walls, and by delineations on the blackboard. And here, the skill of teachers and pupils in drawing did admirable service. The teacher traced the outlines of a country on the suspended map, or drew one upon the blackboard, accompanying the exhibition by an oral lecture; and, at the next recitation, the pupils were expected to repeat what they had seen and heard. And, in regard to the natural divisions of the earth, or the political boundaries of countries, a pupil was not considered as having giving any proof that he had a correct image in his mind, until he could go to the blackboard, and reproduce it from the ends of his fingers. I witnessed no lesson unaccompanied by these tests.

I will describe, as exactly as I am able, a lesson which I heard given to a class a little advanced beyond the elements; remarking that, though I heard many lessons giving on the same plan, none of them were signalized by the rapidity and effect of the one I am about to describe.

The teacher stood by the blackboard, with the chalk in his hand. After casting his eye over the class to see that all were ready, he struck at the middle of the board. With a rapidity of hand which my eye could hardly follow, he made a series of those short, divergent lines, or shadings, employed by map-engravers to represent a chain of mountains. He had scarcely turned an angle, or shot off a spur, when the scholars began to cry out, Carpathian mountains, Hungary; Black Forest mountains, Wurtemberg; Giant's mountains, (Riesen-Gebirge,] Silesia; Metallic mountains, (Erz-Gebirge,) Pine mountains, (Fichtel-Gebirge, Central mountains, (Mittel-Gebirge,) Bohemia, &c., &c.

In less than half a minute, the ridge of that grand central elevation which separates the waters that flow north-west into the German ocean, from those that flow north into the Baltic, and south-east into the Black Sea, was presented to view; executed almost as beautifully as an engraving. A dozen crinkling strokes, made in the twinkling of an eye, represented the head-waters of the great rivers which flow in different directions from that mountainous range; while the children, almost as eager and excited as though they had actually seen the torrents dashing down the mountain sides, cried out, Danube, Elbe, Vistula, Oder, &c. The next moment I heard a succession of small strokes or taps, so rapid as to be almost indistinguishable, and hardly had my eye time to discern a large number of dots made along the margins of the rivers, when the shout of Lintz, Vienna, Prague, Dresden, Berlin, &c., struck my ear. At this point in the exercise, the spot which had been occupied on the blackboard was nearly a circle, of which the starting point, or place where the teacher first began, was the center; but now a few additional strokes around the circumference of the incipient continent, extended the mountain ranges outwards toward the plains; the children responding the names of the countries in which they respectively lay. With a few more flourishes the rivers flowed onwards toward their several terminations, and by another succession of dots, new cities sprang up along their banks. By this time the children had become as much excited as though they had been present at a world-making. They rose in their seats, they flung out both hands, their eyes kindled, and their voices became almost vociferous as they cried out the names of the different places, which, under the magic of the teacher's crayon, rose into view. Within ten minutes from the commencement of the lesson, there stood upon the blackboard a beautiful map of Germany, with its mountains, principal rivers and cities, the coast of the German ocean, of the Baltic and the Black seas; and all so accurately proportioned, that I think only slight errors would have been found had it been subjected to the test of a scale of miles. A part of this time was taken up in correcting a few mistakes of the pupils for the teacher's mind seemed to be in his ear as well as in his hand, and notwithstanding the astonishing celerity of his movements, he detected erroneous answers and turned round to correct them. The rest of the recitation consisted in questions and answers respecting productions, climate, soil, animals, &c., &c.

Many of the cosmogonists suppose that after the creation of the world, and when its whole surface was as yet fluid, the solid continents rose gradually from beneath the sea: first the loftiest peak of the Andes, for instance, emerged from the deep, and as they reached a higher and a higher point of elevation, the rivers began to flow down their sides, until at last-the lofty mountains having attained their height, the mighty rivers their extent and volume, and the continent its

H

amplitude-cultivation began, and cities and towns were built. The lesson I have described was a beautiful illustration of that idea, with one advantage over the original scene itself, that the spectator had no need of waiting through all the geological epochs to see the work completed.

Compare the effect of such a lesson as this, both as to the amount of the knowledge communicated, and the vividness and of course the permanence of the ideas obtained, with a lesson where the scholars look out a few names of places on a lifeless atlas, but never send their imaginations abroad over the earth; and where the teacher sits listlessly down before them to interrogate them from a book, in which all the questions are printed at full length, to supersede on his part all necessity of knowledge.

EXERCISES IN THINKING, KNOWLEDGE OF NATURE. KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD.
KNOWLEDGE OF SOCIETY.

