and so unsuccessful is its opposite, even when years have been consumed, in securing any thing like a comfortable and gratifying readiness, that unless it can be applied to the Latin and Greek, these languages will cease to be read, except under the compulsion of the master, and the field of their literature will be in effect forsaken.

Greece is attracting to itself more and more the attention of civilized nations. Its language will become an object of interest, and the knowledge of it a means of usefulness. As it rises to importance and influence, its literature will become valuable, and those who study the modern Greek, will have at once an avenue to this interesting field, and a key to the treasures of antiquity. The emigration of native Greeks will, ere long, furnish teachers; and their presence, as it will afford unlimited means of improvement, will give a powerful stimulus to the prosecution of their language. When our fellow citizens shall converse in the modern Greek as readily and as frequently as they now do in French, may we not expect the writers of ancient Greece to be read as well as praised, and to assist in forming the taste of our age?

If this be visionary, we have only to say that the reading of the classics in this noble language, to such an extent as to form the taste of our educated men, will be unknown. Our enterprising community will never engage with the Germans in the cloistered study of monkish lore, or repay those who may do it. We have no motive to do so. In those countries where the avenues to distinction and wealth are closed against the common aspirant, men will torture almost any study for fame. But here it is not so; and the pursuit which does not meet the wants and disposition of the age, will be abandoned.

We might allude to the power which the cultivation of the modern Greek would undoubtedly give in the critical interpretation of the ancient writers. It cannot be that the long labors, even of a Heyne or Wolf, will rival in all respects the quick perception of a native in his own tongue. We should certainly expect an ordinary reader to be a safer interpreter of Spenser, than the acutest Frenchman who should comment upon it in his closet, with his English Dictionary and Grammar.

The modern Greek, as spoken by the natives, is a mellifluous tongue. But how would an old Athenian wonder to hear our scholars utter the language of Euripides or Demosthenes! He probably would not recognise the language as his own. The charms of a musical and authorized pronunciation would add so much to our interest in the Greek, that we cannot but feel that the adoption of the present pronunciation of that language would amply reward the additional labor of acquiring it. Aside from our desire to converse in French, who would feel content to read the French literature in an English pronunciation ?

But although we believe that the ancient Greek is to be learned through the medium of the modern, if it is to be extensively understood, and that this will yet be seen to be the speediest and surest, and even the only truly successful course, the time has not arrived in which it is to be generally adopted. We would therefore conclude our remarks upon this subject, by suggesting a few thoughts respecting such improvements in the teaching of the ancient Greek, as may admit of immediate application. As we have already intimated, a considerable

change has taken place within a few years in some of our schools, in the mode of teaching the ancient languages. Books have been prepared upon the principle of use; and the pupil has been introduced to the language itself, as well as to the grammarian. Correct views upon this subject are evidently forcing their way to the public attention and to the school-room. For a very pleasant exhibition of such views, we would refer the reader to a little volume entitled Classical Education of Boys,' published in Boston.

Perhaps no exercise is more valuable in the study of a language, particularly in the commencement of such study, than that of applying to visible objects the corresponding words of the language. Let the learner of Greek make it his practice to recall the Greek name of every thing which he sees; the furniture of his room the objects seen from his window-the most trifling things which his eye meets; let him add epithets to these, and then join a verb. Let this practice be continued until he can readily recall short phrases relating to such objects, and ask questions concerning them. How obvious is it, that such an exercise will strongly engage the interest, even of the mature mind? Now this is no new plan. We adopted it when we sat on our mother's knee, and we found it unfailing in the acquisition of the English tongue. During the first three years of infancy- the weakest portion of our existence. without any purpose, or determined application, we all acquire a knowledge of language which is vastly more valuable than that which the gray-headed philologist has acquired from his books, in the long study of manhood. We mean more valuable, so far as mere acquaintance with language is concerned; we mean, that almost any Greek scholar might well exchange his knowledge of Greek for such a knowledge of it as he possessed of his mother tongue, at the age of three years. May we not, then, imitate the teachings of nature? or has the infant capacities for learning in this way, which are unknown afterward? If the latter be true to some extent, it is far from being true altogether.

Another very important means of introducing the pupil to a familiarity with a language, is the committing to memory portions of interesting books. This has been practised, and with great success. The pupil should repeat extracts from the Greek writers, as he repeated his nursery stories in childhood. Large portions of Homer, and of the pastoral, lyric, and even dramatic poets, should be committed to memory, and the bolder passages of Demosthenes declaimed upon the stage. We might dwell on the writing of exercises, etc., but we forbear. We have doubtless already said enough to expose ourselves to the charge of quackery!'

There is a deep and beautiful philosophy in language, which forms one of the highest and most interesting studies of manhood. The language itself must first be learned, and this study nature has allotted to childhood. The study of its classifications and general laws is reserved for maturity. We certainly need not fear to follow the instructions and example of nature. The mind is not the product of human artifice, nor are its laws subject to human regulation. We must discipline and exercise its powers, in conformity with the nature and condition of our being.

Much as we have boasted of the triumph of the Baconian philo

sophy, that triumph is not complete; it must yet sweep away the vestiges of those errors which preceded it - errors which still linger among us; it must yet gain more and more the implicit confidence of mankind, and while it abjures the society of the radical innovator, establish the empire of truth.

BY THE

TO THE BREEZE:

AFTER A PROTRACTED CALM AT SEA.

AUTHOR OF THE YEMASSEE,' 'GUY RIVERS,'

1.

THOU hast been slow to bless us, gentle breeze;
Where hast thou been a lingerer, welcome friend?
Where, when the midnight gather'd to her brow
Her pale and crescent minister, wert thou?

