YES, I'm in love with the Classics; for how could I otherwise lay any claim to respectability? Can he be a scholar who does not know that AEmilia Secunda, the younger daughter of Lucius AEmilius Paulus, married Marcus Porcius Cato, the son of Cato Major? or that Hermogenes Tigellius was a music-teacher, probably a Greek, and perhaps an adopted son of L. Tigellius? Assuredly not. These and similar facts constitute the very basis of an education.

With gratification I remember that my preparatory years were devoted exclusively to the study of the Classics. Kuhner and Harkness were my constant companions; and in the light of their wisdom my love for the ancients found being and growth. It gives me pleasure to recall the fact, that at my admission examination, though I located Manilla on the coast of Mexico and Mt. Shasta in Hindostan, I was able to give correctly the location of the Bosporani and the Cyziceni.

America should rejoice to know that so many of her students are conditioned in Arithmetic and Modern Geography, and so few comparatively in the Classics. It evinces a commendable disregard for all things modern, and a due loyalty to the customs of our more enlightened ancestors. It is difficult to understand how any right-minded individual can advocate a course of study that contains less of Latin and Greek than the average college curriculum; yet there are those of acknowledged ability who claim that the discipline of the Classics is overrated, that it is no more adapted to the fullest development of every mind than is the discipline derived from any other single branch of study: hence they would institute the elective course. Absurd. They cannot have read Walker, who would teach the pedlers and peasants Latin and Greek; or Stuart and Jones, whose arguments will convince any man that there is more discipline in the study of the particle yap than of all the Mathematics in existence.

Of the old authors, Aristophanes is my favorite; his "Clouds," for instance. I think if I were to attend college for fifty years, and it were possible, I would annually elect this consummate work of Grecian literature. Its chastity of style, the spirit in which it was written, cannot fail to win the admiration of scholars through all time. Of the author's ability I am convinced; and since the concession of his humor is hereditary, I am obliged to acknowledge that, though I candidly believe that if the inhabitants of the moon - hypothetically speaking - were provided with an edition of Josh Billings, they would be fully as capable of appreciating its humor as we are that of Aristophanes; and this with no disparagement either to the latter or Mr. Billings. It matters little, however, whether we are able to discover the wit, so long as we are assured it is there. Why attempt to crack the nut, knowing, as we do, that the kernel is safely incased within; ten to one we shall find a shrivelled morsel for our pains. I learn from men of wisdom, - men who, by a theory of events, have ascertained to an hour the time of Homer's birth and death, - that the study of Aristophanes and other primitive pagans is calculated to elevate and purify the taste, to humanize our manners and conversation, to grace and adorn all our other acquirements.

What is Shakespeare - the copyist of the minutest details of human experience - to me when I can revel in the imaginary haps and mishaps of gods and demi-gods? What the conciseness of Pope, the grandeur of Milton, the exquisite finish of Tennyson, the beauties and excellences of all modern genius, when I can find the semblance of these qualities in a language of two thousand years ago?

Whatever my profession in life, the individuals who shall be my patrons, the facts with which I shall deal, will be the people and facts of the present age. What preparation will better fit me to meet the practical demands of to-day than a seven years' study of the politics, literature, and society of ancient foreign and half-civilized nations?

Perhaps I would be a physician. Then let me devote the best years of my life to the Classics. It is far more important that I should know the derivation of the names of my medicines than their chemical composition; the terms of anatomy than the science itself. It is better to know that AEsculapius raised the dead, than to understand the art of keeping men alive.

The law or the ministry may have charms for me. In either case, dead Latin and Greek are better than living English, German, and French to inspire me for future work.

Possibly I contemplate a business life. Here, too, a knowledge of the ancient tongues is indispensable. Who ever heard of an unclassical man succeeding in business? Are you aware that Stewart and Vanderbilt are as familiar with the laws of augments and reduplications connected with the Greek root as they are with the workings of the same laws upon the root of evil?

And so I love the Classics. I venerate the ancients, because their knowledge of nature was superior to ours, their science more advanced, their ideas of the human relations broader and purer, and, finally, because my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather venerated and studied them before me. "With a loud voice I shall respond to every ruthless attempt to tear from our college course the study of their language: Procul, O procul este, profani."

C. A. D.