light-first, as aiming to transfer into our vernacular tongue, an entire work, or works, of a foreign author, for the general purposes of literature: secondly, as an exercise more limited in its character, resorted to for the purposes of intellectual culture and mental discipline, (in a college course,) and commonly denominated, "recitations in the languages." To this view of the subject, the remarks I have to offer will be exclusively limited.

The assertion I am about to make may appear presumptuous. I venture, however, to make it on the strength of some experience and observation, that a good translator is a rare phenomenon one who can express, with precision, the sense, the whole sense, and nothing but the sense, of the author, in a consistent vernacular dress;-who will not content himself with a mass of vague and disconnected words, but aims unceasingly to adapt his vernacular idiom and style to the style and idiom of his author: nay, further, who can even be dense and vigorous with Thucydides; verbose and playful with Herodotus ; sublime and simple with Homer; sententious with Tacitus; and copious with Cicero, - presenting, not a meagre, nerveless skeleton; but "a thing of life," a form exhibiting the unequivocal marks of health and vigor.

But why is this attainment so uncommon? Why is the exercise so difficult? Is it owing to the fixedness of attention, and concentration of thought, which it demands? The nice and even painful discrimination which it requires? The exquisite precision in the application of our words, without which it always proves a failure? Certainly, the mind that can grapple with the mathematics its formidable array of lines, and angles, and superficies, and solids, its stereographic projections, its fluxions, and interminable series, need not shrink, on the score of intellectual hardness, from the exercise of translation, in its highest perfection, and its largest demands.

Or, shall we look for the cause in the indifference with which the exercise is almost universally regarded; and the too prevalent ignorance of its direct and important bearing on intellectual discipline and mental culture.

Let us inquire, then, what is requisite for the production of a good translation; and what advantages does the exercise. proffer.

In translating a passage, we aim to transfer the thoughts and sentiments of a foreign author, and also to transfuse the spirit, the force, the expressiveness, or other characteristics of the passage,

into our vernacular tongue. To accomplish this, with tolerable success, supposes an acquaintance, more or less minute, with the original language; a well-defined conception, in our own minds, of the thought to be transferred; and an adequate familiarity with our own tongue, as the medium of communication.

The first thing then to be done is to compass the meaning of the original author. The necessity of grammars and dictionaries, and other elementary helps, for this purpose, is so manifest, I need not dwell upon it here. As regards the manner of using them, however, and the opportunities afforded by their proper use, for a most efficient intellectual exercise, a few observations may not be superfluous.

A grammar is frequently regarded with a superstitious veneration, as if it had fallen from heaven, complete and infallible; or, had sprung from the brain of some inspired philosopher, like Minerva, in panoply entire, from the cranium of Jove. Whereas, all mystery apart, a grammar presents us with facts, originally scattered abroad in the vast field of the language, carefully collected, arranged and classified, with deductions of general principles or rules, from these facts; the correctness of which deductions, as they are founded on facts originally drawn from the language, must be again tested by researches in the language.

"The object of grammatical science," says an able writer, "is to determine the means by which mankind are able to carry on trains of thought in their own minds, and to communicate them to others an object certainly as interesting and worthy of research as any that can be propounded for human consideration. In this point of view," he continues, "grammar may be regarded strictly as a science of induction."

The most obvious use of a grammar, then, is, to furnish us with those forms of inflexions and constructions, a knowledge of which is necessary for the successful and rapid acquisition of a language, and which, if not obtained through the medium of a grammar, must be obtained by a more laborious process from the language itself.

But having once started, we ought, as far as possible, to elicit the grammar and particularly the syntax-from the language itself, in the progress of our reading. This gives to the study of the languages a peculiar zest. We put in requisition our own powers. We rouse our latent energies. We delight in our own discoveries. We experience a generous feeling of independence. Meanwhile, the mind, in all its faculties, not

merely the memory, is exercised; and the grammatical knowledge of the language, thus derived, from a familiarity with the language itself, is more satisfactory and valuable than the insulated knowledge obtained from the formal grammars, inasmuch as it is drawn from the original and only source, by our own exertions, and may be employed even to test the accuracy of those very grammars. At the same time, by such a mode of study our knowledge of universal and philosophical grammar, is promoted to a degree which cannot be expected from a too slavish and mechanical study of the formal grammars.

Thus it appears, that in order to translate a passage, the first thing necessary is, to bring together, in accordance with the laws of our vernacular construction, the scattered words of the original, guided by our grammatical knowledge of the modifications of form which words undergo for the purpose of syntactical construction. If we can thus compact the whole, and bring together the parts which, from their terminations and other inflexions, we know to be closely connected, what remains but a knowledge of the meaning of those words in our own language.

And here commences a serious difficulty. Almost every word has several kindred significations. The lexicon may furnish some or even all of these. But the lexicon, unless it be one of the largest class, and then only in comparatively few passages, cannot inform us which of these meanings applies in a particular passage or connection.

