trustees of all the knowledge committed to their care when they were first created. Through several changes of fortune, now smiled upon by Edward the Confessor, and then neglected by his ambitious successors, learning flourished or declined in the more public institutions until the invasion of William the conqueror; but it was not often that contemplation was disturbed in the convent's shades, for ages after his accession to the throne of England. Here, indeed, "The little, fat, round oily man of God," laughed, slept, or idled life away; "but these deep solitudes and awful cells," contained men of true piety and profound learning; and to whose industry and wisdom we are now indebted for much of our present advancement in knowledge. In 1066 William defeated Harold, and became king of England. His triumph was so complete that a sudden revolution was made in the information, taste, and pursuits of men in that island. It was natural for him to think his Norman language, uncouth and rough as it was, greatly superior to that of the Saxon, which he did not understand. The Church and convent, and perhaps court records, which had been kept in Latin, were now in many instances ordered to be in Norman. The ballad makers who flocked round the conqueror sung his praises in the Norman measure and language, and even the deeds of former kings, whose praises had for ages been echoed in pure Saxon, were now sung in the rude rhymes of the minstrels of the Conqueror: and such was the influence of the new order of things, that in the course of half a century the pure Saxon was no longer to be found in England; and a new language, the beginning of what is now our vernacular tongue, grew up there. Ellis, a learned writer on these subjects, says this was effected in the course of forty years after the conquest, and that this change in the language of England was completely brought about in this time; but we should be nearer the truth, I imagine, if we should allow nearly a century for this transformation. The language was indeed changed to the eye and the ear; but still a great proportion of all its elements remained, and will forever remain, a strong proof that in all the permanent improvements in civilization and knowledge, the Saxons were greatly in advance of their conquerors. This change assisted the advancement of knowledge; for language when advanced towards perfection, is the most labour-saving machine that ever ingenuity attempted to invent. The scanty words found in a primitive language are inadequate to the conveyance of refined or extended thought. By these simple elements the nice shades of difference in thought could be no more than indicated, not fully conveyed b- the words written; therefore much was left to the imagination of readers, which was supplied when language was only spoken, by the looks, gestures, and accents of the speaker; hence arose the superiority, in the early times, of eloquence over written compositions. The oral communication was then a better method of conveying ideas than the record, however fully exemplified by the scanty language then in use, without taking into consideration the charm there has always been in a well toned and well regulated voice. As language improved and expanded, the noun and the verb, the first elements of language, were found insufficient, with all their declinations and inflections, to convey thought accurately and forcibly. The connecting links, the qualifying terms, the affirmations and negations, with the prefixes and affixes, to increase, change, or qualify the power of the words, were sought for, and obtained; sometimes by a happy hit, which by frequent repetitions in time became usage, and usage law; or by the elaborate reasonings of the scholar upon the doctrines of analogies, or the principles of an easy composition or arrangement of sentences. Sometimes the understanding directed in this work of composition and structure of language, but oftener the ear; and when at times the wise and the learned reasoned and laid down the rule, the great mass of the people changed it for euphony sake, and the learned at length came into the same use; for custom is the despot over language. In the laws of language, as well as in those of national policy, the people, after all, are the revising tribunals; not by their sudden impulses, but by the sober reflection of years; and even their own opinions are revised by their own experience. The English literature received its share of the acquisitions of learning made by the crusaders; and the language of course was greatly benefitted by the taste which these heroic adventurers awakened and cherished. In these epochs of delicacy and refinement, many of the coarse words were disused, and those better chosen and more appropriate became fashionable. The English language gained much from the days of Chaucer to those of Spencer; and more by the taste of Shakspeare than by any other person. It is a matter of some singularity that so little of the Saxon language is known by our scholars, when on a strict examination we find that our poets and prose writers have used so many words derived from the Saxon. In Shakspeare, taking out the proper names, eight words out of nine are found to be of Saxon origin, as exemplified by several quotations taken promiscuously from the works of the great dramatist. Milton, tried by the same rule, would give the proportion of six out of seven. Johnson's works, as he coined Latin words and used them freely, about five sixths are Saxon. In our translation of the Bible, and the writings of Addison and Goldsmith, and other writers of simplicity and purity, the proportion of words of Saxon origin is still greater than in Shakspeare or Milton. Our own declaration of Independence, and many other American productions, are written in the style which contains a great proportion of