CONCLUSION.
The Author of these volumes has now gone through the difficult task of translating Tacitus, with the superadded labour of supplements to give continuity to the narrative, and notes to illustrate such passages as seemed to want explanation; but he cannot lay down his pen, without taking the liberty of addressing a few words to the reader. As what he has to offer relates chiefly to himself, it shall be very short. He has dedicated many years of his life to this undertaking; and though, during the whole time, he had the pleasure and the honour of being acquainted with many gentlemen of taste and learning, he had no opportunity of appealing to their opinion, or guiding himself by their advice. Amidst the hurry of life, and the various pursuits in which all are engaged, how could he hope that any one would be at leisure to attend to the doubts, the difficulties, and minute niceties, which must inevitably occur in a writer of so peculiar a genius as Tacitus? He was unwilling to be a troublesome visitor, and, by consequence, has been obliged, throughout the whole of his work, to trust to his own judgement, such as it is. He spared no pains to do all the justice in his power to one of the greatest writers of antiquity; but whether he has toiled with fruitless industry, or has in any degree succeeded, must be left to the judgement of others.
He is now at the end of his labours, and ready, after the example of Montesquieu, to cry out with the voyager in Virgil, Italiam! Italian! But whether he is to land on a peaceful shore; whether the men who delight in a wreck, are to rush upon him with hostile pens, which in their hands are pitch-forks; whether his cargo is to be condemned, and he himself to be wounded, maimed, and lacerated; a little time will discover. Such critics will act as their nature prompts them. Should they cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war, it may be said,
Quod genus hoc hominum, quæve hunc tam barbara morem
Permittit patria? Hospitio prohibemur arenæ;
Bella cient, primâque vetant consistere terrâ.
This, they may say, is anticipating complaint; but, in the worst that can happen, it is the only complaint this writer will ever make, and the only answer they will ever receive from his pen.
It is from a very different quarter that the translator of Tacitus waits for solid criticism. The men, as Pliny observes, who read with malignity, are not the only judges. Neque enim soli judicant, qui malignè legunt. The scholar will see defects, but he will pronounce with temper: he will know the difficulty, and, in some cases, perhaps the impossibility, of giving in our language the sentiments of Tacitus with the precision and energy of the original; and, upon the whole, he will acknowledge that an attempt to make a considerable addition to English literature, carries with it a plea of some merit. While the French could boast of having many valuable translations of Tacitus, and their most eminent authors were still exerting themselves, with emulation, to improve upon their predecessors, the present writer saw, with regret, that this country had not so much as one translation which could be read, without disgust, by any person acquainted with the idiom and structure of our language. To supply the deficiency has been the ambition of the translator. He persevered with ardour; but, his work being finished, ardour subsides, and doubt and anxiety take their turn. Whatever the event may be, the conscious pleasure of having employed his time in a fair endeavour will remain with him. For the rest, he submits his labours to the public; and, at that tribunal, neither flushed with hope, nor depressed by fear, he is prepared, with due acquiescence, to receive a decision, which, from his own experience on former occasions, he has reason to persuade himself will be founded in truth and candour.