judicious correct them. Let him, whose heart can indite a good matter, and him who has the pen of a ready writer, bring his offering of earnest thoughts and words, to the great cause. Let the active give range to their activity, wide as the regions of ignorance, and vice, and misery. Let some devote themselves to the suppression of intemperance. Let others search our prisons, and listen to the groans or the execrations that long have issued from them, unheard and unpitied. Let others still, build up the waste places of Zion, or go forth and erect altars to the true God, amidst the fanes of idolatry. Let the learned contribute their knowledge to this great work, the lofty their influence, the wise their legislation, the powerful their authority. Let the tone of education, and morality, and religion, be raised. Let the eloquent give their exhortation, and the rich of their wealth, and the faithful their endeavours, and the good their prayers, to the one great, united, universal effort, to make the world better and happier. Something of all this, we thank God, is beginning to be done; and we trust that what has been accomplished is only a pledge for what is yet to be undertaken.

In this wide field of exertion, however, we are led at present to direct our attention to a single point; and we are not sure, that it is not the central and most prominent point of all. We mean, the diffusion of useful knowledge; and we mean by useful knowledge, all that information of every kind which may contribute to the welfare and happiness of human society. Let us make man intelligent. Let us try a new experiment for his improvement, and let us put it on the basis of his understanding. This is the only foundation on which to rear for him any exalted character or permanent happiness. His very virtues and affections are valueless without intelligence. And true devotion, the right contemplation of God, is the noblest act of reason, as well as the noblest exercise of feeling. And we aver, that the experiment we propose, never yet has been tried on a large scale. Rome had her gifted and eloquent men, but her citizens were not intelligent. The Athenians were an acute people, but their acuteness appeared chiefly in wit and trifling. And the modern civilized world has not pretended to show any large masses of intelligent population, except in Scotland and in this country. But we are afraid that the intelligence of our own people is much overrated. We cannot call him an intelligent man, who is all his life long turning over soils, of which

he knows not the properties, or the process of improving, or who is using diagrams in mechanism, of which he understands none of the principles, or who, in political affairs, gives his suffrage at the instance of a party, without being able to assign any good reason for his choice, or, in fine, who, with a perfect dread of religious inquiry, takes the creed which his teacher delivers him. We should expect that those whose minds had been turned to the real love of knowledge-a thing that our schools hitherto have had very little tendency to bring aboutwould at least gain an acquaintance with those things, with which they are brought into close and continual contact.

It seems to us, moreover, and by itself considered, a grievous wrong to the human mind, that it should pass through a world like this, in such ignorance as generally prevails, of all the wonders it contains. It is a wrong, if we might say so, to the Creator. He has spread around us, on every side, miracles of his power and wisdom. He has filled all nature with the most beautiful and wonderful evidences of design and benevolence. He has crowded all the forms of animal and vegetable life, with models of unequalled art. He has fearfully and wonderfully made the human frame-made it, as one has said, 'a cluster of contrivances,'—and to what end has he done all this, but that it should be seen and understood? He has placed in this world one being, and only one that is capable of understanding it; and is it not an unnatural stupidity, and a grievous misfortune in this sole pupil of nature, if he knows nothing about it? This knowledge is not afar off, but it is nigh' to him. He cannot step from his door, but elements, forms, principles, illustrations press around him, as it were, and solicit his attention. The light, the air, the ocean, the solid earth are all filled with wonders. Philosophers who have inquired into these things, come back, and report to us the discovery of new worlds-worlds within worlds, beneath the covering of every animal and plant, and in the structure of every flower of the field, and every shell of the sea-shore. Each department of that world of mechanism which is found in every vegetable, and insect, is made the subject of Philosophical Transactions, and elaborate works of science. And yet the mass of mankind pass through this magnificent theatre, richer than all that human imagination could devise and human art frame, as ignorant of its interior structure and symmetry, and the skill of its Architect, as if they had lived upon a barren mountain, or in a

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subterranean mine. A world of wonders and beauties is, as it were, thrown away upon them.—And it is not for the want of time, that they are ignorant of all this. It does not require profound learning to understand it. Much time and study are indeed requisite for the examination of these subjects; but the results, the important results, are few, simple, and intelligible. Of the time which the active and the laborious portion of the world, which the body of mankind enjoys for leisure and amusement, one tenth part would be sufficient for the most material and important acquisitions in useful science. Neither is there any want of means, of funds, to procure books, and form libraries. There is a want of nothing, necessary to the end, but inclination.

And it is from awakening this inclination among men, it is from the diffusion of useful knowledge of every sort, among the body of mankind, that we derive one of our strongest grounds of hope for human nature, and for the world. It was, for this reason, that we hailed the establishment of the mechanics' associations of England. And it is with the same hope and interest, that we now look for some aid in the great cause, to the Lyceums of this country.-We shall ask the indulgence of our readers for a few remarks on the plan now proposed for spreading scientific and other useful knowledge among the body of our people.

