demand. This limit is sometimes forgotten by the educator as he looks objectively over the field of letters, and cannot withdraw his fascinated gaze to examine those who are to receive his instructions. Yet, when forced on his notice, he cannot deny the importance of considering carefully the popular demand. To estimate more justly this popular demand, let us glance at the spirit of the age in which we live. The most casual observer cannot fail to see that the character of our people is changing, and their tastes are changing also. This change, it is not our purpose to eulogize or deplore, but simply to note as a fact. Though we may sigh over the beautiful visions of the past, and vainly rail at the present, yet we find in the progress of the world the same law which governs our own lives. In its earlier periods, in its youth, it was amused and misled by all that was fanciful or bright. As it grows into manhood, its intellectual powers mature, its pursuits are higher and more useful, its judgment more correct. It throws aside its gauds and its toys, its poetry and its chivalry, and yet weeps over its youth as the happiest of its days, and laments its discarded toys as the sweetest of its pleasures. No longer does the tournament clothe the knight in steel, or splinter the lance or clash the glittering blade in honor of ladies' eyes, or "in mimicry of noble war." "The age of chivalry has past." Its romantic dreams, its fantastic spirit have long ago fled before Cervantes and Butler. Poetry too has declined. Does the genius of our age supply some Jupiter to aid with his thunderbolts the artillery of war, or some Minerva or Egeria to concert the skilful campaign, or some silverfooted Thetis to dip the hero in the river Styx? Our histories explain the marches and the counter-marches, surmise on the plans of the campaign, and borrow from fancy only a few tropes to express the terrors of the battle, or the gallantry of the troops. Is some new phenomenon of nature displayed; for instance, does some comet visit our earth, we do not look in the morning's paper for odes, hailing it as "the wandering child of space," or "the fiery messenger of Heaven," but rather for some article explaining its causes, and calculating its movements. Whatever phenomenon now ap- ̧ pears, begets neither poetry nor superstition, but sets thousands of active minds to investigating. Speculation is heaped upon speculation, till at length some great truth is discovered, and a new and wiser era dawns upon the world. This then is the spirit of the age, this is the philosophic, the mechanic age, in which the mind of man, tired of ancient dreams and reveries, repulsed in its vain endeavor to fathom the metaphysical and the infinite is now rapidly asserting its control over the real and the finite. Now does matter become subject to mind; now does Science reap triumphs. Disdaining to flatter man's weakness, sometimes humiliating in her useful lesson, she is ever bestowing her kind instructions, and showering her abundant blessings. Thus she kindly takes from his grasp the kaleidescope, through which capricious Fancy looked in childish glee, delighted to view Nature in sparkling combination, and changeful scene, yet in occasional glimpses, in fantastic and distorted hues. She places in his hand her truthful telescope, and bids the Heavens reveal their secrets to his gaze, and Nature to expand before his eye, uncolored in all her truth.

If this is the spirit of our age, is it wonderful that Education is required to conform to it? Education is now directed not alone to beautify and

adorn the mind, but adds another office, to fit for the scientific pursuits, the practical concerns of life, and adopts as one of its best maxims, "Teach your boys what they will practice when they become men."

I do not mean to argue that they must learn nothing but the practical, neither do I mean to assert that there is nothing in the world but science, and no popular demands on the educator except the scientific. I am well aware that every man is not a scientist, and all the world is not burning with the thirst for invention, and scientific research. This is called the scientific, the mechanic age, not because science is exclusive, not because the mechanical and material has absorbed and banished everything else, but because in this age Science has first reached a mature point in its development, and entered upon a useful career. Science, like all else has its limits, and scientific instruction is but one branch of education. I have emphasized its demands, because it is the youngest claimant, and because its claims on education, though generally conceded, are sometimes disputed, and by no means universally provided for. I think, however, it will be admitted that public sentiment demands for popular education, as a prominent feature, scientific training.

Another demand of public sentiment is æsthetic culture. When I said that Poetry and Chivalry had declined, I perhaps used a word which failed to convey my meaning. They have become shorn of their wild vagaries and purified. Enough of their noble spirit still remains, and may it ever remain, to ennoble the heart, to enrich the mind, to delight the fancy, but not as formerly to mislead the judgment and run riot with the imagination. And again, popular sentiment strongly demands moral training. Wherever this has been omitted its disastrous effects have been seen and acknowledged, and its reform imperatively demanded. There is also a strong demand for physical training. To assign, in the course of popular instruction, its proper place to the various subdivisions of intellectual instruction, and to combine these in due proportion with æsthetic, moral, and physical training, and bring them all within the limits of time, expense, and popular demand, presents to the teacher the most difficult of all his problems. I shall not attempt to solve it, and refer its consideration to our next branch of inquiry, the law of supply.

