Insolence raises stronger indignation than even injustice, and for no better reason than because pride is less wounded by the one than the other. For the same reason, a continual observance of little attentions, makes more friends than real services. Real services relieve our wants: attentions flatter our pride. Our wants are removed our pride remains. How true it is that a weak, or contemptible man of high rank, or in an eminent situation in life, is like a man on the top of a steeple-from whence all the world seem little to him-and where he seems little in the eyes of all the work, as the poet says of other powerless, would-be-great things, "For lo! he takes a giant's stride! His strength of mind to shew; So have I seen a beetle wade Along the grass-then climb a blade, I fancy I am able to write a treatise on friendship. There are a thousand things depending on it, a thousand things to be shunned, in order to prevent those we love from smarting for it. There are an infinity of instances where we give them pain, and wherein we might alleviate their feelings, were we to reflect, and to turn things in all the points of view we ought, out of regard to the object of our esteem. In short, I shall make it evident, in this my intended book, that there are millions of different ways to testify one's friendship without speaking of it, as well as to say, by actions, we have no real regard, even whilst the traitor's tongue is making protestations to the contrary. Ir may be said of a party of pleasure," that poor creatures are to continue, a certain time, forcing smiles, and yawning spontaneously, for two or three hours, after all relish is fled. In this dismal condition many remain, night after night, because the fashionable hour of sleep is not yet arrived!!!—and what else can they do? What a listless situation! without any pleasure where you are, without any motive to be gone, you remain, in a kind of passive, oyster state,-gaping, till the tide of company moves you to your carriage; and, when you recover your reflection in your bed chamber, you find you have passed the two last hours in a kind of humming, buzzing stupor, without satisfaction or ideas of any kind. Q. Z REFLECTIONS DURING AN AFFLICTING ILLNESS. THE wind whistles through the casement; the sun has sped its course, and night begins her gloomy reign: silence and solitude are my companions; melancholy is my only friend. The rains beat against the roof, the winds blow their will, and threaten the clayclad cottage; the lovely wanderer, weather-beaten and sad, paces the barren heath, a child of wretchedness and sorrow; the fretful infant clings to its aged nurse; the war horse trembles, while the ewes and their lambkins seek the friendly covert of some mountain. No heavenly dews enliven the flowers of the garden, or the wild flowerets of the forest: they are wanting to invigorate the honey suckle, the maythorn, and the oak; vegetation droops under the burthen; the golden-headed sun-flower bends to the earth, and bends to rise no more: the nightingale and the thrush desert the rustic's dwelling: the owl refrains from going his nocturnal rounds, and mopes in solitude the passing hours. Nature becomes overpowered, and man's weakened frame sinks into repose. At length the morn appears; the sky is serene; the winds are heard no more; the rains are passed and gone; the horizon is free from clouds, and the sun invigorates the face of nature: the fields and trees expose their summer clothing; the rivers and the waters enjoy the tranquillity which every where surrounds me. In life such storms as these disturb the happiness of mortals; but all things are but for a time: wisdom, slow produce of laborious years, ponders in secret on the ills of men; no sooner does the hard-earned fruit begin to ripen than it gets beyond our reach we strive to gain its branches, but fall to our native earth. The child of wisdom sees the threatening storm; he does not hide his head, but exerts himself to ward from him its fury; at length, in' nature's course, its power is quelled, and serenity and calms prevail over the clouds and boisterous elements. Thus is man's life a simile of all that is grand; his life is an age; storms and calms, quiets and disquiets, troubles and requitals intersect his days: it is as a mechanical structure, which having performed its various evolutions, stops its course, and sinks as it were into a peaceful sleep. Thus does man; he goes his worldly rounds, till nature has sped her course, and then the frame, reposing in its temporary slumber, hid in an earthen cell, defies the fury of the elements, the whirlwinds and the storms of life. 10th April, 1804. LEOPOLD. REVIEW OF LITERATURE. Qui monet quasi adjuvat. MISCELLANEOUS. The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis, translated into English Verse. By the Rev. William Heath Marsh, A. M. 8vo. 7s. pp. 238. Westley, 1804. Ecce iterùm Crispinus! Two translations of Juvenal* have we already reviewed, as elaborately as the nature of our critical department would permit, and now behold a third. Could we say that the "third is like the former," (meaning the production of Mr. Rhodes, that monstrum nullá virtute redemptum) we should, indeed, be tempted to exclaim, with the Thane of Glamis, " Filthy hags !