fused. He finds no arm on which to lean-no kind mentor to guide him in the right path. He must grope in darkness, and grapple with difficulties, until he finds the right way for himself—and then he must climb the steep ascent of knowledge by his own unaided efforts. No companion to cheer his solitary way, nor point the beauties of the landscape. But these very difficulties make the man. With such a man, the mind is not a passive thing, but an active agent—all its powers are wakened up and made to put forth their utmost strength-they become vigorous by self-exertion-the mind feels the presence and the power of greatness--it travails in its own strength, and with a giant's bound leaps every obstacle. Need we pursue this subject farther, in order to show that the object of education has been entirely misunderstood? After what has already been said, will it excite surprise when we declare that the business of an instructor is not to teach the scholar, but to learn him to teach himself?-not to tote him, but to lead him? Will it be called extravagance, when we say that the least aid a teacher gives to a scholar the better? It may then be asked, where is the use of a teacher? If the scholar is to do all for himself, surely it is an unnecessary expense to procure a teacher. We answer, that a teacher possessing the character just described, is of immense importance-his worth cannot be calculated. If he does nothing more than to force the scholar to rely on his own resources, and not on the help of others, he has done more than all your plodding, matter-of-fact teachers have done since the foundation of the world. Surely there can be no need of argument to prove this-it is the very principle on which all nature operates. Does not the mother lead her little toddling child into the floor-then gently withdraw the finger and leave the child to totter along for itself? Should it fall, does she not raise it to make another trial, until by repeated efforts, and repeated falls, it acquires strength in its limbs and confidence in its own powers? Does not the mother-bird take out her newly fledged young upon her wing--then drop it in mid air to flutter and fly for itself? We repeat, therefore, that reason and nature tell us, that the main business of the instructor is to unfold the powers--to strengthen them by forcing the child to self-exertion--and to create a confidence in his own powers and resources by teaching the scholar to rely on no other aid save his own. fold them at all than to guide them improperly afterwards. The teacher who understands the profession which he has undertaken, can communicate the elements of knowledge in the shortest and the most effectual way. And at the same time that he is communicating the imperishable principles of knowledge, he is strengthening the powers of the mind. it. Let us illustrate this principle by an example. Take arithmetic-the most elementary branch of mathematics. As commonly taught, it is of very little practical advantage, and no improvement whatsoever to the mind. Scholars are made to commit certain rules to memory, and solve problems mechanically by these rules, without ever seeing the necessity or the reason of the rule. Ask them why they do a sum one way rather than another—their answer is, the rule says so. But why does the rule say so? Do you see no reason for No, sir! the rule says I must work so and so, and the answer will come. But why, I don't know. Now what possible good can come of such instruction? When the young man quits his school, and forgets his rule, (as he must, for he saw no reason in it,) he can no longer cipher. He must then begin, after his youth has been squandered away, to make an arithmetic of his own, or be content to live in ignorance the balance of his days. What improvement has it been to his mind? He has committed the multiplication table to memory, and practised his fingers on the slate—and that is all. The reason of things were never dreamed of by him nor his teacher. The Automaton Chess Player can give as good a reason for the move which he makes on the board, as our hopeful scholar can give for his rule-although he has ciphered through and through the whole of Pike! Now, we ask, if this is not the way in which arithmetic is generally taught? It is much the easiest way-the pupil will make a much greater show of progress, and a greater parade at an examination, which is the main object (sorry to say) of most teachers. Is arithmetic ever taught as a science, based upon reason and the necessity of things? Is not every thing communicated to the mind of the pupil, arbitrary and constrained? And is it not a consequence that young men spend years at arithmetic, and after all, are not able to solve a problem which varies a hair's breadth from some rule to which they have been accustomed? When this task is accomplished, there still remains an important part for the skilful teacher