ter of surprise, had we not all observed and felt the revolutionary character of the present age. There has been, for years past, a strong tendency to overturn old systems, however hallowed; to dispute old opinions, however established by the lapse of ages; and to carry the work of revolution and reform from the halls of legislation to the halls of learning. These stirring movements of the awakened and excited mind, have doubtless swept away many systems and theories that had their origin in an age of darkness, and were unfit for an age of light. They have taught men to examine, compare, think, decide and act for themselves. But it becomes a momentous inquiry for us, who are in the very vortex of the troubled waters, whether there is not great danger, as well as advantage, in our present situation; whether we may not, in the giddy whirl, neglect too much the old land-marks, and make shipwreck on the ocean of change.

The adversaries of classical learning assert, that 'the main reason for giving such importance to the ancient masters, in a course of liberal education, was, in former times, the fact that they were the only teachers. The moderns had not yet begun that series of researches and discoveries, which have been so splendidly exhibited in these latter days. The physical, moral, intellectual sciences were unknown, save as the sages of the Academy and the Porch had taught them. The genius of modern poetry was voiceless, or breathed only harsh strains in the barbarous Latinity of the Monks. It was therefore correct and proper that recourse should be had to their instructions, for want of better. But now the case is widely different; the tables are turned. The ancients were not wiser than we are, but we are wiser than they. We have carried on and perfected what they only began. They might have been giants, we grant, and we may be pigmies; but then we have the advantage of being upon their shoulders, and of course see farther. Shall we then continue to look with their eyes?' Such is the reasoning of the more moderate and rational among the opposers of classical learning.

Others have entered into the controversy with a spirit of violence and denunciation, altogether unbecoming gentlemen and scholars. The advocates of classical learning have been held up to the ridicule of the public as the bigoted adherents to a useless and cumbrous system, because they are too idle and selfish to admit the lights of modern improvement. They have been charged with palming off upon the world a cheap and trifling stock of words, a parade of verbal niceties, for the genuine learning which is to prepare young men to act their parts well in the great drama of life. A tone of bitterness, a rancor like that of personal hostility and family quarrels, has assailed them, and the whole armory of sarcasm has been exhausted. But denunciation and anathema are not to be reasoned with,' and who can refute a sneer?' It often happens, we well know, that the most violent are the most ignorant. Men have derided the wit and wisdom of antiquity, who are unable to explain a classical allusion, or interpret a Latin sentence. Smatterers have assailed the reputation and denounced the writings of the mightiest of Grecian philosophers, to whom the curious inquirers into the mysteries of the Greek alphabet, would turn in vain for light. And yet the opinions of such men, unworthy as they are of confidence, derive from their impudent assurance, an authority against which reason, and good sense, and sound learning, are for a time of little avail. But the calm and rational skeptics have stated their questions, and deserve a reply. An exposition of the claims that classical learning still maintains upon our attention and respect, will contain that reply. Few, I believe, who reflect upon the prospect of our country, can doubt the importance of the question being candidly asked and candidly answered. A nation, embracing more than twelve millions of men, irresponsible to any higher power than themselves, with their own destinies, whether for good or for evil, in their hands, each generation training up those who are to succeed them in the high and perilous trust, has a deep, and almost overwhelming stake in the chance of success or ruin, and the means of securing the one or averting the other.

