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"This argument has been hitherto conducted, as if classical studies were merely a means to some end, extraneous to themideas worthy of preservation-no specimens of true eloquenceselves; as if the Greek and Roman languages contained no of genuine poetry-of elegant history-of valuable moral and philosophical discussion. But the concurrent opinion of learned men, since the revival of learning, has been, that they abound subjects; that in them, the statesman, the poet, the philosopher, with excellent models of composition and argument on all those and the historian, may find materials for thought, and examples to correct and elevate the taste. The standard authors in English, as well as the other modern languages, owe much of their excellence to the study and imitation of the ancients. They modern can fully understand the masters of his own literature abound so much with quotations from Latin and Greek, that no without some acquaintance with those languages. It is not my purpose to unite in that senseless and indiscriminate praise of the ancients, so common with many, who have never really ap

Think of "the vista of time," so frequently spoken of in rhetorical efforts-a long bordered avenue or road, extending from dim and distant antiquity, down by us, and onward, till the view is lost in the future. Think of the lengthened succession of literati of all ages, travelling on it, and holding on their weary way, burdened with the thoughts of the thinking men of every past age, and proposing to show them and leave a copy of them with the living thinkers of every age as they pass. The question is whether that burden of theirs is "mere useless lumber?" Fools may think so, and doubtless do; but no one else thinks with them. The calamity is, that so much of that invaluable burden has actually been lost. Ancient literature, and foreign literature, is stored away in ancient and foreign languages; and a knowledge of these languages, particularly the ancient, Professor D. offers as "the key which will unlock these stores of information infinitely diversified, and of which there is no end." They are the record of every science and every art known to comparatively ancient times-ceeding generations of scholars. In examining their writings, the record of more than the half of human history-the materials of the history of language itself-the early annals of the human mind-the frame-work of intellectual philosophy-and the entire original record of in-nation in this spirit must bring us to the conclusion, that in works spired wisdom. Is this key a useless trifle-and because, forsooth, some few of every age, and of our age, gifted with the knowledge of its use, have gone in and brought forth for our edification, some fragments and samples of that incalculable store?

Professor D. assumes, without enforcing it, the important fact that elementary education is intended to learn students to think and investigate, rather than to store their minds with thoughts, and the results of investigation. The latter is a consequence of the process almost as much accidental as designed, while the former is the very end and essence of the enterprise.

Of course, in learning young minds to think, we must make them think—“ practice makes perfect ;" and in making them think, we must give them something to think about, something to think after, and something to think for. In this view of the case simply, it matters no great deal what the subject is, provided this process actually go on, and go on by rule, and go on with vigor. The lecturer offers the ancient languages for this purpose: their orthography, etymology and syntax-their structure, their spirit, their graces and embellishments-the new skies they open-the new worlds of thought and knowledge to which they lead, and the exhaustless mines of literary, scientific, and intellectual discovery, to which they are the avenue and the entrance.

preciated the excellence which they are in the habit of lauding. The classic writers are fair subjects of criticism, and blind admiration of them is as absurd and pernicious, as it ever must be, when its object is a mere human composition. Some authors, indeed, have been consecrated by the united approval of sucblemish, is often a beauty in the estimation of profound scholars. we should recollect that what appears to the superficial critic a A proper appreciation of their qualities requires an independent, but not a rash and conceited exercise of judgment. An exami

of taste and imagination the ancients have never been surpassed; while in treatises on moral, physical, and perhaps political science, the writers of christendom have all the advantages, which increased experience and revelation can give them. To the poet, the orator, and the historian, the classic writers furnish excellent models for imitation, and constant subjects of meditatheir ardent bursts of feeling, the perfect finish of many of their tion and admiration. Their simplicity, their condensed power, compositions, are worthy of all praise. Would that their noble models of eloquence could be imitated by some of the prolix orators of our own day, whose only excellence consists in multiplying words without either knowledge or taste! Our sickly, beams, and other such common places, might well derive energy sentimental poets, too, whose strains abound in flowers, sunsimplicity and taste from the pure masters of the ancient lyre. It is by no means my wish, if it were possible, to depreciate, in your estimation, the great men whose writings have immortalized British literature. Still farther is it from my intention to adquaintance with our own. vocate the study of ancient authors, to the exclusion of an acOn the contrary, I regard it as one of the happiest effects of a classical education-that it qualifies the mind for a more entire appreciation and higher relish for our own standard authors. Our Erskine, our Burke, our Milton, and the Homer, and the Tacitus of ancient times. But a comparison our Hume, do not yield the palm to the Demosthenes, the Cicero, of distinguished authors on similar subjects at periods so remote, enlarges the understanding and improves the taste. The moral and philosophical speculations, contained in the Latin and Greek writers, although not corrected and purified by the infallible attentive consideration. They have much valuable truth mixed knowledge since derived from revelation, are well worthy of an with error and absurdity. It is delightful to perceive, through the midst of pagan darkness, those gleams of moral and religious light in authors, who were not destined to see the sun of revelation arise in its brightness. In politics, too, although their authors do not deserve to be held up to unqualified admiration, as their poets and orators may be, they had many valuable ideas. The ambitious aristocracy of Rome, the licentious mobocracy of Athens, and the unnatural government of Sparta, are certainly undeserving of imitation. Yet the history of their rise and downfall, with the reflections of their great men on the excellencies which elevated, and the errors which sunk them, deserve an attentive examination and perusal. Minds, such as those of In justice to the author, we insert the following para- Demosthenes, Cicero, Plato, Xenophon, and Tacitus, must of graph as a sample of his style-reminding him, how-necessity throw light on every subject on which they touch. ever, that the word "mobocracy" is of illegitimate composition, being the union of an English word, (scarcely English,) and a Greek one. Democracy is the word, and it is sufficiently expressive,