to perform. How different is the course pursued by the skilful When the powers of the mind have been once awaken- and the conscientious teacher. He does nothing for ed and kindled with an enthusiastic love of knowledge, which he cannot give a reason perfectly satisfactory to the instructor must then act as a guide to his pupil- the youngest mind. He begins with the pears and apples employ his powers upon useful subjects-restrain him of the child-makes him add, subtract, multiply, and from improper indulgences, and encourage him in the divide among his little brothers and sisters-the whole severe toil of mental labor. When a child has just matter is brought down to his senses-he is made to see learned to walk, the restless activity of his limbs is per- the reason of every process, and to give his full assent petually leading him into danger; he must be con- to every principle. The mathematical powers of the stantly watched to be kept out of danger. So when mind are thus unfolded-a habit of mathematical reathe mind is first properly developed, its restless curi-soning acquired. And the pupil is carried on, step by osity becomes impetuous-it leads him to search for step, until he can solve the most difficult problems by pleasure and gratification wherever it may be found, the force of his own reasoning alone, without the help regardless of the consequences-then comes the inte- of any arbitrary rule. He knows no rules-he wants resting and responsible part of the teacher's duty-none. He would not confuse his mind with them. He better not unfold and strengthen the powers of the has learned principles, simple and imperishable. He mind than to do it for evil purposes-better not un- has cultivated his faculty of mathematical reasoning; and you had just as well attempt to destroy the mind it- | of the parent and the pupil. The severe exercise of self as his capability of mathematical calculations-for mind which he requires, will be revolting to the badly this capability is one of the constituent parts of the mind itself. By this means not only the soundest knowledge is communicated; but it is communicated in the shortest time. taught and undisciplined mind of youth-the plain and unostentatious way which he pursues-the entire abandonment of all rewards and distinctions-all stimulants to rivalry and emulation-will be a cause of complaint to most parents, who love to see their children distin have studied a great many things, whether they know any thing about them or not. Thus thoroughly furnished, and endowed withal with the patience of a Job, an instructor may indulge some hope of success, in that most arduous, responsible, and delicate task-the education of youth. But, the teacher has not yet discharged all his duties, when he has unfolded the powers of the mind, and communicated the elements of all science. Many things are to be learned which cannot be found in books-many ideas and notions necessary for the ordinary affairs of life, are not to be found in any treatisemany precepts to be derived only from the lips of the living teacher. One imbued with wisdom and expe In every science there are a few fundamental princi-guished at an examination, and love to hear that they ples; which, when stript of all circumstances, become plain and almost self-evident truths. An active and vigorous mind can seize them at once. And a knowledge of these principles is all that such a mind requires-it can run out the details for itself whenever occasion may require. For instance, when the principle on which the multiplication table is formed, is once thoroughly understood by the scholar, the drudgery of committing the table to memory may be dispensed with-by practice he will soon be able to multiply all sums under twelve or fifteen without resorting to a table for the purpose-hence, when the mind has been first prepared and the seed or first elements of knowledge sown, the native powers of the mind acting on these elements will do the rest-just as the husbandman has only to pre-rience can communicate valuable information every mopare the soil, sow the seed, and leave the rest to nature. Let us illustrate this important principle by another example. Music, as generally taught, is a worthless thing. The pupil is made to learn a few tunes mechanically on some instrument. The fingers and the musical memory are alone exercised. The reasoning powers of the mind have no part nor lot in the matter. The pupil never suspects that music is any thing more than a combination of sound produced by arbitrary rule. He is not aware that it is a perfect science, founded on the most abstruse principles of mathematics and natural philosophy. Now, if the same course were pursued in music as we have pointed out in arithmetic, he would be made to acquire important principles, and at the same time would receive a valuable exercise to the mind. He will not then go home and forget all that had