at work which have introduced new words into the English vocabulary. Latin continued to be the language of the church of Rome and of the courts of law; and for many years it seemed as if Latin were destined to become the literary language of England. Even as late as 1600 we find authors translating their works from English into Latin in order that they might survive the longer for being written in the "universal tongue." Thus, besides the Latin which has come into English with the Norman French, many words have come directly from the Latin itself by reason of its long use in law, by the church, and by men of letters. The terminology of science is derived largely from the Greek, and commerce has introduced words from nearly every language on the globe. Each new edition of the dictionary contains words that are not to be found in the editions previously published. One hundred years from now there will be many words in the English language that our generation will never hear nor see.

SPECIMENS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.1

The following extracts from various English translations of the Bible will best exhibit how the language has changed in the course of time:

Nile 3e tresoure to 3ou tresouris in erthe: where rust and mou3te distrieth, and where theues deluen out and stelen, but gadir to 3ou tresouris in heuene where nether rust ne mou3te distrieth, and where theues deluen not out ne stelen, for where thi tresoure is there also thin herte is,

1 From the English Hexapla, London, 1841.

Se that ye gaddre you not treasure vpon the erth, where rust and mothes corrupte, and where theves breake through and steale. But gaddre ye treasure togeder in heven, where nether rust nor mothes corrupte, and where theves nether breake vp nor yet steale. For where soever youre treasure ys there will youre hertes be also.

III. RHEIMS VERSION - 1582.

Heape not vp to your selues treasures on the earth: vvhere the rust & mothe do corrupt, & vvhere theeues digge through & steale.

But heape vp to your selues treasures in heauen: vvhere neither the rust nor mothe doth corrupt, and vvhere theeues do not digge through nor steale.

For vvhere thy treasure is, there is thy hart also.

Lay not vp for your selues treasures vpon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where theeues breake thorow, and steale. But lay vp for your selues treasures in heauen, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where theeues doe not breake thorow nor steale.

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

II.

GOLDSMITH.

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.1

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain;
Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,

Where humble happiness endeared each scene!
How often have I paused on every charm,

The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,

The decent church that topt the neighboring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made!
How often have I blest the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labor free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree,
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old surveyed;
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.
And still, as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown
By holding out to tire each other down;
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter tittered round the place;

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,

The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these,

1 See footnote, p. 12.

With sweet succession, taught even toil to please:
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed:
These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled.
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,

Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn;
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen,
And desolation saddens all thy green:
One only master grasps the whole domain,
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain.
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a solitary guest,

The hollow sounding bittern guards its nest;
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries;
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all,
And the long grass o'ertops the moldering wall;
And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,
Far, far away thy children leave the land.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay :
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made:
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied.

A time there was, ere England's griefs began,
When every rood of ground maintained its man;
For him light labor spread her wholesome store,
Just gave what life required, but gave no more:
His best companions, innocence and health;
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land and dispossess the swain; Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose, And every want to opulence allied,

And every pang that folly pays to pride.

These gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Those calm desires that asked but little room,
SCH. ENG.-17

Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene,
Lived in each look, and brightened all the green;
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore,
And rural mirth and manners are no more.
Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power.
Here, as I take my solitary rounds

Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds,
And, many a year elapsed, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew,
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.

In all my wanderings round this world of care,
In all my griefs and God has given my share-
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose:

I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill,
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ;

And, as an hare whom hounds and horns pursue
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return-and die at home at last.

O blest retirement, friend to life's decline,
Retreats from care, that never must be mine,
How happy he who crowns in shades like these
A youth of labor with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep;
No surly porter stands in guilty state,
To spurn imploring famine from the gate;
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
Bends to the grave with unperceived decay,
While resignation gently slopes the way;