In the "Study-Plans" of all the schools in the north of Prussia, I found most, and in some of them all of the above subjects of lessons. To each was assigned its separate hour and place in the routine of exercises. For brevity's sake, however, and because the topics naturally run into each other, I shall attempt to describe them together.

These lessons consisted of familiar conversations between teacher and pupils, on subjects adapted to the age, capacities, and proficiency of the latter. With the youngest classes, things immediately around them; the school-room and the materials of which it had been built; its different parts, as foundation, floor, walls, ceiling, roof, windows, doors, fireplace; its furniture and apparatus; its books, slates, paper; the clothes of the pupils, and the materials from which they were made; their food and play-things; the duties of children to animals, to each other, to their parents, neighbors, to the old, to their Maker; these are specimens of a vast variety of subjects embraced under one or another of the above heads. As the children advanced in age and attainments, and had acquired full and definite notions of the visible and tangible existences around them, and also of time and space, so that they could understand descriptions of the unseen and the remote, the scope of these lessons was enlarged, so as to take in the different kingdoms of nature, the arts, trades and occupations of men, and the more complicated affairs of society.

When visiting the schools in Leipsic, I remarked to the superintendent, that most accomplished educationist, Dr. Vogel, that I did not see on the "StudyPlan" of his schools, the title, "Exercises in Thinking." His reply was, "No; for I consider it a sin in any teacher not to lead his pupil to think, in regard to all the subjects he teaches." He did not call it an omission or even a disqualification in a teacher, if he did not awaken thought in the minds of his pupils, but he peremptorily denounced it as a "sin." Alas! thought I, what expiation will be sufficient for many of us who have had charge of the young!

It is obvious from the account I have given of these primary lessons, that there is no restriction as to the choice of subjects, and no limits to the extent of information that may be engrafted upon them. What more natural than that a kind teacher should attempt to gain the attention and win the good will of a brisk, eager-minded boy just entering his school, by speaking to him about the domestic animals which he plays with, or tends at home; the dog, the cat, the sheep, the horse, the cow? Yet, without any interruption or overleaping of natural bounda ries, this simple lesson may be expanded into a knowledge of all quadrupeds, their characteristics and habits of life, the uses of their flesh, skins, fur, bones, horns, or ivory, the parts of the world where they live, &c., &c. So if a teacher begins to converse with a boy about domestic fowls, there is no limit, save in his own knowledge, until he has exausted the whole subject of ornithology; the varieties of birds, their plumage, their uses, their migratory habits, &c., &c. What more natural than that a benevolent teacher should ask a blushing little girl about the flowers in her vases, or garden at home? and yet, this having been done, the door is opened that leads to all botanical knowledge, to the flowers of all the seasons, and all the zones, to the trees cultivated by the hand of man, or the primeval forests that darken the face of continents. Few children go to school who have not seen a fish; at least, a minnow in a pool. Begin with this, and

nature opposes no barrier until the wonders of the deep are exhausted. Let the school-house, as I have said, be the first lesson, and to a mind replenished with knowledge, not only all the different kinds of edifices-the dwelling-house, the church, the court-house, the palace, the temple-are at once associated; but all the different orders of architecture, Corinthian, Ionic, Doric, Egyptian, Gothic, &c., rise to the view. How many different materials have been brought together for the construction of the school-house; stone, wood, nails, glass, bricks, mortar, paints, materials used in glazing, &c., &c. Each one of these belongs to a different department of nature; and when an accomplished teacher has once set foot in any one of these provinces, he sees a thousand interesting objects around him, as it were soliciting his attention. Then each one of these materials has its artificer; and thus all the mechanical trades may be brought under consideration the house builder's, the mason's, the plumber's, the glazier's, the locksmith's &c. A single article may be viewed under different aspects; as, in speaking of a lock, one may consider the nature and properties of iron; its cohesiveness, malleability, &c., its utility, or the variety of utensils into which it may be wrought; or the conversation may be turned to the particular object and uses of the lock, and upon these a lesson on the rights of property, the duty of honesty, the guilt of theft and robbery, &c., be engrafted. So in speaking of the beauties and riches and wonders of nature-of the revolution of the seasons, the glory of spring, the exuberance of autumn, the grandeur of the mountain, the magnificence of the firmament the child's mind may be turned to a contemplation of the power and goodness of God. I found these religious aspects of nature to be most frequently adverted to; and was daily delighted with the reverent and loving manner in which the name of the Deity was always spoken, "Der liebe Gott," the dear God, was the universal form of expression; and the name of the Creator of heaven and earth was hardly ever spoken, without this epithet of endearment.