been learned, he will have learned principles which cannot be eradicated from the mind-because they become incorporated and form a part of the mind. Music will then become (as it ought to be,) one of the most important and profitable branches of education. Pleasure will become a handmaid to science-wisdom and the graces will be companions to each other, and will steal knowledge into the mind along the chords of melody. Now every body will say that all this is very plain and reasonable; and surely must be easy to do. It is certainly a plain truth; but who has practised it? To practise it, the teacher himself must have a profound knowledge of the science he professes to teach, so as to know what are truly the fundamental principles of the science. He must be so thoroughly acquainted with the constitution of the mind, as to know what faculties are to be exercised for the reception of these principles. He must be so conscientious in the discharge of his duties, so ardently devoted to the public good, as to pursue the course which reason tells him is right, whether it be for his own private interest or not. He must have the moral courage to withstand the clamor and opposition of those who can neither understand nor appreciate his motives. He must have prepared himself to encounter difficulties both on the part with Order the office u or at P. D. ment of his life. Around the social hearth or the board, in the fields or by the way-side, he may instil into the mind, knowledge far more valuable than any which can be acquired by the study of logic, mathematics, Latin, or Greek. By apt illustration and pleasing incidents, he may reveal the secrets and the passions of the human heart-may excite and unfold the noble and the social virtues, and all those tender affections, which constitute the better and the only redeeming part of our fallen nature. The most useful thing to a young pupil is to develope, and at the same time, purify his sentiments, inclinations, and passions. But this most extensive branch of our subject, must be deferred to another occasion. The teacher can do more by his example than by all the motives which can be presented to the mind. Socrates kindled in the minds of his pupils the love of knowledge, more effectually by his example, than by all his precepts, wise and instructive as they were. Wherever he might be found, in the market place, in the street, or in the groves of Academus, the love of wisdom seemed to be his only animating spirit. Not even that termagant of a wife, Xantippe, could disturb his contemplative mind. His pupils caught the ardor and devotion of their master, and made themselves the most eminent men of Greece. Philosophers, and the warriors, the statesmen, orators, and poets of that day, and of succeeding ages, were the pupils and disciples of Socrates. We are creatures of imitation and example, is omnipotent. What made Washington and Bonaparte so successful in their campaigns? their own example. On the eve of some great battle, when all was doubtful, and the fate of thousands suspended on that one event, did they then calmly harangue their armies on the importance of valor and the necessity of victory-then retire to the rear and send on their soldiers to brave danger alone, and to toil in the conflict without a leader? Did they not rather brace themselves up to the great occasion? With an eye darting unusual fire, with a bosom dilated by strong hope, they marched to the front rank, brandished their sword in mid air, and cried come on, follow me to victory or to death. Was there a soldier who did not feel the electric influence of such example? Was there a soldier, who did not grasp his sword with double vigor, and swear, come life, come death, to follow his glorious leader? What could stand before such men, animated by such example? Even so triumphant success must inevitably crown the exertions of every pupil, who is animated by the example of a master, that leads the way in the search after knowledge-who shows by his life that he values wisdom above rubies-who mounts up before him, the hill of science, and beckons him to follow-who shows by his animation and his enthusiasm, that he indeed looks out on a glorious landscape-so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospects, and melodious sound, on every side, that the harp of Orpheus were not more charming, Would you have a scholar of a bold and original mind, he must have a master of the same character, as Philip, Alexander, Aristotle. Nothing but genius can elicit genius. If the master be a chamois hunter in the pursuit of knowledge, the pupil will become a chamois hunter also. The self-educated man must always labor under a disadvantage, when brought in comparison with the scholar, whose mind has been properly developed and trained from the beginning, by the hands of a skilful master. The difficulties the self-educated man had to encounter, the