Scholars in Virginia are not generally aware, that the classical Greek pronunciation is thought to exist still in Greece; and that (connecting this fact with the close resemblance of the ancient, to some of the modern dialects _as written_) that rich and elegant language is no longer to be regarded as _dead_. Thus confidently think two intelligent and accomplished natives of Greece, now in Connecticut, who are reputed (no doubt deservedly) to be thorough masters of both the ancient and the modern tongue. In a gratifying interview with one of them (Mr. _Perdicaris_ at New Haven), being curious to hear Homer in his native melody, I prevailed on Mr. P. to read me a few lines of the Illiad. They were by no means musical to my ear--vitiated, doubtless, by the faulty pronunciation to which I had been accustomed, and destitute of those associated ideas, which conduce so largely to the beauty of poetry. He sounds _oi_ dipthong, like _e_; _d_ like TH soft; _g_ like a mere aspiration, as our _h_. The word _poluphloisboio_ ([Greek: poluphloisboio]) so expressively sonorous to our ears when pronounced with the full, swelling _roll_ of the dipthong, he would attenuate into _poluphleesbeeo_--to me much more like the whistling of the wind through a key-hole, than the hoarse, multitudinous roar of an agitated ocean. I spare you, here, a speculation that is passing in my mind, as to how far this diversity between different ears, proves the notion of the _sound's echoing to the sense_ to be merely fanciful; and as to the influence of previous association upon our relish of poetical, and of other beauty--how much, for example, of the native Greek's rapture at Homer, is owing to love of country, and how much of an American's ecstacies to classical enthusiasm, the pride of learning, or the influence of names. Yes, I spare you--partly, because I have not _much_ that is new to say upon the subject; and partly because, if I had, it would be wholly out of season.