It is easy also to see that a description of the grounds about the school-house or the paternal mansion, and of the road leading from one of these places to the other, is the true starting point of all geographical knowledge; and, this once begun, there is no terminus, until all modern and ancient geography, and all travels and explorations by sea and land, are exhausted. So the boy's nest of marbles may be the nucleus of all mineralogy; his top, his kite, his little wind-wheel or water-wheel, the salient point of all mechanics and technology; and the stories he has heard about the last king or the aged king, the first chapter in universal history.

I know full well that the extent and variety of subjects said to be taught to young children in the Prussian schools, have been often sneered at.

In a late speech, made on a public occasion, by one of the distinguished politicians in our country, the idea of teaching the natural sciences in our common schools was made a theme for ridicule. Let it be understood in what manner an accomplished teacher may impart a great amount of useful knowledge on these subjects, and perhaps awaken minds which may hereafter adorn the age, and benefit mankind by their discoveries, and it will be easily seen to which party the ridicule most justly attaches. "What," says the objectors," teach children botany, and the unintelligible and almost unspeakable names, Monandria, Diandria, Triandria, &c.; or zoology, with such technical terms as Mollusca, Crustacea, Vertebrata, Mammalia, &c., the thing is impossible!" The Prussian children are not thus taught. For years, their lessons are free from all the technicalities of science. The knowledge they already possess about common things is made the nucleus around which to collect more; and the language with which they are already familiar becomes the medium through which to communicate new ideas, and by which, whenever necessary, to explain new terms. There is no difficulty in explaining to a child, seven years of age, the distinctive marks by which nature intimates to us, at first sight, whether a plant is healthful or poisonous; or those by which, on inspecting the skeleton of an animal that lived thousands of years ago, we know whether it lived upon grass, or grain, or flesh. It is in this way that the pupil's mind is carried forward by an actual knowledge of things, until the time arrives for giving him classifications and nomenclatures. When a child knows a great many particular or individual things, he begins to perceive resemblances between some of them; and they then naturally assort themselves, as it were, in

his mind, and arrange themselves into different groups. Then, by the aid of a teacher, he perfects a scientific classification among them, bringing into each group all that belong to it. But soon the number of individuals in each group becomes so numerous, that he wants a cord to tie them together, or a vessel in which to hold them. Then, from the nomenclature of science, he receives a name which binds all the individuals of that group into one, ever afterwards. It is now that he perceives the truth and the beauty of classification and nomenclature. An infant that has more red and white beads than it can hold in its hands, and to prevent them from rolling about the floor and being lost, collects them together, putting the white in one cup and the red in another, and sits and smiles at its work, has gone through with precisely the same description of mental process that Cuiver and Linneus did, when they summoned the vast varieties of the animal and vegetable kingdoms into their spiritual presence, and commanded the countless hosts to arrange themselves into their respective genera, orders, and species.

Our notions respecting the expediency or propriety of introducing the higher branches, as they are called, into our common schools, are formed from a knowledge of our own school teachers, and of the habits that prevail in most of the schools themselves. With us, it too often happens that if a higher branch, geometry, natural philosophy, zoology, botany, is to be taught, both teacher and class must have text-books. At the beginning of these text-books, all the technical names and definitions belonging to the subject are set down. These, before the pupil has an practical idea of their meaning, must be committed to memory. The book is then studied chapter by chapter. At the bottom of each page, or at the ends of the sections, are questions printed at full length. At the recitations, the teacher holds on by these leading-strings. He introduces no collateral knowledge. He exhibits no relation between what is contained in the book, and other kindred subjects, or the actual business of men and the affairs of life. At length the day of examination comes. The pupils rehearse from memory with a suspi cious fluency; or, being asked for some useful application of their knowledge, some practical connection between that knowledge and the concerns of life, they are silent, or give some ridiculous answer, which at once disparages science and gratifies the ill-humor of some ignorant satirist. Of course, the teaching of the higher branches falls into disrepute in the minds of all sensible men, as, under such circumstances, it ought to do. But the Prussian teacher has no book. He needs none. He teaches from a full mind. He cumbers and darkens the subject with no technical phraseology. He observes what proficiency the child has made, and then adapts his instructions, both in quality and amount, to the necessity of the case. He answers all questions. He solves all doubts. It is one of his objects, at every recitation, so to present ideas, that they shall start doubts and provoke questions. He connects the subject of each lesson with all kindred and collateral ones; and shows its relations to the every-day duties and business of life; and should the most ignorant man, or the most destitute vagrant in society, ask him "of what use such knowledge can be ?" he will prove to him, in a word, that some of his own pleasures or means of subsistence are dependent upon it, or have been created or improved by it.