many errors he made in the outset, have given him a bold and independent mind, but one of limited information and contracted views. The two characters may not be unaptly compared to the two great rulers of the animal kingdom-the lion, king of beasts-the eagle, king of birds. The walks of the lion are confined within a narrow compass-he never travels beyond the region in which he was born-the sun that rises in the morning finds him in the same spot when it goes down at night-he lives only on one kind of food. The luxuriant plants of a torrid clime in vain spread their delicacies before him-the blood and flesh of animals constitute his repast-when they fail, he is without resource. But, within the limited space where he lives, he is absolute master, and the terror of every thing that hath breathwhen he lifts his voice in thunder, the earth tremblesthe beasts of the field start with sudden affright and flee to their coverts. To the chamois hunter, a love of the chase has become a passion; though he were sure that he must be precipitated from some mountain crag, and that the So with the self-educated man-his knowledge is snow must be his winding sheet, he would not exchange confined within a narrow space—but in that limit, he is his pursuits for the wealth of India, or for the throne master absolute, without a rival-upon his own ground, of a Russian Autocrat. Carried away by the excite-none dare oppose him-his word is law-he is the lion ment of the chase, he knows no danger. He crosses of his tribe-but only of his tribe-his authority, elsethe snows, without thinking of the abysses which they where, is not known-as a professional man, he feels may cover-he plunges in the most dangerous passes the power of a giant in his own peculiar department-but of the mountains-he climbs up, he leaps from rock to beyond that, he is shorn of his strength and his glory; rock, without considering how he may return. The all is darkness and confusion-he is conscious that he night often finds him in the heat of the pursuit. But has ventured beyond his safe depth, and feels the impohe passes the night-not at the foot of a tree, nor in a tency of a stripling. He feels that he does not possess cave covered with verdure, as does the hunter of the those resources, which can only be acquired by a thoplain-but upon a naked rock, or upon a heap of rough rough education-" that education, which," in the lanstones, without a shelter. He is alone, without fire, guage of Milton, "fits a man to perform skilfully, justly, without light; he puts a stone under his head, and is magnanimously, all the offices, both public and private, presently asleep, dreaming of the way the chamois has of peace and of war.” taken. He is awakened by the freshness of the morning air; he rises, pierced through with cold; he mea sures with his eye the precipices he must yet climb to reach the chamois-and again rushes forward to encounter new dangers. The eagle is an animal that hath wings, expanded and vigorous-no climate can oppose him-no element can daunt his resolution--no region to which he does not penetrate. At one time, you find him in the frozen tracts of Iceland; at another, on the parched sands of Oh! that all instructors were like the chamois hunt- Zahara-now you behold him on Alp or Andes, siter-in whom the love of knowledge were such a pasting amidst the thunders that leap from crag to crag-sion, that they would not change its pleasures for the now he walks majestic on the barren shore, listening to wealth of a kingdom, nor the throne of a monarch- the deep melody of the profound ocean. Again, you who feared no danger, regarded no toil, no self-denial, see him perched on some tall eminence, calm and unwhich might help them on to the attainment of wisdom. | ruffled, contemplating the scenes outspread before him, Such examples of daring adventure in the fields of wood, vale, and lake, mountain high--then he mounts knowledge, would kindle in the minds of youth such a upward, above the clouds, takes the whole earth in one spirit of improvement, such an ardent devotion to the wide circuit, bends his course sun-ward, and kindles cause of learning, that would lead them to surpass his undazzled eye at the full mid-day beam. every previous age of the world, in the extent and the The thoroughly educated man, like the eagle, is convalue of their acquisitions-they would soon embrace fined to no region--dependant on no limited resource in the wide scope of their expanded and ever expand-for the nourishment of his mind--for him the whole ing intellect, all science and all knowledge. They will earth is filled with pleasure and stored with the treathen show to the world the great blessings of educa-sures of knowledge-"he reads sermons in stones; tion-its superior excellence above all earthly things. books in the running brooks; and good in every thing." They will then show their superiority to the