tion of the youth, which, with but little elementary knowledge, must adapt itself, like pliant twigs, to the manifold forms of life, and yet is expected at last to grow into a firm and self-dependent tree. Schools without the national language are utter waste of time, and mere places of torture. In them the child contends with the lifeless form, with the mere husk of all practical utility; the kernel he cannot attain to. Thus he squanders four, five, or even more years, and harasses himself with unfruitful blossoms, which merely straggle around the ears, but never strike root into the heart. In what position would our nation now be standing, had it come from schools, where it was addressed in the language, in which the first images would have remained impressed upon the head and heart, and which resounds around it, when it leaves the school—its mother- tongue? Can then our longing be called other than a righteous one, when we wish to gain for this language, through our love and reverence, a position, where, so to speak, an influence is exerted over the whole condition and well-being of the nation?
‘And that this longing of ours is innate within us, is evident from the fact, that nations and languages are united by the firmest bond,—that it is impossible to conceive a language without a nation, or a nation