This we have denominated the limit of instruction, or the objective limit. In considering first the higher institutions, it is to be regretted, that the tendency seems to be, rather to increase their number, than to add to the efficiency and resources of those already established. While primary education must be made accessible, and from its very nature, demands diffusion over the country, and adaptibility to the wants of each locality, the College, the University, or the professional school repuires a large scope of country to support it, and the concentration at some convenient point, of influence, wealth and appliances. Since higher institutions cannot be brought to each man's door, and the learner is forced to incur the expense and inconvenience of leaving home, it matters but little that he should go a few miles further, while the too great multiplication of these institutions places them as rivals in each other's way, impairing each other's patronage, resources and efficiency, and in the struggle for existence unduly stimulating public demand, and diluting higher education. If, instead of straining their re

sources, as many of them do, to cover the whole ground of education, those restricted in means would be content to fill efficiently some special department in a general system, it would perhaps be an advantage to their own reputations, and a benefit to the country. Owing their existence, in many cases, to private liberality, and restrained by the will of their founders, or by local considerations, it is, perhaps, impossible for them to co-operate in a general system, or conform to a general law. In the history of the country, as the benefits of a division of labor have become more clearly manifest, and the lines of division more accurately drawn, it has been accompanied by a corresponding division in the departments of education. Special schools have sprung up, professional, industrial, agricultural, mercantile. The demand for these institutions, though a strong one, does not seem to be mature, and has not developed and shaped its supply. Thus many of them assume special names without presenting distinctive features. In the higher institutions of general instruction, the line now plainly drawn between the literary and scientific courses, and the increasing tendency toward the elective system testify to the popular demand for a special education, A strong tendency is also noticeable to skip over the college or general course, and step from the common school to the professional school. How many, and what branches shall be included in a course of general instruction, how far they shall be elective, how far compulsory,to what extent special or professional education requires a previous general course as its foundation,-are vexed questions, and perhaps will always lie between variable limits.

Viewing education objectively, and looking over the long list of branches and departments, the man of learning can hardly find it in his heart to mar the beauty of the catalogue by the sacrifice of one; but turning his eyes on those who are to receive them, we find few who are either desirous or capable of universal knowledge. Even the universalist in education is forced to admit that the effort to teach every thing to every body would far exceed the utmost limit of time, expense, and demand. In higher education, however, these questions, to some extent, regulate themselves, and are free from the necessities which embarrass the lower schools. In the elementary schools the numbers to be provided for are greater. The special department, and the elective system cannot be used, and a new question is presented. This is the training period. Its branches of study must be selected, not only with reference to their objective utilities, but also with reference to their subjective effects in developing the faculties. How far shall we train the faculties? How far impart knowledge? How far combine both methods? The conflict of opinion, and the clamor of the various branches for admission confuses even the experienced teacher. As the elementary principles are few and simple, says the universalist, and as many will have no opportunities beyond the school-room, let us teach the elements of all. At least, says the linguist, do not sacrifice the ancient languages; for this is our eldest born, and claims the birthright. Jacob, our youngest, says the Scientist, is ready with the venison, and waiting to receive the blessing. Shall metaphysics be omitted? "Self knowledge is an end unto itself, while all the rest are but means." The demands of all are equally importunate. The practical educator is com

pelled to apply his limits of time, expense, and demand. He is forced to say to the linguist ;-"While we admit the indirect effect of the ancient languages in producing refinement of thought, and æsthetic culture, yet we think this can be better supplied by direct means, and by the study of our own language. We can give to their elements a limited space in the higher part of our course, and perhaps make them elective, so that those who wish to pursue them, may reach them in regular order, and the masses whose tastes and necessities alike rebel against them may avoid them. In any other form they exceed our limits, and cannot allow them to be placed as an embargo, a prohibition at the entrance-door of popular education. Those who desire to begin them earlier must seek special schools.

The scientist must be reminded, that his connexion is a very extensive one, and though some of his branches can be admitted, there is not room for the whole family. It is not my purpose, however, to prescribe a curriculum of study, but only to suggest its limits.

