IN some of our colleges, where the modern
languages are taught, the instruction is
not made practical enough to be of any sub
stantial advantage. Without the aid of
thorough class-room drill in any language the
student will possess little else than a vague
idea of its true beauty and usefulness. We
allude particularly to the study of German,
although the same state may be said to exist
in the study of French or any other of the
modern languages. The practical part, and
the part which seems to be mostly neglected,
is the translating of our language into that of
the foreigner, There is necessity of thor
ough class-room drill. The reading and
translating of standard German works may
be highly entertaining, but it will not place
the language at the student’s command
in order that he may use it whenever
circumstances require it. To do this will
require practice, for it is expressing an Eng
lish thought in German words. This practice
can be obtained, and even in the class-room,
but it must be a talking, rather than a read
ing class. In the study of German, for
instance, let nothing be spoken save in the
German tongue And furthermore, let the
drill be conversational in its tendency, in order
to reach its desired end—a practical knowl-
To many, such a matter may seem trivial
and unworthy of their attention ; but never
theless, it will ever be a source of regret to a
College graduate to meet a native German or
Frenchman, and find how little his study has
repaid him when he cannot speak their
language.
Our observation has taught us that this is
the condition of the graduates of most of
our colleges.
THE FREE LANCE.
First,—
Why wns I bom to live this life
Of sin and toil, of pain and strife ?
These mnny years I’ve toiled in vain
In search of things that men count gain
I laugh to hear them talk of joy
For which they happy words employ,
And claim this life is full of bliss
Though hanging o’er Fate’s precipice.
A base delusion are their words
That leads the multitude in herds;
It blinds the eye, and shuts the ear,
And makes men quasi content here.
Second.—
First,—
Second.—
Oh, friend ! when first I answered you
1 sought to wound as arrows do;
I sought to hill your sinful mood,
But now I find ’twould have been rude;
For in your heart love is unknown,
And in the dark your mind has grown
Subsisting on the basest food
That demon angels could include.
I pity you! God pity too !
Tlie heart that has been given you
Does not know wliat it is to love
And lead the mind to things above,
ONLY TWO NATURES
JOHN SMITH
What stuff is this your mind contains?
I had not dreamed such poisonous stains
Could e’er pollute a soul’s abode
Or be to man so sharp a goad.
A life of toil makes pleasures sweet,
And pain and strife we all must meet
If we would find the love and power
That hold the key to pleasure's tower.
What cursed virus irritates
The brain that foully contemplates
The sacred things of life, in thought
Like this you to my ear have brought!
Stir not! In normal health my mind
Is now expressing just the kind
Of thought that l always it would give
While forced in this cold world to live.
The pleasures sweet you nominate,
Within your mind do formulate,
And by these words—mere empty sounds-
You swell to wonders nowhere found.
You live in hope, you are deceived;
You’ve lost tlie joy, your heart is grieved;
And all that men call love and peace
Is the verbal nothing they release.