be those amongst us whose whole thoughts are absorbed in the business of the world, and to whom the reflection never occurs that soon they must go out into eternity, without a friend-without a home!

CAIRD.

THE DUMB CHILD,

She is my only girl,

I asked for her as some most precious thing;
For all unfinished was love's jewelled ring
Till set with this soft pearl.

The shade that time brought forth I could not see,
So pure, so perfect, seemed the gift to be.

Oh! many a soft old tune
I used to sing into that deadened ear,
And suffered not the slightest footstep near,
Lest she might wake too soon;

And hushed her brother's laughter while she lay-
Oh, needless care-I might have let them play!

'Twas long ere I believed

That this one daughter might not speak to me;
Waited and watched, God knows how patiently,
How willingly deceived;

Vain love was long the untiring nurse of faith,
And tended hope until it starved to death!

Oh, if she could but hear

For one short hour, that I her tongue might teach
To call me mother, in the broken speech

That thrills the mother's ear !

Alas! those sealed lips never may be stirred,
To the deep music of that lovely word.

My heart it sorely tries,

To see her kneel with such a reverent air
Beside her brothers, at their evening prayer;
Or lift those earnest eyes

To watch our lips, as though our words she knew,
Then move her own as she were speaking too.

I've watched her looking up

To the bright wonder of an evening sky,
With such a depth of meaning in her eye,
That I could almost hope

The struggling soul would burst its binding cords,
And the long pent-up thought flow forth in words.

The song of bird and bee,

The chorus of the breezes, streams, and groves,
All the great music to which nature moves,
Are wasted melody

To her-the world of sound a tuneless void;
While even silence hath its charm destroyed.

Her face is very fair,

Her blue eye beautiful, of finest mould
Her soft white brow, o'er which, in waves of gold,
Ripples her shining hair;

Alas! this lovely temple closed must be,
For He who made it keeps the master-key.

While He the mind within

Should from earth's Babel-clamour be kept free,
E'en that his still small voice and step might be

Heard at its inner shrine,

Through that deep hush of soul, with clearer thrill? Then should I grieve?—Oh, murmuring heart be still,

She seems to have a sense

Of quiet gladness in her noiseless play;
She hath a pleasant smile, a gentle way,
Whose voiceless eloquence

Touches all hearts, though I had once the fear
That even her father would not care for her.

Thank God! it is not so;

And when his sons are playing merrily,
She comes and leans her head upon his knee,-
Oh! at such times I know,

By the full eye, and tone subdued and mild,
How his heart yearns o'er his silent child.

Not of all gifts bereft

E'en now-how could I say she did not speak?
What real language lights her eye and cheek,
In thanks to him who left

Unto her soul yet open avenues

For joy to enter, and for love to use !

And God, in love, doth give

To her defect a beauty of its own:
And we a deeper tenderness have shown,
Through that for which we grieve;

Yet shall the seal be melted from her ear-
Yea, and my voice shall fill it—but not here.

When that new sense is given, What rapture will its first experience be, That never woke to meaner melody

Than the rich songs of heaven,

To hear the full-toned anthem swelling round,
While angels teach the ecstases of sound.

Anon.

ADVANTAGES OF STUDYING LATIN AND GREEK. [The Rev. SYDNEY SMITH was born at Woodford in Essex. He was educated at Winchester College, and afterwards at Oxford. For half a century, he rendered himself conspicuous as a political writer, a lecturer on "Belles Lettres," a critic, and a popular preacher. During his accidental residence in Edinburgh, the "Edinburgh Review" was commenced under his auspices, but he had edited the first number only of that periodical when he removed to London. He, however, continued for many years one of the most active contributors to that celebrated organ of Whig principles. He died in 1843.Į

LATIN and Greek are useful, as they inure children to intellectual dífficulties, and make the life of a young student what it ought to be, a life of considerable labour. We dò not, of course, méan to confine this praise exclusively to the study of Latin and Gréek, or suppose that òther difficulties might not be found' which it would be useful to overcóme; but though Làtin and Greek! have this merit in common with many arts and scíences, still they have it; and, if they do nothing else, they at least secure a solid and vigorous applicátion' at a period of lífel which materially influences all other periods. To go through the grammar of òne language thoroughly, is of great úse' for the mástery of every other grammar; because there obtáins, through àll languages, a certain análogy to each other in their grammatical construction. Làtin and Gréek! have now mixed themselves etymológically with all the languages of modern Europe, and with nóne more than our òwn; so that it is necessary to read these two tongues for other objects than themselves.

The ancient languages are, as mere inventions as pieces of mechanism-incomparably more beautiful than any of the modern languages of Europe; their mode of signifying time and case by terminations, instead of auxiliary verbs and particles, would of itself stamp their superiority. Add to this the copiousness of the Greek language, with the fàncy, harmony, and majesty of its cómpounds, and there are quite sufficient reasons why the classics should be stúdied' for the beauties of language. Compared to them' merely as vehicles of thought and passion, all módern languages are dull, ill-contríved, and bàrbarous.

That a great part of the Scriptures! have come down to us in the Greek language' is of itsèlf a reason, if all others were wanting, why education should be planned' so as to produce a supply of Greek scholars.

The cultivation of stylel is very jústly made a part of education. Everything which is written is meant either to pléasel or to instruct. The second object it is difficult to efféct! without attending to the fìrst; and the cultivation of style is the acquisition of those rules and literary hábits! which sagacity anticipates, or experience shows! to be the most effectual means of pleasing. Those works are the best! which have longest stood the test of time, and pleased the greatest númber of exercised mìnds. Whatever, therefore, our conjectures may be, we cannot be so sùrel that the best módern writers' can afford us as good módels as the ancients; we cannot be certain that they will live through the revolutions of the world, and continue to please in every clìmate, under every species of government, through every stage of civilization. The móderns' have been well taught by their màsters; but the time is hardly yet cómel when the necéssity for such instruction! no longer exists. We may still borrow descriptive power! from Tàcitus; dignified perspicuity from Livy; simplícity! from Cèsar; and from Homer, some portion of that light and heat which, dispersed into ten thousand channels, has filled the world with bright images and illustrious thoughts. Let the cultivator of modern literature addict himself to the purest models of taste' which France, Italy, and E'ngland could supply, he might stíll learn from Virgil to be majestic, and from Tibúllus to be tènder; he might not yet look upon the face of nature' as Theócritus saw it, nor might he reach those springs of pathos with which Euripides softened the hearts of his audience. In short, it appears to us that there are so many excellent reasons why a certain number of scholars should be kept up in thìs, and in every cívilized country, that we should consider èvery system of education' from which clássical education was excluded, as radically erróneous, and completely absurd. SYDNEY SMITH.