self-edu-Like the eagle, he sits on some tall eminence, in awful cated man, who must shrink before them like the solemnity; disencumbered from the press of near obtwinkling star that dies away in the heavens before the structions, he breathes in solitude above the host of face of the rising sun. ever-humming insects. Elevated above the murmur of a thousand notes, many and idle, by which the soul is | Fonder and fonder growing, as the Spring Came balmily on and waked the sleeping buds Let us exhort you to cultivate your minds with all diligence, that you may be thus elevated above the ac-True love like our's-let us here consecrate cidents of time and circumstances-that you may be Its future leaves and flowers. Dost thou weep, thus imbued with a spirit which shall prepare you to Eugenia? Nay, brush off that trembling drop: sustain any destiny that may await you, adverse or pros- Ah, what hast thou to do with tears, my love? perous. Imitate the example of those who have gone Dost thou forebode aught that may mar our joy?” before you, and who have guided the destiny of nations by their wisdom and their valor-thoroughly imbue "Nay, Hermion," she replied, "I had a dreamyour hearts with their lofty and unfading patriotism-Only a dream-that love hath sometimes died, study the works which they have left behind as the im-And that its flower hath withered, while the hearts perishable monuments of human greatness--study them From which it bloomed lived on-I dreamed that I diligently--they are few-like green spots in a sandy Had heard of broken vows and blighted hopes, desert, or stars amid the fitful clouds of a stormy Born e'en from love's sweet hours, as these from friendnight-study them day and night--they contain the ship's. sublimated wisdom of all ages-they contain a history of the remotest past, and a prophetic annunciation of the remotest future-tread along the steps of thought which they have reared, and you cannot fail to reach the sources of wisdom and the fountains of pathos. When you have thus measured yourself severely with men of old-imbued your minds with their wis dom, and cultivated the affections of the heart by a participation in the feelings of your fellow-men-then will you need to have no fear when the evil day shall come upon us, then will you be prepared to sustain the honor of your country-you will carry in your own bosom a rich treasure-an ever increasing source of joy and happiness. You will be lifted above the conflicting tumult of vulgar passions, and men raging in aimless commotion--you will have a fellow feeling of the mournful and the joyful, in the fate of all human beings--you can weep with those that weep; rejoice with those that rejoice. From your heart, as from a living fountain, will flow the streams of wisdom-then will you acquire the gift of communicating to men lofty emotions and glorious images in melodies and words, "that voluntary move harmonious numbers." THE ORIGIN OF THE MYRTLE. "Eugenia, did'st thou note this budding flower? with Orde the office or at P. D. L Dearest-'twas but a dream-forgive these tears- THE VICTIM OF LOVE. A TALE OF " BY GONE TIMES." C. P. C It was a lovely evening, the last of the Indian summer, when, on a tour through the far west, in the fall of 18—, after a long and wearisome ride, I suddenly emerged from a dark oaken forest, through the immense body of which I had for many hours been slowly tracing my almost trackless way. Before me lay stretched in all its barren grandeur, as far as the eye could reach, a broad tract of country, on which it seemed as if for ages upon ages the iron hand of time had been working destruction-with nothing but here and there, a wandering buffalo, or a solitary deer, or a tall clump of majestic trees with their withering branches, to break its dull monotonous extent. The glorious sun had just sunk beneath the distant horizon; its last lingering beams tinging with their bright colors the airy clouds and the far off skies, and lighting up with double brilliancy the rainbow hues of the surrounding wood. The scene was truly sublime-and by an involuntary act, on a rising ground, I reined in my chafing steed, and looked around. I had been upon the broad bosom of the deep, when nothing but its blue waters were around me-I had gazed on its unbroken surface, when the winds and the waves were at rest, and had cast my eyes in vain for some other object, far away over its blue sheen; from the tops of the loftiest mountains of the earth, | assertion, he said, that though he could offer us I had beheld with admiration the wonderful works but scanty fare, and a rough couch-being himof nature the twinkling stars and the flowery self but ill provided with the comforts of life— vale-but never had I seen before aught which yet such as he had, we were welcome to, and could be compared to this; or been so awfully im- he felt happy in being able to confer on us so pressed with