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and arouse the mind to act upon it. A thousand precepts against the hideous distortion caused by tight stays would not be half so effective as an exhibition of the organs in the cavity of the thorax,-or a discovery of the facility with which the lower ribs may be bent by pressure. Knowledge of this kind would be an effective aid to physical education. It would remove a host of popular prejudices. It would destroy the trust in confident empirics, and the distrust of regular practitioners. It would enable a patient, and those about him, to afford to a medical attendant that hearty coöperation which in nine cases out of ten facilitates-if it is not requisite to-recovery. To females the study is peculiarly needful. "The theory of society," in the words of Dr. Southwood Smith, "according to its present institutions, supposes that this knowledge is possessed by the mother." She is intrusted with the first and most important part of the physical and moral education of the child. Mothers, in fact, make society what it is; for the physical and moral tendencies which make up char. acter, are generally communicated or excited before the child passes from the sphere of his mother's influence. There is thus a twofold necessity for making this study a part of female education,-to enable women, as individuals, to protect their own health and coöperate in their own physical education, and to enable them as mothers to do all that enlightened reflectiveness can for the happiness of the beings intrusted to them. In addition to these great and obvious utilities, the study of man's physical structure deserves a first place in education as matter of science. No object in external nature presents combinations so varied and beautiful, or instances of adjustment so likely to fill a young mind with wonder and veneration, as the exquisite mechanism of life.

Nor can it be doubted that a knowledge of the human structure, not vague and general, but with considerable minuteness of detail, can be conveyed in an agreeable manner to children. The well-known publication of Dr. Southwood Smith, on the "Philosophy of Health," contains an account of the structure and functions of the human body, which is not only a model of beautiful exposition, but has been found in practice an admirable manual for imparting this kind of knowledge. The whole, or in any case, the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters, of the first volume, might be acquired in no very long period; and there is no existing school study which it would not with great advantage displace. Upon the principle of teaching by reality, the objects themselves should, as far as possible, be presented. A collection of human bones ought to form a part of the apparatus of every school. An idea might be formed of several organs from an exhibition of those of animals. A sheep's heart, for instance, which might always be procured, would give a vivid conception of the human organ, and so of others. The deficiency of real objects might be supplied by colored anatomical plates, which, like many other expensive articles, would become cheap, if a general sense of their utility in education led to an extended demand for them.

A knowledge, not quite so accurate, but still sufficiently so to serve many important purposes, of the powers of his own mind, might also be communicated to the child. Much of the misery with which the world abounds is the result of acts performed from impulse without reflection. To those whose attention from childhood has been absorbed by external objects so as never to have been directed to the operations of their own minds, it seems the most natural thing in the word to give way to a strong impulse. To pause upon the

trains of their ideas and feelings, and subject their impulses to examination, are to some persons impossible, and to most extremely difficult. The unpleasantness of the effort accompanying these states of mind hurries men for relief to any decision. There are few persons unsuccessful in life who can not trace their misfortunes to some inconsiderate impulse, some course determined upon hastily to escape the painful balancing of reflection. Habits of reflectiveness are essential to steadiness of conduct; and they may, by early training, be made easy and familiar as the series of complicated muscular motions by which the hand goes through the process of writing.

A child, whose faculties have been properly called out by previous intellectual training, will have little difficulty in receiving correct notions of the use of his organs of sense-(he will be familiar with their material structure from the previous study)-in giving him a knowledge of the sensible qualities of external objects. He will readily discover that what he has once seen, felt, heard, tasted, or smelt, may be remembered; and thus, that of all sensations there are corresponding ideas. The synchronous and successive associations—the combination of several into one, and the separation of one into several-the mental grouping of like objects together, under one name, and the mental separation of unlike ones the detection of the different relations of position, proportion, resemblance, difference, and comprehension, and of the composition of the trains called processes of reasoning-in short, the whole phenomena of intellect will easily follow. Nor will it be difficult to make the child discover, that there are certain motives or desires which lead him to act as he does; that he eats in obedience to the impulse of appetite; that he strikes from anger, or desire to do others injury; that he is pleased when others approve of his conduct, and pained by their disapprobation; that he loves certain individuals, and would give up his pleasures for theirs; that it is pleasant to make others happy; that some of these desires require to be controlled, and that all are to be regulated by the reasoning faculties. In the acquirement of this knowledge the young mind would be led to turn its attention upon itself, and so to form habits of selfexamination. A great insight into human motives would thus be gained, and an extraordinary correctness of moral judgment both on self and others. Reflectiveness, the true soil for the growth of whatever is best in character, would be made general; and the public opinion of a school would acquire such a justness and force, as to become a powerful engine of moral education. It would be difficult to point out a book perfectly adapted to give this knowledge to children. The purpose might be answered by a judicious abridgment of Brown's Lectures, or, still better, by a small compilation from the works of Berkeley, Hartley, Adam Smith, Stewart, Brown, and Mill, and the phrenological writings of Mr. Coombe and some others; avoiding all great disputed questions, and confined to those expositions of the human faculties which may be considered as established. As matter of science, and as affording perpetual illustrations of the Divine wisdom and goodness, the philosophy of the mind is even more deserving of a place in education than the study of man's physical structure. The double necessity of making it a part of female education holds likewise; for in addition to its use for moral guidance and self-government, it is especially needful for the mother, to whom nature and society intrust the early rearing of the child.