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Much wit has been expended in ridiculing the pursuits of the philologist. But true philosophy regards every manifestation of mind, whether in the forms of language, the creations of poetry, the abstractions of science, or the godlike gift of oratory, as worthy of its study. The mind, the essential and immortal part of man, is not to be contemned in any one of its thousand fold aspects and operations. Among the most curious and subtile of these operations, the process unfolded by the developement of speech may fairly be classed. This gift, so universal, so indispensable, like the air we breathe, is scarcely valued because its loss is rarely felt. But let us reflect a moment upon its infinite importance, and we cannot, with anything like the spirit of true philosophy, scorn its study, as a puerile and trifling object. That power by which all other powers are guided and fashioned, by which all emotions are described, by which all the playful efforts of fancy are made distinct to the perceptions of others, by which, more than by all our powers besides, the creations of genius are illustratedand language the instrument of that power, the most ingenious and finished of all instruments-can it indeed be so small, so contemptible, as to fix justly upon those engaged in its study the scornful epithets of 'word-weighers,' and 'gerundgrinders?' Language opens a wide and curious field to the observation of those whose pursuits lead them to trace the intricate phenomena of intellect. The great difficulty in studying the philosophy of mind, arises from the impalpable nature of the objects to be scanned in that study. Language is one of the modes, and a most essential one, by which the operations of intellect are distinctly made visible. In studying language, therefore, we are in fact studying mind, through the agency of its most purely intellectual instrument. In mastering language, we not only attain the power of wielding this most efficient instrument, but we make ourselves familiar with the results, and we comprehend the compass of those gifts which make us feel that we are 'fearfully and wonderfully made.' Such pursuits can have no other tendency than to

strengthen and elevate the mind, and prepare it, consequently, to act with energy, dignity and success, upon the various objects presented to it in life. But it is said, the student of language is employed about words to the neglect of things. I cannot help calling such reasoning, or rather such assertions, for it is not reasoning, poor, unmeaning cant. Wasting time upon words to the neglect of things! Are not words, realities? Have they not a separate, an independent existence? Nay, more; have they not a power to stir up the soul, to sway nations even, such as no other things ever possessed or ever can possess? Did not the words of Demosthenes carry more dread to the heart of Philip than the arms of Athens and the fortresses of her tributary cities? Have not the words of Homer touched the hearts and roused the imaginations of myriads, many centuries since the walls of Troy and the armaments of Greece perished from the face of the earth, and the site of Priàm's capital was lost from the memories of men?-It is true that the trifling and quibbling of some philologists give a plausible air to the objections raised against these studies. But would you condemn the mathematics, because one votary of the science declared his contempt for Paradise Lost-a work which proved no truth by a chain of geometrical or algebraic reasoning? Would you reject geology, because an enthu siast values a stone, apparently worthless, more than a splendid product of imagination? Would you shut your mind against the beautiful science of botany, because you have seen one so absorbed in its study that he would expend more anxious care in rearing a puny hot-house plant, than in alleviating sorrow or saving life? Are you prepared to throw away the hopes of religion, because a few bigots, attaching an overstrained importance to trifles, make it appear absurd, and strip it of almost every attribute that can command your respect? Analogy, I am aware, is not argument; but the same kind of reasoning, which is aimed at philological studies, might be aimed with equal success against every science we value, every truth we hold sacred.

Such are some of the general considerations that recommend the study of language. But the classical languages, besides these, have other and peculiar claims upon our attention. No one will for a moment dispute the importance of understanding the full power of our vernacular tongue. I assume this as a fact beyond discussion and argument. I assert, moreover, the impossibility of doing this without the aid of Greek and Latin. This latter position may be, and has been, disputed. It has been assumed a thousand times as an argument in support of classical learning, and a thousand times its force and pertinency have been denied. The case may, however, be stated briefly, and, as I think, convincingly. The progress of language, at least as far back as written language extends, may be traced with no great difficulty. We know not of what elements the Hebrew tongue was formed. It is the earliest and simplest language that we have the means of examining in written records. But we can easily trace the radical signification of many Greek words, to Hebrew forms; and the influence of one of these languages upon its successor, is as clearly perceptible as any phenomenon in physical science. And though a general knowledge of Greek, and one sufficient for all ordinary purposes, may be obtained without going higher than itself into the antiquity of speech, yet it is perfectly obvious that a thoroughly critical acquaintance with it can be purchased only at the price of resorting to the subsidiary dialects. The Latin was formed chiefly from a modification of Greek. The Romans drew largely from Grecian fountains, both in language and literature; and vain would be his labors, who should essay to comprehend the efforts of Roman genius, without first listening to the instructions of Rome's literary

masters.

In the division of the Roman empire and the formation of modern states, other languages arose from the ruins of the Latin. Four of the principal dialects of modern Europe bear so strong a resemblance to the parent tongue, that a knowledge of the latter makes the attainment of the former an affair of tri