the mightiness and glory of him who small a favor. rules the universe. Here, thought I, might the exile from his home and country, pass away his wearisome days, free from the hisses and scoffs of his oppressors-here might the lonely hermit offer up his prayers to Heaven and count his beads in peace; and here, might the sordid misanthrope, uncontaminated by the corrupting touch of his fellow-beings, drag out to his heart's content his miserable existence. The shadows of night had far advanced-though now and then they were thrown back by the unveiling of the chaste moon and pearly star of even, as the light zephyr blew aside the fleecy cloudswhen I was awakened from my revery by the voice of my guide, who had been, as well as myself, for some time lost in meditation, and who was now calling to me, saying, that he feared, unless we hastened on to our place of destination, we should be considered by its inmate, unwelcome visitors. "And is it possible," I asked, "that there is indeed a lone being, who has shut himself out from the world, in this vast wild?" He said there was some years ago a habitation, not far hence, where he could insure me a hospitable reception, unless the owner's torch was extinguished before we arrived. Concerning his history he could give me no information; but said, that when he last saw him, he bore about him marks of a nobler birth and a better life than that which he then led. I said nothing more, but passed on, still wrapt in the contemplation of the surrounding scenery, and in thoughts of distant things, until my companion exclaimed, in the full ecstasy of joy, at the idea of reaching his journey's end, "We are in time; the light still burns"—and at the same time I heard the hoarse barking of a watch dog to my right. I turned and found myself at the entrance way to one of the loveliest cottages my eyes ever rested on. The faithful animal ceased barking, and shortly after, the voice of a man, who now slowly advanced towards us, supporting with a staff his feeble frame, greeted my ear, asking who we were and what our purpose, to disturb him at this late hour. I answered-we were benighted travellers, whose way lay through the trackless and almost boundless plain before us, and who, being much fatigued by our day's ride, craved shelter of him for the night, from the inclemency of the weather. For a while he bent upon us a scrutinizing glance, until having satisfied himself of the truth of my VOL. V.-57 Accordingly we unsaddled our horses, and left them to browse, and followed our kind host into his humble dwelling, where we were soon seated by a cheering fire, making fair way with the coarse but wholesome food which the good old man placed before us. By the time we had finished eating, he had spread out a comely pallet of bear and buffalo skins, to which he pointed, saying, that knowing we were much jaded, he would no longer detain us from rest with farther questions concerning our travels, but for the present would bid us good night, hoping we would experience no inconvenience from such rough quarters. I thanked him for his kindness, and ere long was lost in sweet dreams of my far home, and absent friends. Scarce had the morning began to glimmer in the east, before I aroused my companion, and we caught and caparisoned our steeds, ready to start on our way, as soon as we could bid adieu to the old man, who had given us so hospitable a reception; nor was it long before he came out and inquired the cause of such early preparations. We answered, that having a long road and short day before us, we had determined to make as much of our limited time as possible, and, therefore, had concluded thus early to commence the journey. He seemed to be much concerned, and said, that it was true he could make us no very tempting offer, but if we would consent to remain with him a day or two longer, he would consider us most welcome guests; by the end of which time he would not only suffer us to depart in peace, but insure us a more speedy trip; at the same moment turning to our horses, as much as to say they needed, perhaps, more than we did, a short respite from constant exertion. Not unwillingly did I accept his invitation, for the lonely site of his humble dwelling, was well suited to my depressed spirits; and again I freed my gallant though wearied charger, and followed him to his fireside, glad of the chance of becoming better acquainted with one whose history seemed so completely enveloped in mystery. But my guide, who from his earliest infancy had been accustomed to toil and danger, and who would almost have considered it a crime to let such a morning pass without engaging in some active sport, with his rifle swung to his back and hunting knife and pistols braced to his side, mounted his horse, and in a few minutes might have been seen in the distance, in swift pursuit of the timid deer. In the mean time, mine host-while an |