Other sciences, as Political Economy, the elements of which ought to enter into general education, need not be particularly remarked upon.

There is one subject which requires a short consideration before passing to the third branch of education, or that which relates to the formation of moral character.

It may be thought extravagant to propose the cultivation of a taste for poetry as a regular part of education, especially for the poorer classes. Yet education, which seeks to develop the faculties of a human being, must be very inadequate if it neglects the culture of the imagination. The power of poetic creation is, indeed, the rarest of endowments, but the power of enjoyment is general. The highest human mind differs not in kind, but in degree, from the humblest. The deepest principles of science discovered by the slow toil of the greatest men, the loftiest imaginings of the poet, having once been revealed in the form of human conceptions, and embodied in language, become the common property of the race, and all who go out of life without a share in these treasures, which no extent of participation diminishes, have lost the richest portion of their birthright. Man rarely feels the dignity of his nature in the small circle of his common cares. It is when brought into communion with the great spirits of the present and the past,-when he beholds the two worlds of imagi nation and reality in the light of Shakspeare's genius,— -or is filled with the sacred sublimities of Milton,- -or from Wordsworth learns the beauty of common things, and catches a glimpse of those “clouds of glory" out of which his childhood came.-that he feels the elevating sense of what he is and may become. In this high atmosphere, so bracing to the moral nerves, no selfish or sordid thoughts can live.

But assuredly there is no class in society to whom the sustainment of such communion is more requisite than to the largest and poorest. The harshness of the realities about them requires its softening and soothing influence. It is a good which they may have with no evil attendant. Its purifying excitement may displace stimulants which brutalize and degrade them. Let it not be said that a poetic taste would turn their thoughts from their occupations, or fill them with discontent. Their thoughts will and must fly at times from their occupa tions, and find forgetfulness in snatches of drunken revelry, from which they return to labor with double distaste, in mental and bodily exhaustion. A power of enjoying the beauty of poetic creations would afford an easier and far more delicious oblivion of their sorrows. It would send them back tranquilized and refreshed-reanimated with hope and faith for the continued struggle of exist ence. While poetry continues a rare enjoyment, a taste for it may sometimes suggest vain ambition and discontent, but let it be made a universal possession, and it will no more puff up than the common capability of mechanical or manual labor. But it is sufficient for the argument that poetry appeals to faculties common to all. That is our warrant for their educational development. Who shall pronounce that capacities given by God ought to lie idle? Who shall put out the love of beauty which he has kindled? Who shall exclude the bulk of mankind from that rich heritage of noble thoughts, which has been bequeathed, with no restrictions, to the whole human family?

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The practical working of this part of education will have many difficulties; but none which enlightened observation must not ultimately overcome. taste for poetry, of course, can only be awakened in a child by a mature mind which possesses it. Simple and progressive pieces, chiefly narrative, containing natural sentiments, should be presented as a pleasure and a reward. Selections

might be made from Goldsmith, Cowper, Scott, Mary Howitt, and others. With constant care to avoid disgust by too long continuance, by unintelligibility, or by exciting the associations of a task, the child would feel poetry an enjoyment, and his powers of appreciation would gradually unfold themselves. The use of tales about fairies, genii, and other supernaturalisms, or of juvenile novels in childhood,—their applicability to individual characters-the means of cherishing a love of the beautiful in art and in nature—in a word, the culture of the imagination is a deeply interesting and almost untrodden field of investigation; but the present purpose does not require the further prosecution of the topic.

MORAL EDUCATION.

The human body may attain its noblest perfection of health and strengththe observation may be acute-the intellect profound—the imagination rich; and yet these varied and glorious powers be turned to evil. Strength may support tyranny, acuteness and depth raise up obstacles to truth, and imagination spend its gorgeous eloquence in the service of the basest vices. The work is incomplete if the moral nature remains uncultivated. Physical and intellectual education aim at the perfection of the instruments, which may become splendid implements of evil if moral education does not succeed in regulating the power which is to use them.

