The advocates for such a literary institution may reply, that in what has been advanced against it we may perhaps find more glory than profit.  Had an academy been established in this country, we should have possessed all our present advantages, with the peculiar ones of such an institution.  A series of volumes composed by the learned of England had rivalled the precious “Memoirs of the French Academy,” probably more philosophical, and more congenial to our modes of thinking!  The congregating spirit creates by its sympathy; an intercourse exists between its members which had not otherwise occurred; in this attrition of minds, the torpid awakens, the timid is emboldened, and the secluded is called forth; to contradict, and to be contradicted, is the privilege and the source of knowledge.  Those original ideas, hints, and suggestions, which some literary men sometimes throw out once or twice during their whole lives, might here be preserved; and if endowed with sufficient funds, there are important labours, which surpass the means and industry of the individual, which would be more advantageously performed by such literary unions.

An academy of literature can only succeed by the same means in which originated all such academies—­among individuals themselves.  It will not be “by the favour of the MANY, but by the wisdom and energy of the FEW.”  It is not even in the power of royalty to create at a word what can only be formed by the co-operation of the workmen themselves, and of the great taskmaster, Time!

Such institutions have sprung from the same principle, and have followed the same march.  It was from a private meeting that “The French Academy” derived its origin; and the true beginners of that celebrated institution assuredly had no foresight of the object to which their conferences tended.  Several literary friends at Paris, finding the extent of the city occasioned much loss of time in their visits, agreed to meet on a fixed day every week, and chose Conrart’s residence as centrical.  They met for the purposes of general conversation, or to walk together, or, what was not least social, to partake in some refreshing collation.  All being literary men, those who were authors submitted their new works to this friendly society, who, without jealousy or malice, freely communicated their strictures; the works were improved, the authors were delighted, and the critics were honest!  Such was the happy life of the members of this private society during three or four years.  Pelisson, the earliest historian of the French Academy, has delightfully described it:  “It was such that, now when they speak of these first days of the Academy, they call it the golden age, during which, with all the innocence and freedom of that fortunate period, without pomp and noise, and without any other laws than those of friendship, they enjoyed together all which a society of minds, and a rational life, can yield of whatever softens and charms.”