have been employed. In the first place, it is evident that the use must, in great measure, depend upon the kind of translation and a little consideration will suffice to show what that should be. For, while a mere servile substitution of an English for a corresponding Latin or Greek word, which is the principal of what is called a literal translation, gives the student the meaning of the words individually, and therefore does little more than save him the trouble of using his dictionary; a more free, idiomatic, and spirited version will point out the meaning of the words connectedly, i. e. the sense of the author; and consequently supply that which the dictionary alone does not afford. The perfection of a translation (and indeed the only one that can be generally used with advantage or safety, for either of the above is mischievous) is that which conveys at once this twofold instruction. The true medium between the servile and the vague may be preserved in almost all cases with considerable success; certainly to a much greater extent than the current translations will be found to do. It is evident, that while a too literal translation may be said to defeat its own objects, a too free one has a strong tendency to induce the hasty or injudicious reader to satisfy himself with catching at the general sense, without comprehending either the construction or precise meaning of his author-a most pernicious habit, and a certain obstacle to the ultimate attainment of sound scholarship. The real tendency, however, of a free translation, depends, of course, much upon its use. If the student does not trust to it, as he cannot reasonably do, for ascertaining the construction of the original; if he merely wishes, after mastering that, to arrive thereby at the tone, and drift, and tenor of the author; or, again, if he uses it as a test of his own accuracy, that is, as a means of subsequently ascertaining whether he has understood any passage correctly-in all these cases he has made a right use of a legitimate help, and to such a student a translation will, we believe, be unobjectionable, and probably beneficial. It is reading the sentence first in the English and then in the original, which is so highly injurious; though this we imagine to be the ordinary way of using translations. We examine the construction for the purpose of arriving at the meaning but this is taking a short cut to the latter without ́ passing the former-it is wishing to eat the kernel without cracking the stone-and the inevitable consequence will be, that when we do not happen to have the convenient thoroughfare, we shall lose ourselves in the longer route-when we cannot procure nutcrackers, we shall look in vain for a door in the shell.


A good translator, then, will always regard the meaning of his author connectedly, as well as that of each and every word distinctively; and the one exactly as much as the other. The former will ensure a spirited without a vague—the second a close without a servile version. That these two qualities are not incompatible nor inconsistent with each other we have already observed; and that Lord Brougham has failed in ensuring either of them, an examination of almost any sentence in his work will clearly shew. Such translations as his Lordship's will never "assist the student of the Greek language," but are calculated to do him a great deal of harm; and we warn him to beware how he makes use of them.

For our own parts, we conceive that a series of accurate, literal, and careful translations of the classic authors, composed from the best texts of the originals, would be a great boon to literature. Experience proves that use will be made of this assistance, whether wisely or not, by students of almost every kind and degree; and to replace the heap of trash now current among them by standard, and as it were authorised versions, could not fail to have a beneficial effect. The art of criticism, which has, of late years, made such incredible progress, and achieved such unhoped-for wonders in restoring and determining the text of the writers of antiquity, has not even yet, in all probability, attained its zenith. For some of the more celebrated authors, however, little more will, perhaps, be effected, unless we go beyond the cautious rules of art, and madly plunge into the dangerous system of unlimited conjectural emendation-a system which, although it may now and then find advocates, will never be able to expel from the hands of sober and thinking scholars the excellent editions of a Bekker, a Gaisford, and a Dindorff. The learned reviewer in Fraser, of whom we have more than once made mention, would fain suspend all translation till the Classics have passed through his own critical crucible. We ask him whether, in serious sober earnest, he would have his burlesque edition of the Supplices of Eschylus adopted, as a standard text for translation, in preference to that of Wellauer, corrupt and imperfect as it confessedly is? We think not; and we trust that he will employ his very powerful and well-stored mind in more useful ways, for the future, than in indulging his fancy by inflicting upon the ancient authors every kind of ingenious absurdity which a fertile imagination can invent. With Lord Brougham we feel, as we have pretty clearly shewn, vexed and dissatisfied, because nothing but presumption the most unwarrantable could have induced

him to undertake a work for which he is utterly unqualified. Let his failure, we repeat, be a warning to him not to outstep the limits of his own powers-and let him ever bear in mind that excellent saying of old

ἕρδοι τις ἥν ἕκαστος εἰδείη τέχνην,

ART. V. Bourdaloue P. Sermons pour tous les jours de Carême. 2 tom. Paris. 1836.

Edited by the Rev. J.


2. Works of Isaac Barrow, D.D. HUGHES. 7 vols. London. 3. Massillon Eveque de Clermont, Euvres. 2 tom. Paris. 1836.

IT was the saying of Pascal, that we are accustomed to regard the ancient philosophers, Plato and Aristotle, only in the solemn drapery of dignified reflection; and, on that account, to entertain a very erroneous notion of their familiar manners. So far from being stiffened into an unnatural bearing, they laughed with their friends, and the composition of their works constituted the least philosophical portion of their lives. Pascal might have illustrated his remark from the history of his own distinguished countrymen. It is related in Spence, that Bourdaloue having been appointed to preach on Good Friday, the proper officer attended to conduct him to Church. He was directed to the study of the Father. Ascending the stairs, the brisk notes of a violin caught his astonished ear: and the door being partially open, he beheld Bourdaloue, stripped to his cassock, and keeping time to the movements of his instrument. For some time he stood in mute consternation; at last he summoned sufficient resolution to tap gently at the door. The preacher immediately laid down his violin, hurried on his robe, and coming forward with his usual composure of manner, addressed him, "Oh! sir, is it you? I hope I have not made you stay; I am quite ready to attend you." The poor man, as they were going down, ventured to express his surprise at the spectacle he had beheld. Bourdaloue replied with a smile, "Indeed, you might well be a little surprised, if you don't know anything of my way on these occasions. But the whole matter was this; in thinking over the subject of the day, I found my spirits too much depressed to speak as I ought to do, so I had recourse to my usual method of music and a little

