from this connected study of two great authors, in whose course of argument and forms of expression would be found numerous analogies, frequent resemblances and abundant light derived alike from coincidence and from contrast. Is Cicero as the accuser of Verres more worthy of our attention than Burke and his compeers as the prosecutors of Hastings? But without making a comparison as to the relative claims of the ancient Sicilians and the modern Hindoos upon our sympathies, shall we not unite in saying that both demand our notice, if not for the place which they hold in history and in the scale of civilization, at least for the blaze of glory which has been thrown around them in the eloquence of their great defenders? Few, I apprehend, can be found to doubt the theoretic truth of the statements which I have made, but how few are ready to realize them in their professional practice. We have yet to see in this country, and, indeed, in any country, the full effects of a truly liberal course of classical study, a course which shall be severe, as calling into exercise the highest faculties of the mind, and liberal, as securing the influence of our own classic writers, and both elevating and grand, as evolving from both ancient and modern classics, by a mutual and reciprocal influence, a higher scholarship than the world has yet seen.

I cannot forbear from remarking here how great would be the reflex influence of such a course of classical instruction as I have endeavored to describe upon the teacher's own mind. The charge is sometimes made against our profession that it does not

admit of that enlargement and strength of mind, that it does not bring us into that severe conflict with other minds, which is essential to a vigorous and decided character. The range of thought must, it is maintained, be confined, in consequence of being exercised, in constantly repeated cycles, upon subjects mostly elementary and ill-calculated to stimulate the powers of thought or to furnish the highest motives to action. There can be no ground for a charge like this in a course of instruction which should comprise the careful study of our best classical authors. There is no great question which has engaged the attention of mankind in modern times on which the Anglo Saxon mind has not acted with that energy and thoroughness which are peculiar to its nature, and which has not left its impress on our literature. From the time of John Wickliff to the present day, our stern old Saxon has been the mother-tongue of poetry, philosophy, eloquence, piety, and freedom. To live in constant communion with these leading minds, to be habitually conversant with the loftiest forms of thought and the most classic forms of expression, would, in a course of instruction like that which I have endeavored to describe, become not only a privilege, but, in a great measure, a necessity. Not that it would be possible to impart a knowledge of but a few of these authors, but the teaching of a few leads, by a natural and almost necessary connection, to an acquaintance with all. It is painful to observe how few of those who teach the technical grammar of our language can verify its princi

ples by appealing to classical usage, who have, in fact, any other idea of grammar than what is conveyed in our most elementary text-books. The ordinary definition of grammar, that it is the art of speaking and writing correctly, is entirely false. It does not, as generally taught, teach either to speak or write correctly. A more accurate definition would be, that it is the art of picking sentences to pieces, and pointing out certain relations that exist between the "Parts of Speech" as they are called. But the synthetic art, the creative art, which once belonged to grammar, the teaching of writing and speaking as was known in the times of Aristotle and Quintilian, and which is still recognized in the ordinary definition, is now nearly or quite obsloete. In ancient times, the grammarian took into his hands the boy who was destined to be an orator, as the artist took the marble to which he was to impart a breathless life and a speechless eloquence. The grammarian was an artist, but an artist of higher rank than the painter or sculptor, inasmuch as the living spirit is superior to the lifeless matter,—inasmuch as the Demosthenes of Isæus is superior to the Parthenon of Phidias. Let this creative element, which once belonged to the profession, be restored to it, let the mind of the teacher be thoroughly burnished and fired by constant intercourse with the great teachers of the race, the great masters in his own profession, and he will occupy no inferior rank, nor exercise a professional power inferior to that which is felt at the bar, in the pulpit, or in the senate.

But there are, or ought to be, other and higher ends proposed in education than the practical and the disciplinary. Education will ever fail of its highest end, unless, along with intellectual culture and practical skill, it shall also excite the moral powers to their highest and healthiest activity. The intellect may be never so well trained, and yet leave its possessor powerless as respects the accomplishment of any great results. "A strenuous will," to use the language of John Foster, "must accompany the conclusions of thought, and constantly incite the utmost efforts to give them a practical result. The intellect must be invested, if I may so describe it, with a glowing atmosphere of passion, under the influence of which the cold dictates of reason will take fire and spring into active powers." Thus to enkindle and arouse the moral energies is the highest office of education. In speaking, however, of the moral effect to be produced by the course of study which I am advocating, I do not refer simply to the observance of correct rules of moral conduct. This, it is true, must follow, as the greater includes the less, but the moral influence of which I would especially speak, and which it is the peculiar office of the classics to impart, is that which raises man to the highest action of which his nature is capable. It is that moral influence which is essential to the very existence of a classic, and without which it would cease to command the admiration of mankind. It is that quality which, existing in the hero of Homer, gave direction to the moral energies of Alexander the Great, and made him, in turn, the ex

emplar of Charles XII. of Sweden; it is that quality which, existing in the hero of Milton, whose

"form had yet not lost

All her original brightness, nor appeared

Less than arch-angel ruin'd, and the excess
Of glory obscured":

has enlisted too deeply, perhaps, the sympathies of mankind. And it is qualities of this nature which we need to implant in the minds of American youth. These qualities will raise them above the control of sordid and debasing passion, so far as education can do it, and give them up to the entire control of their higher powers; will teach them to go forth

"In sight of mortal and immortal powers,

As on a boundless theatre, to run
The great career of justice; to exalt
Their generous aims to all diviner deeds,

To chase each partial purpose from their breasts,
And through the mists of passion and of sense,
And through the tossing tide of chance and pain
To hold their course unfaltering, while the voice
Of truth and virtue up the steep ascent

Of Nature calls them to their high reward,
The applauding smile of Heaven."

I have already spoken of Dr. Arnold as the beau ideal of the classical teacher. It will readily occur to you that his own character was formed upon the highest classical models, and that it was this same character which he reproduced in his pupils. It is this which has made his life an epic, and his biography a classic, throughout the civilized world. Contrast for one moment, in this connection, the characters and scholarship of Samuel Parr and