66

For example: "Disciplina" according to Ainsworth denotes discipline;" "instruction;" "information;" "skill;" "science;" "a profession;" "a trade;" "a fashion;""a way;" "a custom ;""a sect of philosophers;" "an example." But it remains for the translator to adopt and apply that signification which consists with the connection; - in other words, the connection must be consulted; the claims of several nearly allied meanings must be weighed; the connection, in short, must determine the peculiar shade of meaning which in each particular case is demanded.

The origin of a lexicon is similar in many respects to that of a grammar. Its authority, as a source of information, depends, not merely on the reputation of the compiler, but, more especially, on the fidelity with which its materials have been drawn from the original fountain, the language itself. The lexicographer discovers new significations. He can invent none. We cannot, therefore, implicitly rely on the "dixit" of any lexicon ;

or "pin our faith to the sleeve" of any lexicographer. Frequently a word is sufficiently defined by the connection in which it is found. The lexicon, in such a case, can only confirm what we have, by our own examination, clearly ascertained to be the fact. Keeping this principle in view, in conjunction with the liberal use of the grammar just recommended, the exercise of translating rises to an unspeakable importance. It is unique in its character. For myself-I speak only my own opinion I know of no adequate substitute, and no competitor as a means of intellectual culture.

The connection in which a word is found, may not always be sufficiently explicit to determine, precisely, its meaning. This circumstance, apparently so discouraging, constitutes one of the most striking advantages of the study of languages. In this case, we must, for the present, receive, from the lexicon, the meaning which seems the most satisfactory, leaving the passage to receive the necessary illustration from another portion of the same author, where the same word may occur in a more explicit connection, or the same thought in different words. This postponement-or temporary suspension of our decision-this bar to our immediate judgment, while the mind is abroad, in other portions of the field, and ready to seize and apply the required illustration, constitutes one of the peculiarities of this exercise, and one of the most important in its bearing on intellectual discipline.

From the rapid sketch of the process pursued in translating a passage into our vernacular tongue, it is manifest, not only that much judgment and a nice discrimination are requisite, in the selection and application of the meanings, but that a constant demand is made on our knowledge of the idiomatic constructions of our language. The importance of this part of the exercise will excuse my indulging in more extended observations.

In all languages we meet with idioms- peculiar modes of expressing a thought. The language of common conversation abounds with them. They are generally sententious; sometimes very elliptical; and, when transferred to another language, by means of a literal translation, lose their force, or express but feebly and awkwardly the idea. Nay, in some instances, a strictly literal translation of an idiomatic phrase, is the quintessence of nonsense. And, in every instance, they receive their full force, in another language, only by employing the corresponding idiomatic expressions.

A few examples will explain my meaning.

The Romans said " duos parietes de eadem fidelia dealbare ;" which, when literally translated, runs thus, "to whitewash two walls out of the same bucket;" but, properly translated, by means of our corresponding idiom, it runs thus, "to kill two birds with one stone." The German translates by means of the corresponding idiom of the German language, viz. “ mit einer Klappe zwey Fliegen schlagen," which literally denotes, “to kill two flies at one slap." Thus, the English phrase, “to kill two birds with one stone," is the proper representative of the Latin and the German phrases just cited, that differ in literal signification, both from one another and from the English one. Again; the Romans said "nodum in scirpo quaerere," i. e. to search for a knot in a bulrush," i. e. " to look for a knot in the stalk of a plant which does not naturally contain them." But the corresponding English idiom is, " to stumble on plain ground."

Again; nlvvei tivi, in Greek, denotes, literally, "to wash one. But in common language, it meant also "to chide" or "reprimand" or "rebuke one sharply." So the Germans, in the same sense say, einem den Kopf waschen, "to wash one's head," which the Hollanders express by "washing one's ears.' The Italian, to denote the idea of " much promise and no performance," or, "much bluster and no action," says: 66 tempesta seuz' acqua, 99 66 a tempest without water," or, "a storm without rain," equivalent to our "much ado about nothing," or, "a great cry and little wool."

So the Greek phrase, το κοιλον του ποδος δειξαι, which literally, denotes" to show the hollow of the foot," must be translated in English, by the phrase, "to take to one's heels," or, "to give leg-bail."

The familiar English expression, " to hit the nail on the head," may be rendered in the French, by "trouver la fève aù gateau,' "to find the bean in the cake," and in Latin, by gere," ," "to touch the thing with the point."

rem acu tan

The Athenians, to denote the performance of superfluous labor, said plavx' Aŋvašɛ, meaning, literally, "to carry owls to Athens." The Englishman understands this perfectly, when translated, "to carry coal to Newcastle."

Hence it is that Don Quixote, Aristophanes, Theophrastus, (in his Characters,) Shakspeare, (in his Comedies,) Gil Blas, Tassoni, (in his Secchia Rapita,) and other works of this class, VOL. IX. No. 25.

8