throne in the literary heavens. After the revival of learning in Europe, as well as during the thousand years that preceded it, the Latin language was, by general consent, the language of students. It was at once, the depositary of all their literary treasures, and the only vehicle of new thoughts. Learned men wrote and conversed in this tongue. No text-book was written in the vulgar dialects. It was the pride of scholars to acquire a classic style, and to emulate the finished periods of Cicero and Livy. To depart from these approved models, in the use and collocation of words, subjected the writer to the reproach of ignorance and barbarism. Hence, a thorough acquaintance with the Latin language became an indispensable requisite of literary success. The road to true distinction in learning, lay through the wilderness of etymology and prosody. It was fatal to the reputation of the young aspirant to desert it, or to linger by the way. The temple of truth was reared, if not upon the tombs, at least upon the tomes of the dead. Her responses were uttered in the language of the dead; and in the same changeless forms of speech, her votaries were compelled to enshrine their living thoughts. To the multitude, they seemed like the inhabitants of a distant sphere. Their mystic lore excited the wonder of the many, but gave them no new ideas. The Church employed the same medium of thought, both in its communications with earth and heaven. The Scriptures, the canons, and other authorities of the Church, and the regular liturgies were all written in the Latin tongue. The clergy offered their prayers in Latin, and in the Roman provinces, continued to deliver their homilies in the same language, until the numerous changes of the vulgar dialects, rendered pure Latin entirely unintelligible. The honors of earth, and the favors of heaven, were both imparted through the same medium. The Church claimed the right to bestow secular power, and to dispense the treasures of Divine grace. The magnitude of the gifts imparted, gave a factitious value to the airy medium through which they were received. The "winged words" which bore to curious minds the treasures of knowledge, bestowed on waiting monarchs the right to rule, and conveyed to sorrowing penitents the assurance of sins forgiven, acquired a degree of sacredness, such as ever attaches to the memorials of power and holiness in the minds of the ignorant. When Dante wrote his Divina Comedia, he considered it a hazardous experiment to employ his native language in a composition so elevated. He deliberated long whether he should clothe his thoughts in Latin or Italian. He wisely chose the latter; and, by so doing, contributed more than all other writers to give character and permanency to his native tongue. When the Divina Comedia appeared, the English language could scarcely be said to exist. It was undoubtedly sufficient for the ordinary intercourse of life; but, as an instrument of thought, for the full and clear expression of ideas, it was very rude and imperfect; it had no established standard of orthography or style. Not until more than three centuries had elapsed, and the translation of the Bible, together with the writings of such men as Milton and Shakspeare had given form and beauty to the crude and heterogeneous materials of which it is composed, can the language be said to have acquired an authorative standard of "use." During this period of transition, while both the English language and the dialects of the continent were maturing, the Latin retained its ascendency in the literary world. When driven from the pulpit, it fled to the altar; and when a reformed Christianity had expeled it from the chancel, as a heathen usurper, it still found a congenial home in the universities. When scholars continued to speak and write in the Latin tongue, a thorough acquaintance with this language was the only passport to literary distinction. Not to understand it betokened unlettered ignorance. Hence students prided themselves upon a thorough acquaintance with the minutiae of the grammar and rhetoric of this language. A liberal education implied not merely an ability to read and speak Latin with accuracy, but to write it with classic purity and elegance. To know how Cicero compounded his sentences, where he placed the leading and where the dependent verb; to point out the exact position of each particle that served in the marshaled hosts of memory; to define the times, modes, and figures in which these winged warriors were arrayed for action, was the crowning excellence of the young student's "Humanities." This veneration for ancient authors, not only for their thoughts, but for the most trifling peculiarities of the dress in which they were clothed, was, for ages, transmitted to successive generations of learners by the very esprit du corps of literary society. This spirit has not yet wholly disappeared. In many instances, the study of Latin is advocated on precisely the same grounds as in centuries past. Men who thus defend a truly liberal and useful study, forget the radical changes which time has wrought in the literary as well as in the political world. The Latin language has ceased to be the store-house of all knowledge, and is no longer the only "circulating medium" through which an exchange of thoughts can be effected. New sciences have been developed which now claim the attention of the scholar. The field of know1 Only two centuries ago, an English poet thus complained of the instability of the English tongue : "Poets that lasting marble seek, Must carve in Latin or in Greek: We write in sand, our language grows, ledge and inquiry has been indefinitely enlarged. The boundaries of the old sciences have advanced. What was terra incognita to the scholars of past ages, has been successfully explored, and to some branches of learning we may apply the words of Tacitus; "dispecta est et Thule quadam tenus." The thoughts of men now flow in new channels. All knowledge is not ancient. Much of it has not yet attained to the age of man. Every generation now adds to the common stock of ideas. The human mind has broken the chains of authority. The fathers in the church and the university do not now speak with authority. To the couched eye of modern discovery, they sometimes seem to drivel and to doat. The infirmities of age are upon them. The new generation of thinkers claims to stand upon a more exalted eminence, and to command a more extensive prospect. They affect to rise into a purer atmosphere, and enjoy a clearer vision. The mists of prejudice have vanished, and the sunlight of reason shines upon the field of research. The departments of liberal study have been so multiplied, that the ordinary life of man is not sufficient to master them. The seven liberal arts, the trivium and the quadrivium of the schoolman have become almost seventy times seven. Genius and research are daily adding to the stores of human thought, and enlarging the field of study. The "seven years" of toil that once mastered the whole circle of sciences, now scarcely introduces the young philosopher into the temple of truth. In that period he can only learn the elements of the several departments of