’There you are wrong; it is the masterpiece of Schiller, the first of German poets.’

‘It may be so,’ said the youth.  ’But, pray excuse me, I do not think very highly of German poetry.  I have lately been reading Shakespeare; and, when I turn from him to the Germans—­even the best of them—­they appear mere pigmies.  You will pardon the liberty I perhaps take in saying so.’

‘I like that every one should have an opinion of his own,’ said the elderly individual; ’and, what is more, declare it.  Nothing displeases me more than to see people assenting to everything that they hear said; I at once come to the conclusion that they are either hypocrites, or there is nothing in them.  But, with respect to Shakespeare, whom I have not read for thirty years, is he not rather given to bombast, “crackling bombast,” as I think I have said in one of my essays?’

‘I daresay he is,’ said the youth; ’but I can’t help thinking him the greatest of all poets, not even excepting Homer.  I would sooner have written that series of plays, founded on the fortunes of the House of Lancaster, than the Iliad itself.  The events described are as lofty as those sung by Homer in his great work, and the characters brought upon the stage still more interesting.  I think Hotspur as much of a hero as Hector, and young Henry more of a man than Achilles; and then there is the fat knight, the quintessence of fun, wit, and rascality.  Falstaff is a creation beyond the genius even of Homer.’

‘You almost tempt me to read Shakespeare again—­but the Germans?’

‘I don’t admire the Germans,’ said the youth, somewhat excited.  ’I don’t admire them in any point of view.  I have heard my father say that, though good sharpshooters, they can’t be much depended upon as soldiers; and that old Sergeant Meredith told him that Minden would never have been won but for the two English regiments, who charged the French with fixed bayonets, and sent them to the right-about in double-quick time.  With respect to poetry, setting Shakespeare and the English altogether aside, I think there is another Gothic nation, at least, entitled to dispute with them the palm.  Indeed, to my mind, there is more genuine poetry contained in the old Danish book which I came so strangely by, than has been produced in Germany from the period of the Niebelungen lay to the present.’

‘Ah, the Koempe Viser?’ said the elderly individual, breathing forth an immense volume of smoke, which he had been collecting during the declamation of his young companion.  ’There are singular things in that book, I must confess; and I thank you for showing it to me, or rather your attempt at translation.  I was struck with that ballad of Orm Ungarswayne, who goes by night to the grave-hill of his father to seek for counsel.  And then, again, that strange melancholy Swayne Vonved, who roams about the world propounding people riddles; slaying those who cannot answer, and rewarding those who can with golden bracelets.  Were it not for the violence, I should say that ballad has a philosophic tendency.  I thank you for making me acquainted with the book, and I thank the Jew Mousha for making me acquainted with you.’