change has taken place within a few years in some of our schools, in the mode of teaching the ancient languages. Books have been prepared upon the principle of use; and the pupil has been introduced to the language itself, as well as to the grammarian. Correct views upon this subject are evidently forcing their way to the public attention and to the school-room. For a very pleasant exhibition of such views, we would refer the reader to a little volume entitled Classical Education of Boys,' published in Boston.

Perhaps no exercise is more valuable in the study of a language, particularly in the commencement of such study, than that of applying to visible objects the corresponding words of the language. Let the learner of Greek make it his practice to recall the Greek name of every thing which he sees; the furniture of his room the objects seen from his window — the most trifling things which his eye meets; let him add epithets to these, and then join a verb. Let this practice be continued until he can readily recall short phrases relating to such objects, and ask questions concerning them. How obvious is it, that such an exercise will strongly engage the interest, even of the mature mind ? Now this is no new plan. We adopted it when we sat on our mother's knee, and we found it unfailing in the acquisition of the Eng. lish tongue. During the first three years of infancy — the weakest portion of our existence — without any purpose, or determined application, we all acquire a knowledge of language which is vastly more valuable than that which the gray-headed philologist has acquired from his hooks, in the long study of manhood. We mean more valuable, so far as mere acquaintance with language is concerned; we mean, that almost any Greek scholar might well exchange his knowledge of Greek for such a knowledge of it as he possessed of his mother tongue, at the age of three years. May we not, then, imitate the teachings of nature ? or has the infant capacities for learning in this way, which are unknown afterward? If the latter be true to some extent, it is far from being true altogether.

Another very important means of introducing the pupil to a familiarity with a language, is the committing to memory portions of interest ing books. This has been practised, and with great success.

The pupil should repeat extracts from the Greek writers, as he repeated his nursery stories in childhood. Large portions of Homer, and of the pastoral, lyric, and even dramatic poets, should be committed to memory, and the holder passages of Demosthenes declaimed upon the stage. We might dwell on the writing of exercises, etc., but we forbear. We have doubtless already said enough to expose ourselves to the charge of .quackery

There is a deep and beautiful philosophy in language, which forms one of the highest and most interesting studies of manhood. The language itself

must first be learned, and this study nature has allotted to childhood. The study of its classifications and general laws is reserved for maturity. We certainly need not fear to follow the instructions and example of nature. The mind is not the product of human artifice, nor are its laws subject to human regulation. We must discipline and ex

. ercise its powers, in conformity with the nature and condition of our being.

Much as we have boasted of the triumph of the Baconian philo

sophy, that triumph is not complete; it must yet sweep away the vestiges of those errors which preceded it-errors which still linger

. among us; it must yet gain more and more the implicit confidence of mankind, and while it abjures the society of the radical innovator, establish the empire of truth.

Thou hast been slow to bless us, gentle breeze;

Where hast thou been a lingerer, welcome friend ?
Where, when the midnight gather'd to her brow
Her pale and crescent minister, wert thou?

On what far, sullen, solitary seas,
Piping the mariner's requiem, didst thou tend

The home-returning barque -
Curling the white foam o'er her lifted prow,
White, when the rolling waves around her all were dark ?

II.

Gently, and with a breath
Of spicy odor from Sabæan vales,
Where subtle life defies and conquers death,
Fill'dst thou her yellow sails !

On, like some pleasant bird,
With glittering plumage and light-loving eye,
While the long pennant lay aloft unstirr'd,

And sails hung droopingly,
Camest thou with tidings of the land to cheer
The thirsting mariner.

III.

How, when the ocean slept,

Making no sign
And her dumb waters, of all speech bereft,

Lay 'neath the sun-girt line-
Her drapery of storm-clouds lifted high
In some far, foreign sky,
While a faint moaning o'er her bosom crept,

As the deep breathings of Eternity,
Above the grave of the unburied Time,
Claiming its clime –

How did the weary tar,
His form reclined along the burning deck,

Stretch his dim eye afar,
To hail the finger, and delusive speck,
Thy bending shadow, from some rocky steep
With reckless pinion, and majestic sweep,

Far darting o'er the deep!

IV.

Born in the solemn night,

When the deep skies were bright,
With all their thousand watchers on the sight -
Thine was the music through the firmament

By the fond Nature sent,
To hail the blessed birth,

To guide to lowly earth,
The glorious glance, the holy wing of Light!

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The Pavilion of Kerboga was erected in the plain which stretched away from the bank of the Orontes, opposite to that near which Antioch stood, but somewhat to the eastward of that city, where the river makes a bend toward the mountains, forming a circular space of some extent. Eastern wealth and magnificence seemed to have been lavished without restraint upon this singular structure. It was laid out like a town, in streets and squares, and was sufficiently large to contain two thousand men. The centre, which was appropriated exclusively to the Emir and his wives, was adorned with minarets and towers, glittering with burnished gold. The exterior covering was of fine crimson cloth, richly embroidered with threads of gold. Its shape was a perfect square, presenting on each side a spacious entrance, standing forth in a semicircular form, and surmounted with a broad canopy, supported on gilded shafts of cane. The entrance on that side which looked toward the mountains was finished in somewhat more elaborate style. Instead of a rounded canopy over the door, a broad awning of green silk extended the whole breadth of the building, its edge bedecked with a deep fringe of gold, and supported at equal intervals by delicate silver rods, between which hung large tassels of pearls and emeralds, strung upon threads of gold. Within and beneath this were curtains of the same colored silk, which were intended to supply the place of doors, when stretched before the broad-arched opening which formed the entrance to the vestibule, but were now partially withdrawn VOL. VIII.

