nk I
might perhaps have done something on the _Vita Nuova_; and the
next day I opened the book, and considered how I could do
it. But you shall not expect that, either, for your present
occasion. When I first mentioned it to you, it was only as a
piece of Sunday work, which I thought of doing for you alone;
and because it has never seemed to me you entered enough into
the genius of the Italian to apprehend the mind, which has
seemed so great to me, and a star unlike, if not higher than
all the others in our sky. Else, I should have given you
the original, rather than any version of mine. I intended to
translate the poems, with which it is interspersed, into plain
prose. Milnes and Longfellow have tried each their power at
doing it in verse, and have done better, probably, than I
could, yet not well. But this would not satisfy me for the
public. Besides, the translating Dante is a piece of literary
presumption, and challenges a criticism to which I am not sure
that I am, as the Germans say, _gewachsen_. Italian, as well
as German, I learned by myself, unassisted, except as to the
pronunciation. I have never been brought into connection
with minds trained to any severity in these kinds of elegant
culture. I have used all the means within my reach, but my not
going abroad is an insuperable defect in the technical part
of my education. I was easily capable of attaining excellence,
perhaps mastery, in the use of some implements. Now I know,
at least, _what I do not know_, and I get along by never
voluntarily going beyond my depth, and, when called on to do
it, stating my incompetency. At moments when I feel tempted to
regret that I could not follow out the plan I had marked
for myself, and develop powers which are not usual here, I
reflect, that if I had attained high finish and an easy range
in these respects, I should not have been thrown back on my
own resources, or known them as I do. But Lord Brougham should
not translate Greek orations, nor a maid-of-all-work attempt
such a piece of delicate handling as to translate the _Vita
Nuova_.'

Here is a letter, without date, to another correspondent:

'To-day, on reading over some of the sonnets of Michel Angelo,
I felt them more than usual. I know not why I have not read
them thus before, except that the beauty was pointed