ubts, 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, quaeve hunc tam barbara morem
Permittit patria? Hospitio prohibemur arenae;
Bella cient, primaque vetant consistere terra.

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
maligne 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