In the meantime, the children are delighted. Their preceptive powers are exercised. Their reflecting faculties are developed. Their moral sentiments are cultivated. All the attributes of the mind within, find answering qualities in the world without. Instead of any longer regarding the earth as a huge mass of dead matter, without variety and without life, its beautiful and boundless diversities of substance, its latent vitality and energies, gradually drawn forth, until, at length, they illuminate the whole soul, challenging its admiration for their utility, and its homage for the bounty of their Creator.

There are other points pertaining to the qualification of teachers, which would perhaps strike a visitor or spectator more strongly than the power of giving the kind of lessons I have described; but probably there is nothing which, at the distance of four thousand miles, would give to a reader or hearer so adequate an idea of intelligence and capacity, as a full understanding of the scope and character of this class of exercises. Suppose, on the one hand, a teacher to be introduced into a school, who is competent to address children on this great range and variety of subjects, and to address them in such a manner as to arouse their curi

sity, command their attention, and supply them not only with knowledge, but with an inextinguishable love for it; suppose such a teacher to be able to give one, and sometimes two such lessons a day, that is, from two hundred to four hundred lessons in a year, to the same class, and to carry his classes, in this way, through their eight years schooling. On the other hand, suppose a young man coming fresh from the plow, the workshop, or the anvil; or, what is no better, from Greek and Latin classics, and suppose his knowledge on the above enumerated subjects to be divided into four hundred, or even into two hundred parts, and that only one two-hundredth portion of that stock of knowledge should be administered to the children in a day. Let us suppose all this, and we shall have some more adequate idea of the different advantages of children, at the present time, in different parts of the world. In Prussia, the theory, and the practice under it, are, not that three years' study under the best masters qualifies a talented and devoted man to become a teacher, but that three years' of such general preparation may qualify one for that particular and daily preparation which is to be made before meeting a class in school. And a good Prussian teacher no more thinks of meeting his classes without this daily preparation, than a distinguished lawyer or clergyman amongst ourselves would think of managing a cause before court and jury, or preaching a sermon, without special reading and forethought.

It is easy to see, from the above account, how such a variety of subjects can be taught simultaneously in school, without any interference with each other; nay, that the "cominon bond," which, as Cicero says, binds all sciences together, should only increase their unity as it enlarges their number.

BIBLE HISTORY AND BIBLE KNOWLEDGE.

Nothing receives more attention in the Prussian schools than the Bible. It is taken up early and studied systematically. The great events recorded in the Scriptures of the Old and New Testament; the character and lives of those wonderful men, who, from age to age, were brought upon the stage of action, and through whose agency the future history and destiny of the race were to be so much modified; and especially, those sublime views of duty and of morality which are brought to light in the Gospel, these are topics of daily and earnest inculcation, in every school. To these, in some schools, is added the history of the Christian religion, in connection with cotemporary civil history. So far as the Bible lessons are concerned, I can ratify the strong statements made by Professor Stowe, in regard to the absence of sectarian instruction, or endeavors at proselytism. The teacher being amply possessed of a knowledge of the whole chain of events, and of all biographical incidents; and bringing to the exercise a heart glowing with love to man, and with devotion to his duty as a former of the char acter of children, has no necessity or occasion to fall back upon the formulas of a creed. It is when a teacher has no knowledge of the wonderful works of God, and of the benevolence of the design in which they were created; when he has no power of explaining and applying the beautiful incidents in the lives of prophets and apostles, and especially, the perfect example which is given to men in the life of Jesus Christ; it is then, that, in attempting to give religious instruction, he is, as it were, constrained to recur again and again to the few words or sentences of his form of faith, whatever that faith may be; and, therefore, when giving the second lesson, it will be little more than a repetition of the first, and the two-hundredth lesson, at the end of the year, will differ from that at the beginning only in accumulated wearisomeness and monotony.

There are one or two facts, however, which Professor Stowe has omitted to mention, and without a knowledge of which, one would form very erroneous ideas respecting the character of some of the religious instruction in the Prussian schools. In all the Protestant schools, Luther's Catechism is regularly taught; and in all the Roman Catholic schools, the Catechism of that communion. When the schools are mixed, they have combined literary with seperate religious instruc tion; and here all the doctrines of the respective denominations are taught early and most assiduously. I well remember hearing a Roman Catholic priest inculcating upon a class of very young children the doctrine of transubstantiation. He illustrated it with the miracle of the water changed to wine, at the marriage feast in Cana; and said that he who could turn water into wine, could turn his own