appears to be actually ignorant that Cato's work on Husbandry, and Varro's treatise on the same subject, together with a portion of the one which he wrote on the Latin language, have come down to our times, and been commented upon by modern scholars. There can be no escape from this inference; for, in the very next sentence, the critic speaks of the lost works of Cicero, Livy, and others; thus manifestly distinguishing between Cicero, Livy, and the rest, whose productions have come down to us in part, and Cato and Varro, whose writings, according to him, have not reached us at all. Does our remark require any additional confirmation? Let it be found in the fact, that Cato, Varro, and Lucceius, are classed together, whereas no writings whatever of the last mentioned individual have ever come down to our times. Does not this show most conclusively, that our learned friend supposed the works of Cato and Varro to be all in a similar predicament? Besides, who would ever think of calling Lucceius a voluminous writer, when he composed only two histories ? — and who but our critic would place him by the side of Varro, who, according to Aulus Gellius, had written, as he himself stated, four hundred and ninety works by the time he had reached his eighty-fourth year? The reviewer makes mention also of the lost comedies of Plautus, and thinks that, if we had them, not only the vocabulary' of the Latin language, but its 'compass of expression,' would be greatly enlarged. Here again our friend the critic lays himself open to the same charge which he has been kind enough to prefer against the author of the Life of Washington-a want of sufficient reading on the subject. Every scholar knows (we use the term 'scholar' here in the old-fashioned sense of the word) that the genuine comedies of Plautus, as fixed by the Varronian canon, were only twenty-one in number, and that of these we have twenty remaining. Consequently but one is lost. What a wonderful play this lost one must have been, when the mere thoughts of it so bewilder with admiration the mind of our erudite countryman, that he actually magnifies it into a dozen or more! It will not do to say, that Plautus probably re-touched the plays of other dramatists, and therefore that these also should be regarded as his productions. We are talking of the plays of Plautus, not of those of other people. Neither will it do to point to the fragments of Plautus, as they are called, that are appended to some of the editions of his works. Prove, if you can, that Plautus wrote the dramas from which they are said to have been taken. Just so, again, with regard to Terence. Our critic talks of the lost comedies of this dramatist, with the utmost composure, without being in the least aware, as it would seem, that the six plays, which we have at present under his name, are in all probability the only ones that he ever composed, or that, if there were any others, the number of these must have been small indeed. Who, at the present day, gives credit to the ridiculous story, quoted by Suetonius from an obscure writer, that Terence, who spent hardly one year in Greece, wrote or translated, during that period, as many as one hundred and eight comedies? Why, it would be impossible, during so short an interval, to write even one hundred and eight reviews, notwithstanding the little expenditure of intellect which these interesting lucubrations require. If, however, Terence did actually perform the feat that is here ascribed to him, then the loss of these same productions is certainly not much to be regretted. Did our critic never spare himself a moment's leisure, amid his profound researches into modern Latinity, to read the lives of the Roman poets by Crusius? He would have found that able writer advocating the opinion, that in all likelihood we have only lost above one or two of the dramas of Terence. We come now to the main question, whether this critic, whose own blunders are so palpable, and whose own want of reading is so deplorably apparent, was exactly the right person to sit in judgment on the work of another. We think we can show conclusively that he was not qualified for the task, if we have not already accom plished this by our preliminary remarks. The first objection which the critic raises is, that names are Latinized in the Life of Washington with little uniformity; that we have at one time, for example, Randolphius, and then again plain Randolph. A most profound observation! It shivers the Latinity of Glass into a thousand fragments. The only consolation the poor man has, and it is small indeed, is to fall to the ground in very good company, for Cambden has O'Neale and O'Nealus, Medcalf and Medcalfus, Hawkwood and Hawkwoodus; and Wyttenbach has Luzac and Luzacus, Sluiter and Sluiterus, Creuzer and Creuzerus. What shockingly bad Latin Cambden, Glass, and Wyttenbach wrote! The second objection of our friend the reviewer is, that Glass does not use correct phraseology when he speaks of Dux Gage, Dux Howe, etc. Mr. Reynolds, to be sure, had already taken notice of this form of expression in the preface to Glass's work; but we would not for the world countenance the belief that our friend the critic borrowed the hint from that gentleman. In a review which contains so many original ideas, this discovery about 'dux' must have been, of course, original also. Let us look at it for a moment. You can say Rex Gulielmus, in Latin, remarks the reviewer, (the English had better take a hint from this, and not blunder away, as they have been accustomed to do, with their Gulielmus Rex,) but you cannot say Dux Gage.' Why? Listen to the critic. 