On what far, sullen, solitary seas,

Piping the mariner's requiem, didst thou tend
The home-returning barque -

Curling the white foam o'er her lifted prow,

White, when the rolling waves around her all were dark?

II.

Gently, and with a breath

Of spicy odor from Sabæan vales,

Where subtle life defies and conquers death,
Fill'dst thou her yellow sails!

On, like some pleasant bird,

With glittering plumage and light-loving eye,
While the long pennant lay aloft unstirr'd,'
And sails hung droopingly,

Camest thou with tidings of the land to cheer
The thirsting mariner.

III.

How, when the ocean slept,

Making no sign

-

And her dumb waters, of all speech bereft,

Lay 'neath the sun-girt line

Her drapery of storm-clouds lifted high

In some far, foreign sky,

While a faint moaning o'er her bosom crept,

As the deep breathings of Eternity,

Above the grave of the unburied Time,
Claiming its clime

How did the weary tar,

His form reclined along the burning deck,

Stretch his dim eye afar,

To hail the finger, and delusive speck,

Thy bending shadow, from some rocky steep
With reckless pinion, and majestic sweep,
Far darting o'er the deep!

IV.

Born in the solemn night,

When the deep skies were bright,

With all their thousand watchers on the sight -
Thine was the music through the firmament

By the fond Nature sent,

To hail the blessed birth,

To guide to lowly earth,

The glorious glance, the holy wing of Light!

ETC.

A TALE (IN TWO PARTS) OF THE FIRST CRUSADE

W. G. 8.

PART II. CHAPTER I.

THE EMBASSY-THE SALLY.

THE Pavilion of Kerboga was erected in the plain which stretched away from the bank of the Orontes, opposite to that near which Antioch stood, but somewhat to the eastward of that city, where the river makes a bend toward the mountains, forming a circular space of some extent. Eastern wealth and magnificence seemed to have been lavished without restraint upon this singular structure. It was laid out like a town, in streets and squares, and was sufficiently large to contain two thousand men. The centre, which was appropriated exclusively to the Emir and his wives, was adorned with minarets and towers, glittering with burnished gold. The exterior covering was of fine crimson cloth, richly embroidered with threads of gold. Its shape was a perfect square, presenting on each side a spacious entrance, standing forth in a semicircular form, and surmounted with a broad canopy, supported on gilded shafts of cane. The entrance on that side which looked toward the mountains was finished in somewhat more elaborate style. Instead of a rounded canopy over the door, a broad awning of green silk extended the whole breadth of the building, its edge bedecked with a deep fringe of gold, and supported at equal intervals by delicate silver rods, between which hung large tassels of pearls and emeralds, strung upon threads of gold. Within and beneath this were curtains of the same colored silk, which were intended to supply the place of doors, when stretched before the broad-arched opening which formed the entrance to the vestibule, but were now partially withdrawn

to admit the summer breeze. The interior was composed entirely of silk, but instead of green, its color was generally pale blue, except the openings which led to the different apartments which were closed with a delicate veil of pink or yellow. This principal apartment was that which may be called the room of state. It was circular, and the ceiling or roof running up to a great height, somewhat resembling in shape the interior of a bell, terminated in a point supported by a gilded pole, carved so as to resemble a tree, the leaves and fruit of which were composed of colored gold and precious stones. The female apartments communicated with this circular hall by doors ranged around at regular intervals, and canopied with rich silk. Opposite to the grand entrance rose the Emir's throne, formed of ivory, inlaid with gems, and shaded by a lofty canopy, similar to the side entrances, but richer in texture, and of more elaborate ornament. The floors were strewed with carpets and divans, of the most costly materials, and the most rich and beautiful patterns. The whole structure seemed rather the embodied vision of some fairy tale, than the war tent of a powerful leader.

Surrounded by statue-like guards, who were clad in sumptuous and gorgeous livery, and reclining upon a richly embroidered carpet beneath the awning of the front entrance, sat Kerboga—a slave on either side fanning him with the delicate plumes of the ostrich. He was delivering to the subordinate commanders their various duties and stations for the day, when a herald, bearing a white flag, conducted by a troop of Persian soldiers, appeared before him.

An embassy from the Christians in Antioch demands an audience of the Emir of Mosul,' said the herald, bending before Kerboga.

Let them approach!'

The herald departed, and in a few minutes returned, followed by a small band of the emaciated warriors of the cross, at the head of whom, in the grave but not unbecoming habit of a monk, marched a man of diminutive stature, somewhat advanced in age, whose white beard swept his breast almost to the girdle. His ample forehead was deeply furrowed, and his brows somewhat contracted. The general expression of his features might have been pronounced contemplative and even heavy, were it not for a restless brilliancy in his large, deep blue eyes, which spoke of great enthusiasm, and no inconsiderable degree of genius.

Might I inquire,' asked Kerboga, as he approached, 'to whom the Christian leaders have delegated the office of ambassador? Methinks some noble warrior were a fitter messenger to the Emir of Mosul, than a shaven monk.'

Men call me Peter the Hermit,' was the old man's reply, and surely he by whose influence the Christian warriors have been excited to their holy enterprise, were no unfit messenger to bear their commands, even to a monarch.'

Nay,' replied the Emir, the most unfit that could well have been. selected at least to me is the pestilent disturber, by whose inflamed harangues the peaceful nobles of Europe have been stirred up to wage an unjust war, and to disturb the repose of Palestine.'

'Lord Emir,' rejoined the Hermit, I shall not pause to bandy words with thee. I come not a suppliant to thy knees to ask any favor or indulgence, either for myself or my fellow warriors. We need none at