instruments of thought. These advantages however, though of the highest importance, can only be indicated, since the investigation of them would lead to discussions too extensive, abstruse and minute to be compatible with the nature or with the limits of this discourse. We study them also for the emotions, which they excite in us. The firm purpose, the high resolve, the generous self-devotion, which they exhibit, are expressed with such felicity and force as cannot fail to impress them most deeply on the mind of the reader. And if it be one fitted for their reception, though they may be long forgotten, they will not be lost. When the sentiments inspired by a familiarity with such works shall be recalled to him, by the natural association of ideas, on some occasion proper for their exercise, they will spring up with all their original power, like the voice of a Divinity within him, to banish doubts, support endurance, or animate courage. There is no student among us, imperfect as our knowledge of the classics generally is, who does not constantly feel, that their sentiments are conveyed with a simplicity, precision and power, which it is impossible for him to transfer to his own language. And no wonder; sinee among all the translators of modern times, many of them among the most eminent writers of their respective countries, there is not one, who professes to have accomplished it.

Take even the modern languages, in translating from any one of which into another, it is admitted that we approach much more nearly to the original than in translating from the more perfect languages of antiquity. How happens it, that, of the most admired epic poems, works read again and again by all, in whose language they are written, and never without intense admiration and delight, sometimes exciting them even to tears, not one has ever been known, in translation, to produce any such effect, or even to have become tolerably popular? Let any man read a French translation of Shakspeare, either the literal translation of a few celebrated scenes contained in the works of Voltaire, or the free translation of Ducis. The perusal will undoubtedly excite strong emotions. But they will be very different emotions from those excited by the original. Or selecting a more favorable example, examine the translations from the same author by Schiller or by Schlegel, which possess the highest merit, exhibiting the thoughts and sentiments of the original with wonderful precision of outline. How

often do even these fail to catch those delicate shades of expression, which, slight as they are, give to several of the finest passages their peculiar tone of feeling, and invest the airy nothing with identity and existence; themselves almost as evanescent and as imperceptible, yet as potent, as the breath of life? The truth is, that the most idiomatic expressions are always the most forcible, and at the same time the least capable of being translated. Select any of those pathetic Scottish phrases, which have become as familiar to us as our own language, or any of the striking national expressions so often found in the Waverley novels, and translate them as accurately as possible into modern English; and what are your versions? They present the same idea. But do they touch the heart?

The mere tone and manner, in which passages from our own authors are read, often give us a new conception of their force and even of their meaning. And shall not the happy arrangement and nice transition, the terseness, simplicity, grace and harmony, which are from their very nature instranslateable, shall not these affect us? It is said, that Æschines, while giving lectures on rhetoric at Rhodes, after his banishment, read to his audience the oration, which he had delivered in his great contest with Demosthenes, and that it was heard with loud applause. He then read that of his adversary, but was interrupted by shouts of rapture. "What then would you have said," cried he, "what would you have said, had you heard him thunder it?" If it would be absurd to suppose that any man, however perfectly master of the Greek language, could, on reading that oration at this time, feel as they felt, who heard it; it is equally so to suppose that the most perfect translation, which the nature of human language will permit, can convey the same impressions as the original, the very words and syllables, which he that day uttered. And neither of these suppositions is less absurd, than it would be to imagine, that the same emotions may be excited by looking on a panorama of Niagara, as by standing on its brink.

If this argument against the classics is valid, then all poetry is worthless, all eloquence, and everything else, which appeals to the taste, the imagination or the feelings. These can never be rendered in all their clearness and force by a paraphrase; and the translation of them can never be anything more than a paraphrase. As