motion. It has produced its effect; I am now in a proper temper, and go with pleasure to a duty to which I should otherwise have gone with pain."

We are enabled to give an almost parallel scene from the life of an English prelate who bore no very slight resemblance to Bourdaloue-we mean Warburton, Bishop of Gloucester. We derive the story from Mr. Gardiner, to whom it was related by Cradock, the friend of Goldsmith. Cradock, as he was one day walking up the Strand, was overtaken by Warburton in his carriage, who called out to him, "Cradock, I am going to preach a sermon before the Lord Mayor; if you have nothing better to do, get in and go with me." Cradock accepted the invitation; and the conversation, not flowing through an ecclesiastical channel, soon turned upon Shakspeare. Character after character was passed in review; and when they had entered the vestry, the Bishop, carried away by the fever of the minute, began to personate Falstaff, and he was in the act, we are informed, of swelling into that famous and valorous knight, when the Lord Mayor and Aldermen rushed into the vestry; and it was not without great difficulty that the excited actor and eulogist of the poet could re-assume the gravity of his episcopal raiment. Warburton did not always confine his scenical representations to the vestry. Gray communicated an anecdote, worth repeating, to Dr. Wharton. Writing in April, 1765, he tells him that Warburton, not long before, had asserted in a sermon at court, that all preferments were bestowed on the most illiterate persons; and that in speaking he turned himself about and stared directly at the Bishop of London, adding, "that if any one arose distinguished for talent and learning, there was a combination of divines to keep him down."

It was not until his mind had been matured by diligent labour and study, that Bourdaloue assumed the sacred garments of the priesthood. Several years of his life were devoted to the instruction of young persons in grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, and divinity, in the place of his birth. At length he entered the ministry; and after obtaining a wide renown among country congregations, he was called to Paris in 1669: a period, it has been observed, peculiarly distinguished for its splendour both in military and literary exploits. The victories of Turenne, the festivities of Versailles, the pens of Corneille and Racine, were the glories and the enchantments of the time. A fever of the passions had quickened the popular blood; a general excitement pervaded society. The national eyesight was dazzled with the lustre of literature and arms; the national pride was intoxicated with the music and the wine of

prosperity and fame. This was, undeniably, no favourable season for the appearance of a preacher. But the genius and energy of Bourdaloue vanquished the difficulties in his path; and while, so to speak, he darkened the theatre of life, and rolled a cloud over this gorgeous pageant of worldly distinction, he re-illumined it with a purer light, and embellished it with more beautiful decorations. Even the heart of the voluptuous Monarch bowed under his eloquence; and he was continually recalled, in successive years, "to reason upon judgment and death," and while the sovereign trembled, to persuade him almost to become a Christian. Bourdaloue was, indeed, a Jesuit; but his piety was not embittered by the poison of Loyola. It was said that his life presented the most conclusive reply to the satires of Pascal. Towards the close of his existence, Bourdaloue resigned his pulpit for the lowlier office of visitation and consolation. The hospital and the prison became his frequent resort and he knew, says one of his countrymen, how to be simple with the simple, learned with the wise and a logician with the acute. The sweetness of his manners and the sanctity of his conduct realised, with a delightful harmony of union, the exhortations of his pen; and he lived to shew to the world that no eloquence is so forcible in its appeal, or so alluring in its suggestions, as the silent rhetoric of a well-spent life.

While the air of France was nourishing the youthful intellect of Bourdaloue, there was growing up on the opposite shores a genius of even greater vigour and amplitude. Bourdaloue was born upon the 20th of August, 1632; Barrow, in October, 1630. It is a curious circumstance in literary history, that the masters of sacred eloquence should have arisen, both in France and England, almost simultaneously. Flechier, Bourdaloue, and Bossuet, were only divided in their birth by intervals of two or three years; while, in our own country, we find Hall, Taylor, Barrow, South, and Sherlock, forming an unbroken chain of Christian eloquence and learning. And as we see Sherlock taking up the last link which had fallen from the hand of a mightier master in Israel, so in France, Massillon, born in 1663, replaced, with a very different order of rhetoric, the majestic declamation of Bossuet. In England, our most famous satirist and our most glorious poet, appeared soon after each other. Milton was born in 1608; Dryden in 1631. In France, Corneille, Boileau, Racine, and Moliere lived to honour and applaud each other. We might pursue this inquiry with interest to ourselves, and probably with pleasure to our readers but we forbear, and return to Barrow.

A copy of Montaigne, with the autograph of Shakspeare,

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