When the child is hanging at his mother's breast his moral education is going on. His impulses are growing into those habits of action which will constitute his moral character. His pleasures come from his mother, and his pains are relieved by her. His little heart is drawn towards her with the first movements of affection. By her, and at this early period, the foundation of moral education ought to be laid. His dawning feelings should be watched over by a patient and thinking love. His affection for his mother should be gently led to embrace other beings, and raised reverently to God, as the cause of all his hap piness, and the living Father of all.

It would be idle to expect, however, in the present state of society, that the mother's precious opportunities should be generally made use of. Many minds must bestow their energies upon education before mothers can be brought to feel their most important duties, or become capable of discharging them. Meanwhile, the practical course is to consider what can be done for moral education by the professional educator.

In the first place, he must seek to supply the omissions of the mother. Hav ing obtained as much power as possible over the pains and pleasures of the child, he must use it to obtain the child's affection. Nothing but real fondness will do this. The teacher should struggle to have a mother's sympathy with the pains and pleasures of the child, and aim at its utmost present happiness consistent with its future good. Real affection, which will manifest itself not merely in action, but in every look and tone, will not fail to meet a return. The human heart, and particularly the child's heart, "leaps kindly back to kindness." By the love thus excited the moral character must be unfolded.

The affection of the child soon shows itself in little acts of kindness to those whom it loves. Every such act should be acknowledged, not with praise, but with affection in return, showing itself in its natural language of looks and caresses. Nothing is too trifling to deserve notice. The first buddings of the infant feelings must be feeble, and a slight chill may wither or destroy them.

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Only by the most delicate and assiduous cultivation can they be reared up to their full vigor and beauty. When a child offers some little gift, great to him, and which he thinks must be equally pleasurable to us, if we slight or neglect it, he is hurt and confused. The good impulse is disappointed, and therefore weakened. If we cause him to feel that he can not make us happy, he will cease to make the attempt; and so love perishes in his heart. We should attend to every act of kindness, think of it as it is in his thoughts, and respond to the feelings which prompted it. We must, if possible, not let one of those precious impulses be wasted, but so treat them as to encourage a repetition, until they acquire the strength and permanence of habit.

If we select the moments when a child is enjoying some particular pleasure, to point out to him how others may be made to enjoy pleasure also, his sympathy will be excited, and his efforts prompted to communicate happiness. His attention may easily be drawn to the symptoms of suffering in others, and his natural impulse will be to relieve it. We must be careful, however, not to excite his feelings of compassion, except where he can do something to alleviate the pain which calls them forth. When his good impulses are watched, and his little acts of kindness receive the sympathy which is their due, the kind dispositions will be strengthened into habits. He will find it a delight of a very exquisite kind to communicate happiness to others. He will find additional satisfaction in the increased kindness and esteem of those about him, and he will find his own little pleasures made doubly sweet by being enjoyed along with companions.

But RELIGION ought to be the basis of education, according to often repeated writings and declamations. The assortion is true. Christianity furnishes the true basis for raising up character; but the foundation must be laid in a very different manner from that which is commonly practiced.

In nothing is more ignorance of the nature of the human constitution shown, than in the modes by which it is attempted to implant religion in the young mind. In no other part of education (where almost all has been empiricism and practical denial of the existence of mental laws) has there been so resolute a disregard of the dictates of common sense; and the general cowardice of opin ion on such matters has tended to perpetuate absurdities in defiance of repeated exposure. It must be admitted that to love God and our fellow-men is the great law of Christianity. It is not enough that these principles should be mere conclusions of the intellect, still less that they should dwell only in external profession. They should have possession of the innermost stronghold of man's heart. They should enter into his home of familiar and cherished feelings, and be blended with his ruling motives, that they may have power to inspire him with allegiance to the law of duty in the most trying contingencies, and to uphold him in the shipwreck of earth's hopes and happiness.

Now if the love of God, including, as it must, the steadfast faith in the tendency of his works to good, is to be the great central reality of human existence, how may we lay the foundation for it in the mind of the child? By the constitution of his nature he loves those things which excite agreeable feelings, and dislikes their opposites. Things kind, beautiful, and harmonious, are loveable; things cruel, severe, discordant, tedious, are fearful and hateful. If, therefore, we begin to lead a child to God, by teaching creeds or catechisms beyond his comprehension, or by causing him to read and repeat Scripture, be

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