long as it shall be important to society that men should exist skilled in the arts of speaking and writing, so long the classics must be read. Such men must read them, for the same reason, that those, who cultivate the imitative arts, study the remains of ancient sculpture and architecture. They must be read also by those, who wish to possess a high relish for the beauties of similar productions or an accurate judgment of their merits. The public is benefited by the increase of the writer's, artist's and critic's skill, not merely because the works of literature and of art are thereby improved, but because the taste of the whole community is raised to a higher standard, through their influence, and thus made capable of higher enjoyment. If the case stopped here, all, who allow that the remains of ancient art should be studied by artists and by those, who would appreciate their works, must allow also, that the remains of ancient literature should be studied by literary men, and by those, who would appreciate theirs. But it does not stop here. Admit all, that the warmest admirers of the fine arts will claim for them; that they exalt the imagination, interest the feelings, gratify and purify the taste, soften the manners and subdue their fierceness, and give grace and refinement to every condition of social life. The arts of elegant writing and eloquent speaking do this also. And to them these effects, which are the ultimate end of the fine arts, a worthy and an elevated end, to them these effects are but the means of attaining an end still more exalted and more noble; that of subduing the passions, purifying the heart, elevating the character, and sometimes, rousing the whole man and all within him to the most intense exertions of intellect and the highest efforts of virtue. Surely nothing, which has the slightest tendency to give perfection to arts like these, can be useless or indifferent to society. Not that the classics should be studied by every man. branch of knowledge can claim this preeminence. But they should be studied by those, who would imitate or fully relish the peculiar excellences, of which they are the most perfect models. Not that this study is to be deemed, as it once was, the sum and substance of all learning. But it ought to be numbered among the pursuits of a refined and prosperous people. Five or six centuries ago, the ancient languages were the keys to all knowledge, for no other language then contained anything worth knowing; and scholastic

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institutions, which are too apt to adhere to ancient opinions, continued to regard them as such, long after they had ceased to be so. Hence, at a subsequent period, their value was greatly overrated in comparison with other branches of knowledge, the offspring of later times; and the consequence has been that, by a natural reaction in popular sentiment, they are at the present day esteemed too little, and are regarded by many as absolutely worthless. But those, who entertain a liberal and enlightened view of utility, will always allow to the study of them, in every highly cultivated community, a place and an honorable place among the occupations useful to the public.

I have dwelt thus long on this topic, Gentlemen, not only as the most striking illustration I could present of the nature of that utility, which should be the object of education; but because even this humble attempt to correct a prevalent error may give to my remarks on this occasion something of a practical tendency, an object, which ought to be aimed at in all those public discourses, the frequency of which seems to be characteristic of our country.

Since the end of education is the advantage of society, it must adapt itself to the condition of society, and as this changes and improves, must be so modified as to supply its varying and increasing wants. The division of labor is as important in intellectual as in mechanical pursuits, and it should be guided by liberal and comprehensive views, looking not merely to the wealth and physical comfort of the community, but to its general welfare. As civilization advances, this division must become more and more minute, so that every separate branch of knowledge may be carried to a higher and higher stage of improvement.

This science also must have regard not only to the advancement of knowledge by the division of labor, but to the diffusion of that knowledge, and the distribution of its fruits among the people. To this end, some general idea of the peculiar object and character of every intellectual pursuit should be made familiar to the minds of all men, and the means of prosecuting any one of them be placed within the reach of all. There are few, whatever may be their occupations, who are not able, by the diligent employment of their leisure hours, to make themselves well acquainted with the principles of some one, at least, of the liberal sciences or elegant arts.

And the more extensively and effectually this is done, the more is the intellectual character of the whole people elevated.

Under the influence of these impressions, we cannot but feel a lively interest in the efforts, which are now making in England to provide the working classes in that country with the means of intellectual improvement, and esteem the hours devoted to such improvement to be occupied as usefully for the public, as those, which are passed at the plough or in the workshop: though I must still insist, that the shepherd's boy, who gave all his leisure time to the study of the classics, was as worthily employed as the mechanic, celebrated by Lord Brougham, who gave his leisure to the study of Entomology.

But while we applaud and seek to imitate those distinguished men in England, who are endeavoring to render every branch of knowledge as accessible, as possible, to the diligent study of every member of the community, we should be careful not to overlook the prominent defect of education among ourselves.

This is, not that it wants extent or variety; but that, with reference to the present state of society, it wants thoroughness, especially in our higher seminaries of education. These have no doubt been constantly improving. But society has improved still faster. The public demand for a higher state of culture in every department of education is obvious, general, imperative. It must be satisfied. This can be done in no other way than by raising the whole standard of education. The highest must rise still higher. Those, who go furthest, must advance still further. And all the rest must follow. The most obvious and natural mode of producing this result is to begin at the top; to improve the condition of our highest seminaries. Let me invite your attention to this subject, not as deserving any preeminence over the other topics, which have been and are about to be presented to you, but as worthy of sharing your regard with them, and because I do not perceive, that it has at any of your sessions been specially submitted to your consideration.

The University in our neighborhood was founded, as you are all aware, only a few years after the first settlement of the country, with a view, like most others of so early a date, to instruction in Theology. One hundred and ninety years ago, the requisites for

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