ON THE STUDY OF THE CLASSICS. THE subject upon which I have the honor to address you, by the invitation of your Committee, is "The Study of the Classics." You will not wonder, that I have found great difficulty in determining upon what points of so extensive a subject I should touch, in the short time I might think it proper for me to occupy. Since the receipt of the letter of your respected Secretary, I have been like a painter sent to visit the romantic scenery of my native State the American Switzerland — and bring back a sketch, and but a single sketch, of its sublime or beautiful, for the gallery of your Atheneum. He receives the commission, sure that no task could be easier, as well as none more delightful. He hurries to the Lakes; he ascends the hill-tops that overlook them; he sails among the woody isles that stud their waters; and, as he stops to take a hasty view of this or that scene, fancies himself in fairy land. But ere he has half exhausted the beauties of the lovely Winnepisseogee, or its miniature by its side, he must tear himself away for the wilder and grander scenery of Coos. He climbs Mount Washington. He gazes upon the ocean of Mountains at his feet. He looks abroad to take in the vast panorama, that surrounds him. But we cannot follow him through his tour. Many a time, as a new view opens upon him, does he say, "Here is the scene I came in quest of." Many a time does the pencil drop from his unconscious hands, as he stands wrapped in admiration. He prolongs his stay to the utmost limits. He returns with his portfolio the painter's coffers-full to the overflowing, congratulating himself that his work is nearly done. But now comes the difficulty. From these he must select one, and only one, for painting. He turns over leaf after leaf; it must be this and this — and this; he has selected not one, but a score; he turns back again; he gazes on each of his favorites; and his mind is transported to the mountains and valleys, the rocks, glens, cascades, islets, all the grand, picturesque and beautiful he has just left. He feels not altogether unlike the mother whose tears have procured the life of one of her sons, condemned by the tyrant for their patriotic valor, and who must make a selection. As the time of exhibition draws near, his indecision still increases, till at last in despair, he catches some wild sketch that happens to lie near him, and hurries all the rest into a drawer, that their sight may no longer perplex. He carries his painting to the Gallery; but, as he is suspending it, he sighs at the thought, how many a loftier and brighter scene he has left unpainted. Such has been the course of my thoughts, in the attempt to execute the task assigned me. With similar feelings have I prepared and brought the simple sketch which I would now hang in this gallery of intellectual paintings. The low state of classic acquisition in our country has been often deplored; and especially by those, who have themselves seen in other countries the invaluable results of a far higher, though yet not perfect state. It has seemed to me that one great cause, perhaps I might say the fundamental cause, of this low state of classic attainment on this side of the Atlantic, is the general want of a clear apprehension of the true value of the Classics, and of the use which should be inade of them in a liberal education. Those of us who are engaged in the business of instruction, are obliged to regret continually the difficulty we find, in attempting to give to those whom we teach, correct views upon this subject; and we have all seen in the crude discussions upon Classical Learning, lamentable proofs, that ignorance and misapprehension are not confined to the young. With many, the study of the Classics seems to be merely going over a prescribed number of passages of Latin and Greek, and assigning to each word, by the help of Dictionary, and Grammar, and Notes, and ofttimes Translation, a corresponding word in English. No wonder they deep well of poesy," presents to us many a stranger. When we go into another language, we are introduced to a new race of words, which we must learn, in all their various affinities and habits. This requires much use of the Dictionary and Grammar. Thus various is the effort required for the first step, the knowledge of individual words. No less various are the requisitions of the second step, the combination of the words in each sentence, so as to form the complete idea. This is often done intuitively. But if the ideas of the author have an unusual loftiness, or depth, or comprehensiveness, it may require an effort for the mind to embrace them. If the style has peculiarities, either from the individual characteristics of the author's mode of thought or expression, or from the idioms of an age or nation different from our own, these may require special labor in investigation. The relations between sentence and sentence, or paragraph and paragraph, are more or less obvious, according to the nature of the composition. If it is mere narrative, and the relation is simply one of succession, the mere child readily apprehends it. If, on the other hand, the relation is one of premise and consequence, or one of the still more abstruse relations which are found in argumentative discourse, it may require an intellectual effort little short of that which framed, to comprehend. And what shall we say of the still more subtile, the ethereal threads which bind together the fancies of the muse? These can be seen only when the sensibilities have been awakened, and the taste cultivated. But a knowledge of the language in which the Classic is written, and a close application of the mind in some of its highest exercises, the perception of relations, and the combination of particulars, is not all that is requisite for a full understanding of many authors. Words do not convey ideas; they only call up, for new combinations, ideas before existing in the mind of the hearer or reader. If, then, we have not the same elementary ideas with the speaker or writer, his words, although in themselves familiar, will be to us utterly devoid of meaning. Again, all speaking or writing supposes some degree of preparatory knowledge in those who hear or read, if we have not this knowledge, it is in vain that we give the strictest attention. The con |