It may be asked:-"Shall educators yield to popular demands? Shall they not rather rise above the clamor of the hour and educate public sentiment to loftier standards?" It may be answered that education is already above temporary clamors, but a permanent, persistent popular demand must be respected, and is often, in the end, recognized to be right. The teacher dismisses his retiring pupil at the school-room door, there stops to receive the coming generation, and devotes his accumulating experience to devise improved methods for imparting again the same instruction. The parent looks to his son to note in his life the results of his training. The public looks at its citizen, and begins the observation where the teacher left it off. If it finds defects of judgment, false views of life, a mind misled or dazzled, a character warped, or deformed, and his career a failure, it accuses the teacher, and tries the system by its results.

By its results then, let us try some of those systems which have overstepped their proper and natural limits. We will select two examples, opposite extremes:-1st, The system in which the literary element has predominated to the exclusion of the practical and scientific, and 2nd, the system in which the practical, tending to the scientific, has excluded literary and æsthetic culture. The literary is found to predominate, usually in those systems, where education was built from the top, where the college preceded the school, extending its influence downwards. The men who thus from the College-Hall regulated the light which should flow into the minds of future generations were usually men of the purest character, and most eminent attainments. The tone of education partook of their inspiration, and their system has produced a larger proportion of men eminent for integrity, eloquence, and patriotism than, perhaps, any other system. On the other hand, it has produced a larger proportion, perhaps, than any other system, of men whose lives have been failures. It has failed to comprehend the wants of popular education, and has exercised a depressing effect upon the material interests of the country. Ignoring all popular demands, it aimed to educate public sentiment to its own standards. Animated by an injudicious enthusiasm, it forgot that we need only a class of literary men, and directed all the talent of the country into

literary, political, or professional channels, while the producing interests were overlooked or degraded. What result must follow? Its young men look to the learned professions, to politics, and literature, as the old Roman looked to the army, as the only avenue to honor and distinction. They emigrate to find abroad a field for their talents, while the population of their community is depleted by the fatal drain, and all its material interests languish. This system has stimulated too greatly the imagination and ambition, and has invited all to be great men. Too often the teacher proud of the pupil, the parent proud of the child united their influence to influence those very passions which it should be their province to soothe. Thus, with intellect unmatured, with imagination and ambition on fire, he rushes into life, too often to find disappointment deep and withering. On his graduating day we hear his maiden speech. Shrinking from censure, yet longing for applause, he presents himself to the ordeal of criticism. His discourse is replete with images about "the light which shines on Fame's proud temple," and "the eagle soaring to the sun." We overlook its extravagance, and forgive its faults. His audience would be cold indeed, and unfeeling, if they refused their plaudits. Having once tasted the sweet savor of applause, we view him next, with kindling appetite, in popular assemblies seeking a conspicuous place. He devours the lighter literature, and his mind withdrawn from all useful, or practical pursuits, seeks only that which can yield excitement or applause. If honors fail to come as they cannot come to all, he begins to fancy himself an unappreciated genius or the sport of fortune, and we see with regret the bright boy of yesterday degenerate into the disappointed politician, the misanthropist, the blighted man.

Let us look at another product of this system. The large class, whose means were limited, and who could devote but a few years to their education, found, in many cases, no schools provided for them, and in general, schools totally unsuited to their wants. These schools, aiming only to prepare for a college course, were not a whole within themselves. The pupil found Latin and Greek laid as a prohibition on his efforts to acquire a knowledge of his own tongue, or any useful information. He left school with incomplete fragments of knowledge, and a mind dazzled and confused, and was told that it must be finished off at college. No wonder, that under such a system, many thoughtful men have doubted the benefits of education. I have dwelt on this system, because its faults are less easily detected, and less freely admitted," and even its failings lean to virtue's side."

We may briefly examine the opposite system. Those systems may be said to be built from the bottom, where the primary school has followed close upon the heels of the pioneer, has grown with the development of the country, and expanded into higher education in direct response to popular demand. Education co-inciding with public sentiment has directed all the talent of the country into practical channels, has promoted practical science, and stimulated the producing industries. In such countries, for the most part a rapid material development is witnessed, accompanied by a lack of the refinements of intellectual, æsthetic, and moral sensibilities, which distinguish literary communities. Moral and aesthetic