'The appellation 'king' belongs so naturally to the individual in question, that it partakes of the use of a proper name.' The remark shows much critical acumen, and makes us quite proud of our countryman. Its meaning is this: you can say, in Latin, Rex Gulielmus, because you say, in English,' King William;' but you cannot say 'Dux Gage,' because no one ever thinks of saying 'General Gage,' but always Mr. Gage, the general,' and consequently Dux Gage' is very bad Latin indeed. It ought to be Gage Dux.' We are sorry, however, for one thing. The learned reviewer assures us that the expressions Dux Cæsar,' and 'Dux Pompeius,' do not once occur in Cæsar's Commentaries. We regret that he wasted his valuable time in looking over Cæsar for this purpose, and we can assure him on positive authority, that the Romans never said 'General Cæsar' and 'General Pompey,' but always Cæsar general,'' Pompey general.' He will find the point fully discussed in Slawkenbergius, lib. 1, c. 3., Harper's edition. Well, Glass, what do you say to this? The poor fellow shrugs up his shoulders, points to other parts of his book, where he has Wayne, dux Americanus,' and 'Cornwallis, comes Anglicus,' and Howe, imperator Britannus,' and mutters something about fair and honest criticism. But who ever heard that a critic troubled himself about fairness and honesty? If you find fault with an expression in a man's book, and suggest what you consider a better one, and if this better one be actually used by the person whom you censure, in other parts of his work, that is no concern of yours. Why, if this rule were not adopted, we would have no quarterly reviews at all! And then only think of the worse than Cimmerian darkness that must pervade all the regions of literature, especially classical! After this handsome display of learning and candor, the reviewer proceeds to make an attack on Glass's Latin forts. The names of fortifications, he tells us, ought either to be adjectives, or nouns in the genitive case, and straightway he levels his critical battering-ram at 'propugnaculum Washingtonium.' Out comes poor Glass, and assures his assailants that Washingtonium is actually an adjective, agreeing with propugnaculum. 'No such thing,' exclaims his opponent, it is a noun, second declension, neuter gender, nominative case, singular number,' accompanying each clause with a blow, and behold, 'propugnaculum Washingtonium' is a heap of ruins. What & warning to all forts constructed in a similar manner! A court-mar 6 tial is now summoned to try the unfortunate term velitatio, as being an intruder and low fellow. Why, your worship,' exclaims the luckless velitatio, I am not, I assur you, quite so bad a person as you take me to be. I am employed by Gessner in his version of Lucian, which version, you know, was revised by the great Tib. Hemsterhuys; I am employed by Bergler in his version of Herodian; by Reiske in his edition of Plutarch; by Schweighaueser in his Polybius; by Schneider in his Xenophon; and by Stewecchius in his Commentary on Vegetius. Besides, I am found in Plautus; and, as you yourself think that, if we had the lost comedies of this dramatic writer, the vocabulary of the Latin, and its compass of expression, would be greatly enlarged, how do you know but what I may be snugly ensconced in one of those same lost plays of the honest old Umbrian? Velitatio, notwithstanding this eloquent and touching appeal, is driven off in disgrace. ་ The reviewer then turns about and scolds Glass for using reportare in the passive voice, with' ab,' as indicating the agent. Our western Erasmus is indignant at this. 'Why, my friend,' he exclaims, 'you have found all your examples about reporto, in Ainsworth's Dictionary, where I found them years ago. Do have a little charity, and consider whether ab,' in my sentence, has not the meaning, on the side of,' and before you again expose your ignorance about passive verbs, and 'ab' denoting the agent, do read what Perizonius has written on the subject in his edition of Sanctius. All learning, believe me, is not contained in Ainsworth. So, again, you find fault with my phraseology, commeatus a civitatibus eois intercludere,' where the luckless preposition is again employed in the same sense as I have just now mentioned. And when I talk of Westchester, and use the term exponere, with an ellipsis, to denote a disembarkation, you tell me the geography of the passage is not clear. Perhaps it is not clear to you, but every school-boy certainly understands it. You tell me, also, that Cæsar could not understand my use of recipiendi, with an ellipsis of the reflexive pronoun. Why, my learned sir, Cæsar uses it himself.' We rather think that Glass has the better of his critic here, and will only add, that the faults found with his book are about as puerile, and as unworthy of true scholarship, as any thing that can well be imagined. But the best part of the story remains to be told. It seems, that when Glass's Life of Washington was passing through the press, the editor being in want of a motto for the title-page, applied to a gentleman in New-York, Professor Anthon, of Columbia College, who promised to furnish him with one. The professor, not being able to find a quotation to his liking, manufactured the following, in imitation of Cicero's style, in which mention is made of an old Sibylline prediction, darkly shadowing forth the discovery of America, the foundation of the United States' government, and other events of modern times! 