these words of pure Saxon origin. I will give a few specimens of the use of Saxon words among our best writers; fair samples of their style, and the use of good old English. The Saxon words are in italics. But no! the freshness of that past shall still While thus the shepherds watch'd the host of night, O'er heaven's blue concave flash'd a sudden light, The unrolling glory spread its folds divine, O'er the green hills and vales of Palestine; And lo! descending angels hovering there, Stretch'd their loose wings, and in the purple air Hung o'er the sleepless guardians of the fold: Glory to God-Benevolence to man— SANDS. PIERPONT. A good man's piety and virtue are not distinct possessions; they are himself, and all the glory which belongs to them belongs to himself. What is religion? not a foreign inhabitant, not something alien to our nature, which comes and takes up its abode in the soul. It is the soul itself, lifting itself up to its maker. What is virtue? It is the soul listening to, and revering and obeying, a law, which belongs to its very essence, the law of duty. We sometimes smile when we hear men decrying human nature, and in the same breathing exalting religion to the skies, as if religion were anything more than human nature, acting in obedience to its chief law. CHANNING. There are some poems in the Saxon language which strongly show the rude, bold, and superstitious character of the Saxons before christianity was introduced among them, or had generally spread through the island. The Volupsa, the sybil of the Saxons was called Vola, is a poem given in an English translation by Turner, from whom, with Bede, Ellis, Tooke, and Campbell, I have derived much of my information on this subject of Saxon literature. It is a rhapsody on the creation according to the Saxon notions of it, and the first lessons of wisdom given to man from his maker. The successive generations, with their history, are introduced, but only as a landscape is seen by the transitory flashes of the lightning amid the darkness of the storm. The Welch wrote at the same time with abruptness, and threw the fire and fanaticism of their Druids into the form of some wild and magic strain. True poetry cannot exist until there is a considerable degree of mental cultivation in the bard who makes it. Men must think and feel, and reason, too, from cause to effect, before any delicacies of poetry can be developed; but the strong ebullitions of genius raving to soar to the regions of light and futurity, are scattered through the early ages of poetry; and time gives these productions, perhaps, an interest beyond their real merits. The English language is now so enriched from the sources I have mentioned, and other sources more recondite, and also from some more recently made contributions to our stock of words, particularly in terms of banking, trade, and revenue, that it may challenge any other language to show more words of clear and definite significations, than we have legitimatized and secured. The terms of art are every day increasing, as well as those of the sciences, and are constantly added for common use to our vocabulary. These, in general, have been formed by new applications of old words to the subjects, or by new compounds made to convey the idea of the use of the invention. ones. The English language is full of strength. There are no feeble words in it, such as are often made by an effeminate people; but every part of the fabric is of good old materials or approved new There is no thought, or shade of a thought, that the English language is not capable of conveying to the mind, if used by a judicious, learned, and spirited writer. In the use of language to gain, or to defend a point, much depends upon the skill and judgement of the writer or speaker. The vocabulary of angels would fail to propagate a thought, that would wake the genius or mend the heart, in the mouth of dulness or apathy. The soul of the writer or speaker must breathe into his language the breath of life. The earthly particles must be melted, as it were, into the ethereal, to give a composition the spirit of intelligence and genius. The following extracts, the first from Shakspeare, and the other from Milton, show the natural strength of the English language; for without any apparent effort, or artful selection, the words admirably convey the elevated thoughts which the authors had in their minds, and intended to put into an imperishable form. "The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself; Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Tempest, Act iv. Scene 4. "For in those days might only shall be admir'd, To overcome in battle, and subdue Milton, b. xi. The beauty of the English language is conspicuous in English poetry and prose. It is fortunate for our vernacular, that the language of poetry does not differ, except in a few words, and perhaps in no one, from our prose; for in such a formation of language, all that is gained in the interchange with other nations in prose, is transferred to verse; and all that is created or refined by verse, is given over to prose, after due trial and final judgement of its use or beauty, at the tribunal of public criticism. The following poem is a specimen of that powerful, graceful beauty, which excites admiration for its elegance, and respect for its strength. It seems to come upon us with that calmness and divinity which it describes in the god of wisdom and taste, in his easy victory over the Python. What a beautiful fable this is; it was made to show how easily refinement and wisdom can overcome and destroy that monster of the literary world-a depraved taste. PRIZE POEM. THE BELVIDERE APOLLO. (1812.) "HEARD ye the arrow hurtle in the sky? Heard ye the dragon monster's deathful cry? In settled majesty of fierce disdain, Proud of his might, yet scornful of the slain, ง |