allowed to stand, until ground for abandonment shall be made out. Very often, indeed, it must be violated. For instance, we are as much compelled to keep substantives and adjectives together, as the Romans were bound to separate them. Then again, our want of inflections often makes it absolutely imperative to place the objective case after the verb, where they would have their accusative before it. Moreover, a great deal is due to rhythm, which too slavish an obedience to the law would dishonour to an extent that the ear could not bear. In such a translation as the following, it is plain that a due regard to it seriously multiplies the manacles which already tie the hands. Over and over again has a smoother and more harmonious rendering been passed by, rather than offer it what seemed to be a needless offence. At times, perhaps, the deference paid has been over rigid; few will be found to complain that it has met with any neglect. In fact, the mere English reader might often feel surprise at the appearance of missing an arrangement, which a glance would show to be superior to the one adopted, and that without the introduction of other words than those actually employed. Yet, if he could compare the passage under criticism with the original, sometimes, at least, his surprise would vanish away. However, though a compromise is often unavoidable, (not, indeed, in this case only, but among all the principles laid down, with the exception of the first,) as a general rule, dislocation more frequently involves a weakness than brings any improvement.

The last condition which it has been deemed worth bringing under the notice of the reader, as influencing the present attempt, is the choice of Anglo-Saxon words,—or, perhaps, it would be truer to say, words of Northern origin. It is quite impossible in this place fully to ex

plain the importance of a regard to a point which is so much overlooked; but I may briefly remark, that those who are wedded to Latinisms little know how much they lose by so undue an attachment. The Latin, as every one knows, is a most refined language, harmonious, elegant, and terse; but it lacks the majesty of Greek, and the power of English. English is embarrassed by a superabundance of consonants and monosyllables, and thus in the element of music must yield to Latin, which has fewer, or employs them more sparingly: but in grandeur and grasp it bears away the palm. This pre-eminence is partly, if not chiefly, owing to the Saxon element which it contains; so that in proportion as this is undervalued and shunned, the language itself is weakened. I suppose that no one who, along with the lexicographer, can trace the progress of English from the time of Robert of Gloucester, through Wiclif, Gower, Chaucer, Spenser, and so down to the close of the eighteenth century, will think that it is now capable of any material improvement. The chasteness of Addison, the richness of Burke, the fire of Gray, the rhythmical vigour of Johnson, the elegant simplicity of Goldsmith, Dryden's easy power, and Pope's graceful music, are not likely ever to be surpassed. We must, we may well be, satisfied with what we have got; for we can gain no more, though we may lose a great deal. The spring-tide of our tongue seems fully in, and we ought to arrest the ebb as long as the inevitable law, which affects nations and languages, will allow. To secure such a result we must draw more upon our earlier sources than the later. This, indeed, is not without its difficulty, as the vanity of learning will tempt people to adopt the latter alternative, so long as it realises more of credit to display an acquaintance with Cicero than with Spenser and Shakspeare. Yet let no one who coins a word out of a

Latin root, and discards a Saxon term which would fully answer all fair purposes, flatter himself that he has added to the resources of his native tongue. Though we see a city extending itself far in the direction of the suburbs, and houses of attractive appearance rising up on every side, it does not at all follow that its dimensions are really enlarged. The visitor that strays into its heart may haply find many an aged dwelling, with doorways broken down, quaint cornices of carved stone crumbling away, walls tottering, and courts, the haunts no more of living beings, save the jackdaw and the bat. How often, too, will he find such abandonment recompensed by nothing better than showy structures elsewhere, forced upon his sight with all the pert unreality of lath and plaster!

However, let not the view here put forward be misunderstood. It is not intended that words of Latin derivation should be altogether avoided; scarce any one could conceive an idea so idle. The notion is not to cripple and confine, but to strengthen. In fact, we are under the greatest obligations to Latin for a vast number of most effective and harmonious expressions, which it would be utterly impossible to spare. But surely no one, who values the independence of his native tongue, will compromise it by a needless demand for foreign aid to supply imaginary defects. Surely no one, if he had the means, could have the rashness to sweep away our Saxon terms, on any supposed ground of barbarism or dissonance. No one of any philological taste can help seeing the grandeur and power, nay the music, which so unmistakably attends a very great many of them. Nothing is easier than to puff at a word which may not be in common use, pronounce it obsolete, and sign its death-warrant. Johnson by his Dictionary, along with signal service, has probably done no little mischief to the English language, by not

only omitting many words of undoubted merit, but by condemning others without number, of which, were we to be deprived, the loss would be deeply felt by the true English scholar. But, fortunately, more modern lexicographers are more merciful; and as their labours are more philosophical, his work, in the course of time, will be consulted chiefly for the sake of its quotations, which must continue to stamp a deep value upon it, so long as the English language shall last. Fortunately, too, we are blessed with two great mainstays of purity and stability in our translation of the Bible, and the Book of Common Prayer. The English Bible and the English Service-Book are the two great anchors of the English tongue. So long as these shall be left to us in their present shape, it will be the height of presumption in any one to pronounce those words obsolete which they commonly employ. But, on the other hand, we are bound to use every effort to keep our diction from receding to any serious distance from theirs. Authority is all-powerful when supported; withdraw support, and it is a dream. But should unhappily their phraseology ever be altered, and these venerable books be tricked out in a modern dress, the death-knell of the English language will have begun to toll.

Let the young, then, be trained to a closer acquaintance with terms of Teutonic origin, and taught, at least, to prefer a word drawn from this source, when it will serve his purpose equally well with a Latin one. This I have aimed at in the following translation, and indeed at something beyond it: not, I am free to say, to the extent that I think wholesome or desirable, but as far as I thought I might venture with safety.

Can any one count all this minute attention to words a misplaced precision, as if to be thus particular were to be trifling, and as if such bestowal of pains could be labour

thrown away? Let such reflect, that besides the deep philosophy that lies concealed within them, they go attended with a wonderful moral power. Electrical agents of vast energy, no galvanism can propagate a more thrilling shock than they, no chloroform more effectually deaden pain, no poison work more active death, no cordial shed a more refreshing balm. Well might the poet call them éñɛa πtepóɛvтa. Winged indeed they are, and winged with the wings of the wind, bearing in all directions messages of peace or of woe. If at times but like the butterfly, harmless and gay, toying with the flowers, and idling in the sunshine; how much oftener are they liker to the breeze, whose mere whizzing will strike alarm into whole herds of cattle, and drive them into the very rivers, any whither for refuge from the dread of pain! How often are they used in a moment of giddiness or haste by the thoughtless, when they serve but as daggers to pierce the heart, which may never recover of its wounds! How often, too, from a limited supply, or a loose knowledge of them, are they used so as to exaggerate the speaker's meaning; and then perhaps are justified, rather than acknowledge a bounded vocabulary, or a lack of suggestive power! How important, then, is accuracy in the application of them to the very welfare of human society! What inconveniences and mistakes, what heart-burnings and sorrows, would a regard to it save! But this is not the place to pursue such a subject: yet, let the tutor, who is conscientiously toiling to render his charge alive to the nice dis criminations of language, remember for his comfort, that he is conferring an incalculable benefit upon the commonwealth in which he lives.

Along with the present version it has been thought advantageous to give some extracts from the elder British poets, in the shape of notes. These have been chosen some