"This study," says he, "when properly conducted, may be made a sort of gymnasium of the mind, giving more or less exercise and discipline to all its faculties." "If the mind should retain no single idea from the study of the classics, it will have acquired habits of thought a muscular power-which will be of infinite advantage in the prosecution of its future researches."

They point out to us the weakness, as well as strength of the governments under which they lived, and enable us to derive

lessons of encouragement from their partial success, as well as of warning from their ultimate failure."

January, 1839,

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XVII.

Mount Mander, the monstrous, to its former bed,
With songs, and rejoicing, and praises, was led ;
The sheckra, all harmless in beauty, ascended,
And with the warm light-flood of glory was blended;
The thrice blissful spirits, their vast labor done,
Quaffed free the amreeta, so painfully won.
Then the suras rejoicing, in gladness gave out
The token of triumph, a rapturous shout-
And the sea, and the shore, and the firmament rung,
As the pean of victory by millions was sung.
Dickinson College, 1839.

MOLA DI GAETA.

A SKETCH FROM THE RECOLLECTIONS OF A TRAVELLER.

Tu quoque litoribus nostris, Æneia nutrix,
Eternam moriens famam, Caïeta dedisti:

Et nunc servat honos sedem tuus; ossaque nomen
Hesperiâ in magnâ, si qua est ea gloria, signat.
Virgil Enead, Lib. VII.

The faintest signs of dawn were scarcely visible, when we set out from Velletri. We had left Rome on the previous morning for Naples, and our route this day traversed the celebrated Pontine Marshes-a region of disease and desolation. This "Serbonian Bog" stretches from Cesterna to Terracini-a distance of from twentyfive to thirty miles-between the first range of the Appenines, and an extensive forest, which bounds it with short intervals, upon the sea coast. It is caused by the want of declivity, which prevents the streams that flow from the mountains, from discharging themselves freely. Two small rivers traverse it, besides several minor streams. Many efforts have been made to drain it, both by Roman emperors and modern pontiffs: the last of which was that of Pius VI. in the eighteenth century, but without complete success. A fine modern road, elevated above the general level, and bordered with rows of elm and poplar, has been constructed along the course of the ancient Appian Way. Parallel with it is the principal canal, with which numerous smaller trenches communicate. The soil is generally let to large farmers, who reside in Rome, while the labor is performed by overseers and husbandmen from the interior, who do not long resist the deleterious influence of the atmosphere. The produce in grain is large in some places, and the pastures are rich, affording sustenance to numerous buffaloes, while great herds of swine roam through the dense forest, which, with slight intervals, shuts out the view of the sea. The popular opinion which ascribes the unhealthiness of Rome to the Pontine Marshes, is, I am persuaded, erroneous. They are too distant, and moreover separated from the capital by spurs of the Appenines, besides which the Campagna di Romagna itself affords a sufficient explanation of the melancholy phenomenon. As we passed through this "marish, vast and foul," this dreary "slough of despond," my feelings soon partook of the gloom of the scene, and I sank into no enviable state of mind. The sombre landscape was wrapt in a profound stillness, which was not repose, but the lethargy of " summer's noontide air." The silence of day is more impressive

than that of night. It addresses itself to the eye as well to [ of interesting events, the site of flourishing towns, and the ear. The oblivious veil of darkness is not then thrown the abode of a crowded population, has sadly declined over nature, which seems paralyzed and oppressed from its ancient prosperity. The traveller sees nothing rather than at rest. I could not resist the general but marshy plains, with here and there a wretched contagion; and in spite of the popular prejudice which looking town, straggling along the edge of the water, deems it fatal to sleep while crossing these pestilential and apparently inhabited exclusively by fishermen. plains, I fell back upon my seat and lapsed into a pro- Among these the most considerable is Fondi, which, found slumber. although situated in a fertile plain, covered with poplar, orange, cypress and myrtle, presents a most dingy and desolate aspect. Its inhabitants, who do not enjoy a very good reputation, suffer much from the malaria of the surrounding plains, which are subject to frequent inundation. It is built upon the Appian Road, which is composed of large flags fitted together without cement. How admirable must be the work which has survived so many centuries!

