_Address delivered at the Annual Commencement of Dickinson College,
July 21, 1836, by S. A. Roszel, A.M. Principal of the Grammar School.
Published by Request of the Board of Trustees. Baltimore: John W.
Woods._
Mr. Roszel, we have good reason for knowing, is a scholar, of
classical knowledge more extensive, and far more accurate than usual.
In his very elegant Address on Education now before us, he has
confined {717} himself to the consideration of “tutorial instruction
as embraced under the divisions of the subjects to be taught, and the
manner of teaching them.” Of the first branch of his theme, the
greater portion is occupied in a defence of the learned tongues from
the encroachments of a misconceived utilitarianism, and in urging
their suitableness as a study for the young. Here, Mr. R. is not only
forcible, but has contrived to be in a great measure, original. We are
especially pleased to see that, in giving due weight to the ordinary
ethical and merely worldly considerations on this topic, he has most
wisely dwelt at greater length on the loftier prospective benefits,
and true spiritual uses of classical attainment. We cite from this
portion of the address a passage of great fervor and beauty.
But are there not translations? If there were, a perusal of them would
be profitless, for it is to be borne in mind, that the tenor of the
preceding remarks has been uniformly to demonstrate the advantages,
not only of a perusal, but of the study of the dead languages. And so
this question is destitute of pertinence. But there never was a
translation of an ancient author. Versions there are, a majority of
them dull and spiritless, lifeless and jejune, but they are not
translations. And so are there odorless roses, and there might be
beamless suns. As in religion we aspire to drink from the fountain
head so let it be in literature. Let us be imbued with its spiritual
influences; for no one that has pondered them well can remain
unimpressed by the magnificent divulgement of quenchless, illimitable
intellect, by the resplendency of thought which bursts forth and glows
with a steady fervor, in the pages of the blind bard of Greece, and
the keen-sighted orator of Rome, with a vigor and intensity so
powerful, that the typographical characters themselves seem to stand
out, vivid and lustrous, like sentient gems, myriads of sparkling
emanations, burning and lucent, flashing a sentiment in every word, an
axiom in every line, a corollary in every paragraph. There is an
inborn inexpressible satisfaction to the mind well attuned, in being
able to appreciate the beauty and the strength, the essence and
vitality of those inimitable and indestructible periods of the
Athenian orator which called the ruddy blush of shame to the pallid
cheek of the coward, stirred the elements of enthusiastic honor to
tempestuous agitation, and excited the irrepressible shout, To battle!
there is a chaste delight in perusing the cutting satire, the splendid
objurgations, and the brilliant invectives of that eloquence, which
startled the world's victor from his unsteady throne, and speaking in
the bold terms of unquailing freedom, compelled the submission of arms
to the toga. But there is a still deeper, more serene and holy
rapture, in meditating on the accents of the Redeemer in the very
dialect in which they fell from his sacred lips; in meditating with an
awe ineffable, on the presumptuous sentence of an earth-born worm,
which consigned to a death of ignominy and shame, the august God of
the universe.
In Mr. R's remarks “on the manner of teaching”—on the duties of a
teacher—there is much to command our admiration and respect—a clear
conception of the nature and extent of tutorial duties, and a stern
sense of the elevated moral standing of the tutor.
We see, or we fancy we see, in the wording of this Address, another
instance of that tendency to _Johnsonism_ which is the Scylla on the
one hand, while a jejune style is the Charybdis on the other, of the
philological scholar. In the present case we refer not to
_sesquipedalia verba_, of which there are few, but to the too frequent
use of primitive meanings, and the origination of words at will, to
suit the purposes of the moment. But to these sins (for the world will
have them such) a fellow-feeling has taught us to be lenient—and,
indeed, while some few of Mr. Roszel's inventions are certainly not
English, there are still but _very_ few of them “_qui ne le doivent
pas etre_.”