There is not very much to be said of this institution; or at least, not much is necessary. The project of Lyceums is a very simple one; very congenial to the tastes of the people of this country, and much more novel in its name, than in its principles and objects. If Lyceums had been called 'Library Societies,' which they might as well, the people of New England, at least, would have felt quite familiar with them; for social libraries have always been known in almost all our villages and townships. Only connect with the purchasing of a library, regular meetings of its proprietors for mutual conference and improvement, to be carried on by means of conversation, debates, dissertations, or lectures, as the case may be, and you have a Lyceum. Apparatus, models, &c., for illustrating the sciences, would be obtained, as the wants of the institution required, or its resources would permit ; and in villages considerable enough to justify the expense, buildings might be erected, with rooms for the library, lectures, apparatus, &c.;

or schoolhouses a little enlarged, would very well answer the purpose. This is the whole of the strange business, with the mystery of its new name, that is now attracting the attention of the good people of our New England States; and if we understand their character, it will attract more attention.

With regard to the name we make an extract from Mr Greene's Address.

'As there always is, or ought to be, some meaning in a name, the question has very naturally been asked, What is the meaning of this name which you have assumed? At the risk of appearing to take upon myself the superfluous task of explaining to many what they better know than I know how to tell them, I will answer the question. In the prosperous days of ancient Greece, her territory was divided into many small, but independent republics. Among these, Athens was distinguished for her attainments in literature and the arts; nearly all the historians, orators, and poets of that age were hers, and to the schools of her philosophers the youths of other nations resorted for instruction. The place where Plato delivered his lectures was designated as the Academy, and that appropriated to Aristotle was known as the Lyceum. These were beautiful groves in the suburbs of Athens, with shaded walks and porticos adapted to the accommodation of the teachers and their pupils.'-' Aristotle usually delivered his lectures while walking in the grove of the Lyceum' and 'we think there is a peculiar fitness in this name; for the plan upon which these institutions are to be conducted partakes more nearly of the popular character of the lectures of the Athenian schools than any modern system of instruction with which we are acquainted.' pp. 7, 8.

This address of Mr Greene is a very sensible and judicious performance. We wish that many of our Lyceums might give as good augury, in their opening addresses, of the ability and discernment, with which their objects will be prosecuted. The writer has evidently looked around him with an observant eye, and has given just what the occasion demanded, an address, local and appropriate; a discourse, encouraging to exertion by pointing out the way. Most of the topics are too local, indeed, to warrant us in making extracts. We take a single passage further, on the moral advantages to be expected from Lyceums.

'I shall not feel that I have discharged the whole duty which the occasion calls for at my hands, without adverting again more particularly to the moral benefit which may be anticipated from this association. From all the divisions, ranks, and classes of

society, we are to meet here on neutral ground; with one common object in view, to which the efforts of all will be directed. We come, as has been already said, to teach and to be taught in our turn; to instruct and to be instructed. While we mingle together in these pursuits, we shall learn to know each other more intimately; we shall remove many of the prejudices which ignorance or partial acquaintance with each other had fostered. These prejudices are mutual; every man has doubtless his share. In the parties and sects into which we are divided, we sometimes learn to love our brother at the expense of him whom we do not in so many respects regard as a brother. If at one place we are in danger of imbibing these exclusive and antisocial feelings, we must go to another place to forget them; and we are erecting here an altar, on which many of our mistaken, rather than misanthropic prejudices will be laid, and from which we may return to our homes and our firesides with kindlier feelings towards one another, because we have learned to know one another better.' p. 18.

We do not hesitate to say that we look with much expectation to the Lyceum, should it succeed, as a place for the cultivation of a manly self-respect and christian liberality, superior to the low, sectarian jealousies and prejudices that now so much prevail. Its probable moral effect, too, especially upon young men entering into the active business or the laborious occupations of life, appears to us as a feature of great promise. Let any man become interested in a social institution of this kind; let him become familiar with its library and its lecture room; let him anticipate, with pleasure, the evening of assembling; let there be ties thus formed between the reading of his fireside and an association of friends and fellow citizens, all eager in the pursuit of knowledge; and how many beautiful fountains have you opened to that mind, how many objects more interesting than all the allurements of vice, how many safeguards of virtue, have you placed around him!

In one respect, the Lyceum is an experiment. It is an experiment upon the general intelligence and love of knowledge. But this is the only source of doubt upon the subject. There can be no question of its utility, if it is entered into with heartiness, and carried on with spirit. It is certainly a mode of pursuing knowledge, that possesses some peculiar attractions and advantages. It is social, mutual, communicative. A man often gains a double knowledge of a subject, by undertaking to communicate his ideas upon it. And that which is brought forward