When I awoke, we were already in view of Terracina, where we were to halt a couple of hours during the greatest heat of the day. This town, which is at the south-eastern extremity of the Pontine Marshes, though formerly of some note, is now a miserable place, notorious as the resort of bandits and outlaws. It has a population of nine or ten thousand, and boasts among its edifices, a cathedral, a dark and gloomy structure, as well as a palace, built by Pius VI., who made Terracina his frequent residence while engaged in the effort to drain the territory which I have just described. It is built in the vicinity of the Appian Way, and traces of the ancient port of Antonius Pius are still visible. The ruins of the ancient city of Anxur are also to be seen in its environs.

Altogether the scenes and emotions of the day had been of a melancholy cast, and I was in no enviable state of feelings, when, fatigued in mind and body, we approached Mola di Gaeta, where we were to put up for the night. But how shall I describe the sudden transformation which both the scene and my feelings underwent? In the midst of a rich and fragrant valley, a lovely village lay reclined in the bosom of a gentle bay, which yields not even to Naples in the softer features of beauty. The white walls of the houses, embosomed in gardens, shone, from their contrast, with the dark verdure by which they were partially screened. Groves of orange, and citron, and fig, and mastic, and myrtle, with other beauteous or fragrant trees and shrubs, and here and there a shining cottage, or dimly discerned ruin, were scattered along the shore, which terminated in a promontory, crowned by the white walls and castellated towers of the town of Gaeta. On one side rose the blue hills of the Appenine, while on the other the

Terracina has an aspect strikingly wild and desolate. It lies immediately upon the shore of the Mediterranean, whose waves lave the very walls of the houses, stretching also upon a craggy, precipitous eminence, which rises abruptly from the centre of the town. It was here I saw for the first time, and not without singular emotion, palm-trees of spontaneous growth, whose gaunt, towering stems, surmounted by a radiating canopy of enormous leaves, struck me as fit emblems of barbaric Africa. We were detained at this desolate looking place, until my patience was nearly exhausted. I will not, as is the wont of travellers, dwell upon the discomforts of the inn, or the wretched-eye traced an extensive outline of coast, gay with vilness of the repast. To me the greatest inconvenience was the delay, and it was with no small satisfaction that I heard, at length, the cry of the veturino, "Andiamo Signori!"

the soft expanse of the water beneath, glowing with the horizontal beams of the descending luminary, and the brightness reflected from above, seemed literally to flow with molten gold. Presently a milder flush diffused itself over the gorgeous seene, which gradually invested itself with the soft, voluptuous tints of an Italian twilight.

lages, vineyards, gardens and cottages. Numerous skiffs-their white sails impelled by a gentle breezewere approaching the land, to take refuge for the night in the coves and inlets which indented the shore. The In passing out of the town, I was struck by a pecu-rays of the sun, which was just sinking beneath the liar discoloration of the rocks and adjoining waves, horizon, burnished a sky of unclouded brilliancy, while which emitted a noisome, sulphureous odor. These phenomena, frequent in the volcanic regions of Italy, never failed to fill me with solemn and painful emotions. They speak of a power beneath, at war with the arts of man and the beauties of nature. They vividly recall those awful calamities which have covered some of the fairest portions of the earth with "blackness and desolation." They are prelusive of that final doom, which we are assured is to involve our world in a universal catastrophe. Alas, poor Italy! how many causes have combined to lay waste the beauty of her features! The enmity of nature, the violence of man, the hand of God, have all been upon her, and have left of her nothing but a lovely ruin.

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Never had I been so affected by the tranquil beauty of nature; never had earth appeared so lovely to my eyes. I could not sufficiently contemplate the enchanting spectacle, whose charm held my spirit absolutely spell-bound. I roved among the luxuriant groves and fragrant gardens, inhaling with delight the perfume that floated on "Favonian airs," and listening with rapture to the song of the nightingales among the branches. By slow degrees the shades of evening came on, changing but not withdrawing the beauties of the scene. The queen of night succeeded to the king of day, shedding a mild and pearly lustre over the distant hills, the bright walls, the rich foliage and mellow waves, which broke in sparkling ripples upon a spotless beach. A gentle breeze, floating through flowers and fruitage, filled the air with fragrance, and fanned the

fevered temples with its cooling wings. The dark verdure of the orange and the cypress seemed tipped with silver, as it rustled with the stirring air. It was an evening never to be forgotten. A delightful calm diffused itself throughout my whole frame, and plunged my soul in a delicious reverie. It was not the quietude of languor, but the eloquent silence of thoughts too big for utterance. But I fear to give expression to emotions which must have been felt to be believed. Nothing, it has been said, cools us like the enthusiasm of others.