study. If he would be a general scholar, he must be content with a very imperfect knowledge of many important branches. Men excel, generally, only in single departments of literature or science. He who attempts to be proficient in all, will be perfect in none. It seems, therefore, to be the dictate of true wisdom, to "divide and conquer," to allow each man to choose his post of duty. Although there is, as Cicero asserts, commune vinculum," between all the branches of a liberal education, and a partial acquaintance with all is essential to complete success in one, yet the scholar who wishes to advance any branch of learning, and to make new discoveries in it, must devote his energies principally to that alone. But in every sholar's life, there must be a period of training, a period of discipline, when the mind acquires dexterity, vigor, and power of intellectual action. The design of education is, first to give the mind capacity, then to fill it, to develop and store it. It is more important to originate thoughts, than to acquire them from others. Mental strength ought to be sought in preference to mental stores. Men should learn rather how to think, than what to think. The great object of the young student, therefore, is, to expand and invigorate the mind, to promote the harmonious development of its powers; to improve the memory, control the attention, give a accuracy and discrimination to the judgment, refinement and elegance to the taste, and to impart to all these faculties such a manly vigor and compactness, as will enable him to grapple successfully with the most difficult and abstruse questions of philosophy, and at the same time, appreciate and enjoy the most splendid creations of the imagination. The accomplishment of this end requires the aid both of business and study; of observation and reflection; of experience and theory. The man whose education is wholly physical, confined to observation and the dexterous use of his limbs, is little more than an educated brute. He may be cunning, artful, and intriguing, from his knowledge of the world; or if his nature be so inclined, he may be misanthropic, fierce, and cruel. In such a man, the most exalted portion of his being remains undeveloped and comparatively uneducated. The man who studies books alone, without observing men, will attain to an infinitely higher standard of excellence, because his intellect is matured, and his capacity for knowing and judging enlarged; still if he has never compared the speculative with the real, the theoretical with the practical, his education is essentially imperfect. At present, however, we wish to confine our thoughts to the development of the mind. For the attainment of this result, we maintain that there can be no better discipline for the young student, than a thorough mastery of the Latin and Greek languages. In many respects this study is superior to any other. We do not commend it because a greater amount of useful information may be acquired, in this way than in any other, because the facts are far otherwise; nor because it is essential to a liberal education to read, write, or speak the Latin language; but because it will employ all the faculties of the young mind to better advantage than any other department of science or literature that can be named. If the language be properly studied, not a single faculty of the intellect can escape its influence. Memory, conception, judgment, attention, imagination, taste, all are matured by the discipline. In the acquisition of the words and grammatical forms of the language, the memory is essentially strengthened. This is perhaps, the least important result of mental labor. The memory is more easily trained than any other faculty of the mind. Almost any exercise will profit the memory of the child; still in the process of a regular education, economy of time and collateral advantages, should determine the choice of proper stimulants for the memory. No scholar will deny the importance of a tenacious memory. It is sometimes undervalued, and sometimes disproportionally developed. But when it is proportionate to the other powers, it is their most potent ally. It will be readily conceded, that accuracy of judgment must depend on accuracy of memory; for in order to discriminate between things that differ, a man THIRD SERIES, VOL. IV. NO. 2. 8 must call to mind all the circumstances which constitute that difference, else he will judge preposterously. We cannot arrive at safe and equitable conclusions respecting disputed points, unless we can retain and weigh the evidence advanced upon both sides. Cicero in speaking of the value of a good memory says: "Quid dicam de thesauro rerum omnium, memoria? quæ nisi custos inventis cogitatisque rebus et verbis adhibeatur, intelligimus, omnia, etiamsi præclarissima fuerint, in oratore, pentura." With memory is intimately associated the power of conception, which has been defined "the power which enables us to form a notion of an absent object of perception, or of some previous feeling of the mind." This is so analogous to mere memory prompted by the power of association, that we may safely assert that that which benefits the one must necessarily profit the other. This same discipline is eminently useful in maturing the judgment, and strengthening the reasoning powers. In the business of translating, the mind is constantly employed in weighing probabilities. It becomes familiar with the very process of reasoning which we need to employ in the intercourse of life. "The mind," says Dugald Stewart, "in following any train of reasoning beyond the circle of mathematical sciences, must necessarily carry on, along with the logical deduction expressed in words, another logical process, of a far nicer and more difficult nature,—that of fixing with a rapidity which escapes our memory, the precise sense of every word which is ambiguous, by the relation in which it stands to the general scope of the argument." Now this precisely describes the mental state of the student in translation. He is incessantly employed in determining the meaning of words, from the connexion in which they stand, constantly weighing evidence and drawing inferences. Each word has a variety of significations. He must carefully examine the connexion and then fix upon the appropriate definition. By this process, the mind is trained to the most accurate discrimination in comparing words, and adjusting nice shades of meaning. Thus the student learns to practise the most difficult and delicate part of the art of reasoning. In what other way could one become so intimately acquainted with the right use of language, which is the great instrument of all ratiocination? Without a minute knowledge of definitions, and of the various shades of meaning which often depend upon the subject discussed, the peculiarities of the author, or the connexion of the argument, no person can speak with precision of reason, with force and perspicuity. While, by patient mental toil, the student is maturing the judgment, he also acquires the habit of fixing the attention, for a long time, upon a given point. This is the most difficult and painful part of the whole 1 De Oratore, libr. 1: 5. |