'Longe trans Oceanum, si Libris Sybillinis credamus, patebit post multa sæcula tellus ingens atque opulenta, et in eâ exorietur vir fortis ac sapiens, qui patriam servitute oppressam consilio et armis liberabit, remque public amnostræ et origine cæterâque historiâ simillimam, felicibus auspiciis condet, Bruto et Camillo, Di boni! multum et merito anteferendus. Quod nostrum illum non fugit Accium, qui, in Nyctegresiâ suâ, vetus hoc oraculum numeris poeticis adornavit.'-Ciceronis fragm. xv. ed. Maii, p. 52. Will it be believed, that this learned reviewer has certainly swallowed the whole for a genuine quotation from Cicero, and that he who is so profoundly versed in modern Latin as to detect the least error, and to have his finely-attuned feelings shocked by the least deviation from the melody of pure and elegant Latin, actually mistook a piece of modern Latin for a passage from Cicero? And yet this critic professes to sit in judgment on a modern Latin work! THE ADVANTAGES AND DANGERS OF THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. A Discourse delivered on the day preceding the Annual Commencement of Union College, July 26, 1836. By GULIAN C. VERPLANCK, one of the Regents of the University of the State of NewYork. New-York: WILEY AND LONG. We have had occasion heretofore to speak of one or two public performances of Mr. VERPLANCK, similar to the one before us; but the present has impressed us as superior, in many respects, to any previous effort of the writer's mind. This Address is, indeed, an admirable specimen of what such collegiate performances should be direct, eloquent, and profound, and in its tendency most salutary. We trespass upon space that we regret is so limited, for a few extracts which, better than any comments we could make, will show the character of the discourse under notice. A comparison between our advantages as a nation, and the situation of those countries where 'talent is chilled and withered by penury, and profound learning wasted on the drudgery of elementary instruction, or else 'lost in a convent's solitary gloom,' affords occasion for the following just and felicitous passage: Excepting those melancholy cases, where some unavoidable calamity has weighed down the spirits and extinguished joy and hope for ever, knowledge and ability cannot well run here to waste without their voluntary degradation by gross vice or the maddest imprudence. But I do not now speak of the varied opportunities for the successful exertion of matured, cultivated talent, or the substantial rewards that its exercise may win, so much as of the still greater advantage which that talent may derive to itself from the prevailing activity and energy that animate the whole community. Under that strong and contagious stimulus, the faculties are awakened, the capacity enlarged, the genius roused, excited, inspired. The mind is not suffered to brood undisturbed over its own little stock of favorite thoughts, treading the same unceasing round of habitual associations, until it becomes quite incapable of fixing its attention upon any new object, and its whole existence is but a dull, drowsy dream. On the contrary, it is forced to sympathize with the living world around, to enter into the concerns of others and of the public, and to partake, more or less, of the cares and the hopes of men. Thus every hour it imbibes, unconsciously, new and strange knowledge, quite out of the sphere of its own personal experience. Thus it receives, and in its turn spontaneously communicates, that bright electric current that darts its rapid course throughout our whole body politic, removing every sluggish obstruction, and bracing every languid muscle to vigorous toil. As compared with the more torpid state of society exhibited elsewhere, to live in one such as this, is like emerging from the fogs of the lowland fens, heavy with chilling pestilence, and ascending to inhale the exhilarating mountain atmosphere, where the breeze is keen and pure, and the springs gush bright from their native rock, bestowing on the children of the hills the bounding step, the strong arm, the far-seeing eye, and the stout heart. It is much then to breathe such a mental air from earliest youth. It is much to be educated and formed under such potent and perpetual stimulants to intellectual development. But for a mind thus formed and framed for vigorous and effective action, it is not less necessary that fitting occupations may be found for its nobler qualities and powers. This is much for worldly success. It is every thing for honor, for conscience, for content, for beneficence. Let genius, however brilliant, however gifted with rare, or copious, or varied acquirements, be but doomed to labor for selfish objects, for personal necessities and sensual gratifications, and for those only and its aspirations too will become low, its desires sordid, and its powers, (adroit doubtless, and very effective as to their accustomed occupations,) will dwindle and become enfeebled, until they are quite incapable of any generous and magnanimous undertaking. "But with us, the man of intellectual endowment is not so 'cabined, cribbed, bound in' to his own puny cares. Far otherwise; his generous ambition, his large philanthropy, his zeal for the service of his God or his country, may spread themselves abroad as wide and general as the casing air,' without finding any check or barrier to their farthest range. "In the eternal order of Providence, minds act and react, and become the transcripts and reflections of each