Sweet Mola di Gaeta! How often amid scenes of gloom and hours of sadness, has my spirit taken unto herself wings, and revisited thy lovely shore! How often amid the strife of factions, the din of business, the heartless sounds of gaiety, the fever and the agitation of the world, have I turned wistfully from the present to the past, and wandered in soul among thy "gardens of the Hesperides!" Sweet Mola di Gaeta.

J. L. M.

THE FIRST STATUE OF CANOVA.

(Translated from the French for the "Southern Literary Messenger.")

There are, doubtless, few of our readers who have not heard mentioned with honor the name of the great Canova, that skilful sculptor of modern times, whose admirable statues have almost taken rank amongst the master-pieces which Grecian antiquity has transmitted to us. Canova, like many other great men, owed his rise solely to himself. Diligent labor was the only source of his fortune, and the first attempts of his infancy presaged the success of his mature age.

Canova was an Italian, the son of a mason. All the education which he received from his father consisted in learning the business of his trade. As soon as his strength permitted, he learned to handle the trowel and the hammer, to mix the plaster and to place the graveloccupations which he discharged with sufficient zeal and activity to be soon able to serve as the journeyman or rather the companion of his father, notwithstanding his youth. But in the frequent intervals of repose, which his weakness rendered indispensable, he amused himself by observing the different objects which he saw about him-with sketching them roughly with brick or hard stone upon the wall against which he leaned, or even with modelling their forms in the plaster and cement which he had just mixed. These constant exercises, practiced with as much perseverance as intelligence, soon rendered him familiar with the practice of drawing and of sculpture in relief. But his youthful talent was unknown to all, even to his father, who only concerned himself with his greater or less skill in passing the plaster to the sieve and in pouring enough water into the trough.

act as his journeyman, and the genteel carriage of the little Canova soon procured him the affection of the chief cook and of all the scullions of the house, so that, the day's work being ended, Canova did not stir from the pantry, where he executed in crumb of bread or in plaster grotesque figures and caricatures, which delighted the valets, and in return they fed him in the style of my lord.

One day there was an entertainment at the country house. Canova was in the kitchen, playing with the scullions, when they suddenly heard a cry of despair from the pantry, and saw the head cook coming out in alarm, throwing up his cap, striking his breast and tearing his hair. After the first moments of astonishment, they crowded round him. "I am lost," he cried, "I am lost! My magnificent master-piece! my palace, which I had built for the dinner! see in what a condition it is!"

And with a pathetic gesture, he showed an edifice of pastry, which he had just drawn from the oven. Alas, it was burnt, covered with ashes, and half demolished. There was a general cry of surprise and grief.

"What is to be done?" demanded the chief cook; "here is the dinner hour. I have not time to make another. I am lost! My lord expects for the dessert something remarkable. He will turn me away!"

During these lamentations, Canova walked round the demolished palace and considered it with attention. "Is this for eating ?" he inquired.

"Oh! no, my little one," answered the chief cook, "it is only to look at."

"Ah well, all is safe. I promise you something better than that in an hour from now. Hand me that lump of butter."

The chief cook, astonished, but already half persuaded by his boldness, gave him all he wanted; and of this lump of butter, Canova made a superb lion, which he sprinkled with meal, mounted on a pedestal of rich architecture, and before the appointed hour, exhibited his finished work to the wondering spectators. The chief cook embraced him with tears in his eyes, called him his preserver, and hastened to place upon the table the extemporaneous master-piece of the young mason.

There was a cry of admiration from the guests. Never had they seen, said they, so remarkable a piece of sculpture. They demanded the author of it.

"Doubtless one of my people," answered my lord, with a satisfied air; and he asked the chief cook.

He blushed, stammered, and ended by confessing what had happened. All the company wished to see the young journeyman, and overwhelmed Canova with praises. It was decided at once that the master of the household should take charge of him, and have him go through studies suitable to his precocious talent.

They had no cause to repent of this decision. We have seen that Canova knew how to profit by the lessons of his masters, whom he soon excelled. Nevertheless, in the midst of his celebrity, he was pleased with remembering the adventure of the lion of butA whimsical event suddenly occurred to reveal it to ter, and said he was very sorry that it had been meltall the world. ed. "I hope," he added, "that my later statues wil be more solid, otherwise my reputation runs a great risk."

His father had been summoned to make some repairs in the country house of a rich lord of the neighborhood. He had taken his son with him, according to custom, to

January, 1839.

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