'As to the aesthetic value' of these South American utterances, Dr Gummere asks in a footnote, 'how far is it inferior to the sonorous commonplaces of our own verse--say "The Psalm of Life?"' I really cannot answer that question. Which do you prefer, Gentlemen?--'Life is real, life is earnest,' or 'Now we have something to eat'? I must leave you to settle it with the Food Controller. The Professor goes on: 'Now and then, too, an individual begins a song, and is answered by the rest in chorus.... _They never sing without dancing, never dance without singing, and have but one word to express both song and dance._' As the unprejudiced reader sees [Dr Gummere proceeds] this clear and admirable account confirms the doctrine of early days revived with fresh ethnological evidence in the writings of Dr Brown and of Adam Smith, that dance, poetry and song were once a single and inseparable function, and is in itself fatal to the idea of rhythmic prose, of solitary recitation, as foundations of poetry.... All poetry is communal, holding fast to the rhythm of consent as to the one sure fact. IV Now I should tell you, Gentlemen, that I hold such utterances as this last--whatever you may think of the utterances of the Botocudos--to be exorbitant: that I distrust all attempts to build up (say) "Paradise Lost" historically from the yells and capers of recondite savages. 'Life is real, life is earnest' may be no better aesthetically (I myself think it a little better) than 'Now we have something to eat' 'Brandy is good' may rival Pindar's [Greek: Arioton men udor], and indeed puts what it contains of truth with more of finality, less of provocation (though Pindar at once follows up [Greek: Arioton men udor] with exquisite poetry): but you cannot--truly you cannot--exhibit the steps which lead up from 'Brandy is good' to such lines as Thus with the year Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine. I bend over the learned page pensively, and I seem to see a Botocudo Professor--though not high 'in the social scale,' they may have such things--visiting Cambridge on the last night of the Lent races and reporting of its inhabitants as follows: