpose.

Horace.—­Virgil, do you accost him.  I can’t do it with proper gravity.  I shall laugh in his face.

Virgil.—­Sir, may I ask for what reason you cast your eyes so superciliously upon Horace and me?  I don’t remember that Augustus ever looked down upon us with such an air of superiority when we were his subjects.

Scaliger.—­He was only a sovereign over your bodies, and owed his power to violence and usurpation.  But I have from Nature an absolute dominion over the wit of all authors, who are subjected to me as the greatest of critics or hypercritics.

Virgil.—­Your jurisdiction, great sir, is very extensive.  And what judgments have you been pleased to pass upon us?

Scaliger.—­Is it possible you should be ignorant of my decrees?  I have placed you, Virgil, above Homer, whom I have shown to be—­

Virgil.—­Hold, sir.  No blasphemy against my master.

Horace.—­But what have you said of me?

Scaliger.—­I have said that I had rather have written the little dialogue between you and Lydia than have been made king of Arragon.

Horace.—­If we were in the other world you should give me the kingdom, and take both the ode and the lady in return.  But did you always pronounce so favourably for us?

Scaliger.—­Send for my works and read them.  Mercury will bring them to you with the first learned ghost that arrives here from Europe.  There is instruction for you in them.  I tell you of your faults.  But it was my whim to commend that little ode, and I never do things by halves.  When I give praise, I give it liberally, to show my royal bounty.  But I generally blame, to exert all the vigour of my censorian power, and keep my subjects in awe.