— we'll see no more!" but such is not the case, and we proceed, with pleasure, briefly to canvass the merits and defects of Mr. Marsh's version of the Roman satirist. For various observations on Juvenal, with regard to his character as a writer, and the facilities and difficulties which are, at this period of time, to be encountered by his translator, we call the attention of the reader, desirous of such information, to vol. XII. p. 312 of our work, since, to use the oath of Teleclides, a тas ngaußas, we will not repeat them. And now we cannot deal more honestly with Mr. Marsh, than by making room for him to tell his own story, on this occasion, such as we find it in a well-written dedication to his tutor, the Rev. Samuel Carter. "In speaking (says he) of the present work, as giving the whole of the original, I would only be understood as not having implicitly followed the very frequent omissions of the edition which we perused together, and which is certainly the only one that can be placed with propriety in the hands of youth.--But though I have greatly exceeded these bounds, from an anxious wish of retaining all that could possibly be retained of such an admirable writer, there are still some exceptionable passages, that I have entirely rejected; others that I have been obliged to soften; and a few, the sense of which I have even ventured to alter, rather than give offence to the ears of modesty.” P. 7, 8. Mr. Marsh then proceeds to state that he never saw the rival version of Mr. Gifford, until his own was entirely completed. He has since seen it, and truly affirms that there appears (with the exception of a few accidental coincidences, of no great importance) a sufficient difference, in the general manner, between Mr. G.'s transla, *Mr. Gifford's and Mr. Rhodes's, RR-VOL. XVII. tion and his own, to plead his excuse in hazarding the present publication. 66 In all this there is a commendable degree of judgment, modesty, and good sense, and we cordially approve of every article of it; but we cannot so readily coincide with Mr. M. in the opinion that his Juvenal required no notes and illustrations, because the public has been copiously supplied with them by Mr. Gifford. A Shakspeare rescued from his commentators, and no longer shewing like a rivulet of text meandering through a meadow of commentary," was once called for, and considered as a desideratum, and it is possible that Shakspeare might be enjoyed, by a great majority of all readers, in this unincumbered state; but few, very few, will be found able to taste the Roman satirist, without either making themselves competent to read the original, or accomplishing the previous labour of poring through a vast body of notes. We do not deny that there are innumerable passages of surpassing excellence, which need only a fair translation to make them admired, but there are many other good points, and matters of information, touching the Romans, which nothing can render intelligible to the mere English reader but a commentary. The present version is ably executed, in numerous verse, and is frequently, with an allowance for the peculiar powers and felicities of the Latin language, equal to the finest efforts of the poet, and it will be read, we confidently assert, with considerable delight, by those to whom Juvenal and the customs of the eternal city are not entirely unknown. With all its endless imperfections as a translation of the satirist, Dryden's is the only sort of version (professing itself really to be a version of Juvenal) that a person, entirely devoid of a classical education, could relish, in any great degree, without the light of notes. Having advanced this objection to Mr. Marsh's mode of publication, which we doubt not that he will, in a future edition, see the necessity of obviating, we shall go on to examine his translation, from the perusal of which we have received great pleasure, and no small share of satisfaction. "Were I resolved," says Crusius, in his Lives of the Roman Poets, v. 2, p. 134, "to take notice of all the fine passages to be found in Juvenal, I must transcribe the greater part of his Satires." This is correctly true, and it is not therefore our intention to meddle imperfectly with the beauties of our poet, which are constantly b efore the literary world, in various shapes; nor do we mean to k to exhibit Mr. Marsh to the greatest advantage, but to speak See [of him as we find him in one or two of the most remarkable satires of the Latin bard. The tenth satire, though not superior to many of the others, is translated with much skill and ability. As a specimen of close translation, in easy verse, we select the fall of Sejanus, a fate that may, perhaps, terminate the career of the Embryo-Emperor of the Gauls. Fires are prepar'd, the crackling flames arise, Through the wide world, (so frail are human plans) The last four lines of Dryden's version of this description may, perhaps, be thought to give the original nearer, and with better effect. Sed quid Turba Remi? sequitur fortunam, ut semper & odit Damnatos. How goes the mob, for that's a mighty thing? When the king's trump, the mob are for the king; They follow fortune; and the common cry Is still against the rogue condemn'd to die. Mr. Gifford's translation, not being castrated, and proceeding on a different plan from Mr. M.'s, we deem it unnecessary, as it would, in many instances, be unjust, to compare them. The whole of the sixth, the most objectionable of the satires, is, according to Mr. Marsh's system, exceedingly well done. The His statue. |