other, thus multiplying and perpetuating the evils or the excellence of our short being upon this globe. It is not the exclusive prerogative of the great, the eloquent, the chosen sons of genius or of power, who can speak trumpettongued to millions of their fellow creatures, from the high summits of fame or authority, thus to be able to extend themselves in the production of good or evil far around and forward. We are all of us, in some sort, as waves in the shoreless ocean of human existence. Our own petty agitations soon die away, but they can extend themselves far onward and onward, and there are oftentimes circumstances which may cause those billows to swell as they roll forward, until they rise into a majestic vastness which it scarce seems possible that our puny efforts could have ever set in motion. Such favoring circumstances, in other nations comparatively rare, are here the common blessings of our land. We have a population doubling and re-doubling with a steady velocity so unexampled in former history, as to have utterly confounded the speculations of all older political philosophy. We have a territory, which rapidly as that population subdues the forest and covers the desert, has still ample room for coming generations. These things alone are enormous elements in the mighty process of social melioration. Whatever is effected in removing any of the evils that afflict those about us, must, ere long, reach far beyond us and beyond them, to other and more numerous generations, to distant fields, as yet silent and desolate, but destined soon to swarm with a busy multitude. The character, knowledge, and happiness of that future and distant multitude, are now in our hands. They are to be moulded by our benificent labors, our example, our studies, our philanthropic enterprise. Thus the 'spirit of our deeds,' long after those deeds have passed away, will continue to walk the earth, from one oceanbeat shore of our continent to the other, scattering blessings or curses upon after times." From an unanswerable argument against the ever-recurring objection of some of the present day, that our gravitation toward the useful, the active, and the practical, is fatal to excellence in elegant art and literature, we make the subjoined extract: "Whose are the venerated and enduring names-whose the volumes that we turn to, with reverent affection, as the oracles of just thought, or the ever fresh springing fountains of delight? Who were they, from Bacon to our own Franklin - from Spenser and Shakspeare to Walter Scott-but men of those mixed pursuits, that multifarious instruction, that familiar intercourse with actual life, which narrow-minded learning would brand as the bane of philosophy, the destruction of letters. Compare their works with those of men devoted to literature alone, and who looked at nothing beyond its precincts the plodding compiler, the laborious collector of scientific trifles, valuable only as materials for some wiser mind to use, the herd of dealers in light literature, either the servile imitators of past excellence, or the echoes of the follies of their day, or baser yet, the panders to its vices. How short and fleeting has been their popularity! Here and there one among the number has deserved the gratitude of posterity by moral worth and well directed labor. His works keep an honored place in our libraries, but they rarely exercise a living sway over the opinions and tastes of nations. A mortal born, he meets the general doom, Such is also the experience of the arts of taste and design. The father of the Italian arts, Leonardo da Vinci, was a scholar, a politician, a poet, a musician. Michael Angelo, the sublime and the holy, was still more universal. Sculptor, painter, poet, architect, engineer we find him now painting his grand frescos, now modeling his gigantic statues, now heaving the dome of St. Peter's into the air, and now fortifying his loved Florence, the city of his affections, with a humble diligence and a patriot's zeal. There are no such artists now in Italy. The painters and sculptors with which it swarms, are devoted to painting and sculpture exclusively; but how do they compare as artists with their great predecessors? Could any authority whatever add weight to the facts I have just referred to, such would be found in the opinion of Milton himself. In a well known passage of one of those fervid and brilliant prose tracts of his youth, which (to use the noble metaphor of an eloquent critic) announced the Paradise Lost as plainly as ever the bright purple clouds in the east announced the rising of the sun- Milton, with a sublime and determined confidence in his own genius, covenanted for that is his remarkable expression-in some few years thereafter, to produce a work not to be raised from the heats of youth or the vapors of wine, like that which flows at will from the pen of some vulgar amorist, nor by invocation of Memory and her syren sisters, but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit which can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and send out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases.' 'To this,' he subjoins in a lower strain of eloquence, but with the same decision of tone, to this must be added industrious and select readings, steady observation, and an insight into all seemly and generous arts and affairs.' Had Milton confined himself to the studies of his library, or the halls of his university - had he not thrown himself into the hottest conflicts of the day - had he not stood forth the |