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to admit the summer breeze. The interior was composed entirely of silk, but instead of green, its color was generally pale blue, except the openings which led to the different apartments which were closed with a delicate veil of pink or yellow. This principal apartment was that which may be called the room of state. It was circular, and the ceiling or roof running up to a great height, somewhat resembling in shape the interior of a bell, terminated in a point supported by a gilded pole, carved so as to resemble a tree, the leaves and fruit of which were composed of colored gold and precious stones. The female apartments communicated with this circular hall by doors ranged around at regular intervals, and canopied with rich silk. Opposite to the grand entrance rose the Emir's throne, formed of ivory, inlaid with gems, and shaded by a lofty canopy, similar to the side entrances, but richer in texture, and of more elaborate ornament. The floors were strewed with carpets and divans, of the most costly materials, and the most rich and beautiful patterns. The whole structure seemed rather the embodied vision of some fairy tale, than the war tent of a powerful leader.

Surrounded by statue-like guards, who were clad in sumptuous and gorgeous livery, and reclining upon a richly embroidered carpet beneath the awning of the front entrance, sat Kerboga - a slave on either side fanning him with the delicate plumes of the ostrich. He was delivering to the subordinate commanders their various duties and stations for the day, when a herald, bearing a white flag, conducted by a troop of Persian soldiers, appeared before him.

· An embassy from the Christians in Antioch demands an audience of the Emir of Mosul,' said the herald, bending before Kerboga.

Let them approach!'

The herald departed, and in a few minutes returned, followed by a small band of the emaciated warriors of the cross, at the head of whom, in the grave but not unbecoming habit of a monk, marched a man of diminutive stature, somewhat advanced in age, whose white beard swept his breast almost to the girdle. His ample forehead was deeply furrowed, and his brows somewhat contracted. The general expression of his features might have been pronounced contemplative and even heavy, were it not for a restless brilliancy in his large, deep blue eyes, which spoke of great enthusiasm, and no inconsiderable degree of genius.

· Might I inquire,' asked Kerboga, as he approached, to whom the Christian leaders have delegated the office of ambassador ? Methinks some noble warrior were a fitter messenger to the Emir of Mosul, than a shaven monk.'

. Men call me Peter the Hermit,' was the old man's reply, 'and surely he by whose influence the Christian warriors have been excited to their holy enterprise, were no unfit messenger to bear their commands, even to a monarch.'

• Nay,' replied the Emir, the most unfit that could well have been selected at least to me - is the pestilent disturber, by whose inflamed harangues the peaceful nobles of Europe have been stirred up to wage an unjust war, and to disturb the repose of Palestine.' *Lord Emir,' rejoined the Hermit

, • I shall not pause to bandy words with thee. I come not a suppliant to thy knees to ask any favor or indulgence, either for myself or my fellow warriors. We need none at

m

thy hands — and it matters little from whose mouth- warrior or priest — thou learnest the object of my mission. Cavil not against the messenger, but thank the Christians that they have deigned, by whatever means, mercifully to warn thee that God has signified his gracious intention to deliver us from our evil state, and to fight on our side. They, therefore, advise thee to depart from these walls, ere the vengeance of the Almighty blight thee, like the host of Sennacherib of old : trust not to the proud and glittering array by which thou art surrounded. He in whom we trust is able to make the weak strong, and the strong weak. Be warned, then, ere it be too late, nor allow thy unweening confidence to become thy destruction.'

• Sir Monk,' replied Kerboga, who had listened with manifest impatience to the Hermit's message, 'thank thy sacred habit that the Emir beats thee not back with rods to thy gates. Bear this message to those who sent thee: If Godfrey and his followers, weary of the famine and the siege, wish to give their fleshless limbs to the eagle and the vulture, Kerboga will prepare an hundred archers as their executioners; let them come on whenever it likes them.'

The Hermit replied not, but returned to the city.

Every thing was now ready for the sally, which was fixed for the following morning. Their preparations, however, had not been so secretly conducted, but that the Turks, who still held the citadel, had become fully aware of their intentions; and a black flag, waving at daylight on the following morning from the highest peak of the acropolis, warned Kerboga that the attack was about to take place.

So completely, however, did the Emir despise his enemy, that he took little notice of the warning; and merely giving directions to send two thousand men to prevent the Christians from passing the bridge, sat down to a game of chess with Solyman, his partner in command, who had sought his pavilion to consult with him on the arrangement of their troops.

Miserable, indeed, was the spectacle which the once proud and gallant army of the Christians now presented, as it defiled through the gates of Antioch to attack the forces of the East, and Kerboga might well be pardoned for considering such an enemy almost beneath his notice. Scarcely two hundred horses had survived the famine, and the larger proportion of the knights and nobles marched forth on foot.. Enthusiasm, however, in a great degree, made up the deficiency of physical power, and forth they came, confident of victory, the priests, bearing consecrated banners and crosses, mingling with the warlike array, and singing hymns of joy and triumph.

On they came – - Adhemar, the warlike Bishop of Puy, clad in complete armor, bearing the sacred lance, which had that morning been consecrated with the most imposing ceremonies in the church of St. Peter, and Bohemond and Tancred bringing up the rear. Long pent up within the mournful walls of Antioch, the fresh dew and gentle breezes of that bright summer morning invigorated their wasted limbs and cheered their spirits; and their courage and confidence increased as they advanced.

• How goes the battle ?? asked Kerboga, with a contemptuous smile, as he rose from his game to meet a breathless messenger who had just