men say governs all things; if they are, then what can I do other than what is already determined, and so being no longer free, how is it that I am responsible? What power and control have I, in a word, over these restless powers and passions of my own moral being? These are grave questions. Who shall solve me these problems? Who shall tell me what I am, and what I am to be? Who shall read me this strange inexplicable riddle of human life? Whether it can solve them, or not, these are the questions and the problems, that mental philosophy discusses, and we perceive at a glance their direct and practical bearing on the great interests and personal wants of man as an individual.

The importance of a thorough acquaintance with mental science appears furthermore from its intimate connection with many of the practical pursuits and sciences. It may be said to underlie many of the most important of these pursuits and professions. Even theology, the noblest and highest of all sciences, because conversant with the noblest and highest themes, while at the same time most practical, is itself in a peculiar sense based upon the science of mind. Our philosophy always and of necessity underlies our theology, and shapes in some measure its character, as the solid strata that lie unseen beneath the surface give direction, and figure, and altitude to the mountain range. The facts, the individual truths, the general data, are indeed given, revealed in nature, and in the divine word;-but not the system, not the science; these are to be constructed out of the materials given, by the thinking, reflecting mind, for itself. The stars are in the heavens, and the flowers are in the fields, but, it is for man to arrange and classify them, and not till he has done this for himself, has he a science of astronomy, and of botany. It is precisely so with the science of divine truth. Now it is in part, at least, the office of philosophy to gather, arrange and classify the great truths which God has scattered abroad in nature and in revelation. It falls properly within her sphere. She has, to say the least, a voice in the arrangement, and is entitled to be heard. Not to speak of the very idea which we form of the divine being, borrowed as it is, and must necessarily be, from our previous idea of the human mind, and of our own spiritual existence, not to speak of the several modes of argument by which we seek to establish, in natural theology, the primary doctrine of the existence of God,-what questions I may ask go deeper into the groundwork of any and every theological system, than those pertaining to the freedom of the will,-the government of the affections, inclinations, and passions of the human soul,-man's power over himself, to make himself other and better than he is, to do what he has no dis

position to do, his power in a word to obey all the divine commands. These, however, are questions strictly and purely psychological. You can not stir a step in the application of theology to practice, till you have in some way settled these questions in your own mind, and that will be for the time your science, and your philosophy.

Nor is it theology alone, that must fall back upon philosophy. The physician finds when he comes into the practice of his profession, if he never knew it before, that the laws of the human mind are to constitute a most important part of his study and observation. If he desires to succeed in his profession, he must understand the operation of the laws of memory, of association, of imagination; how to avoid and how to touch the hidden springs of thought and feeling; the effect on the bodily organization of the due and of the undue exertion of each of the mental faculties; in fine the whole relation of mind, and its operations, to body, and its functions, with the reciprocal influence of each upon the other. Unless he knows these things he knows not often the real nature of the disease which he blindly undertakes to cure. Its springs and causes lie often back among the laws of the mind. To one who rightly understands the matter, a word fitly spoken, a suggestion, a mere tone of the voice, is often the most potent medicine. For want of this, it not unfrequently happens that the disease, treated according to the most approved rules of the profession, is scientifically cured, while the patient is awkwardly left to die in the process. It is not too much to say, that the field of inquiry and research now pointed out, is one very imperfectly understood, if it be not in part quite generally overlooked by the medical profession.

I need hardly say that to the public speaker, whether at the bar, in the halls of legislation, in the pulpit, or in the public assembly of whatever kind, and on whatever occasion, a knowledge of the human mind, and an ability to make practical use of that knowledge, is absolutely indispensable. Success in oratory, depends, I admit, on other things, not a little ;-the voice, the manner, the theme, the occasion, the personal appearance and bearing of the speaker, the combination and mood of the audience;-but he who best understands the laws and movements of the human mind,—how to touch the feelings how to awaken the passions, how to excite the fears and the hopes, how to rouse the resentment of his hearers,-how again to soothe the excited feeling, how to allay prejudice, and call into exercise the calm reason. and sober judgment of men, he will best be able to effect his purpose, by turning to his own account all the circumstances of the occasion, and like a skillful organist, touching with ease, yet with precision, and effect, what key of the many-voiced instrument he will. No man

can do this who does not understand well the instrument on which

he plays.

Not to the theologian, the physician, the orator alone, is the science of mind an important auxiliary, if not an indispensable requisite to success. To the teacher it is especially of use, and that in many ways.

It is of use in enlarging his sphere of thought and information. It is necessary for him to know more things than he teaches, or expects to teach. No man is fit to teach spelling and arithmetic, who knows nothing but to spell and to cipher. He may not have occasion to teach Greek or Conic Sections in the village school; but he will have a larger and richer mind for having learned these things, and will be able to teach the most common and simple English branches all the better in consequence. And so of mental science. He may not have a class in metaphysics, but if he have a clear, strong, well disciplined mind himself, in consequence of that intellectual training which such studies afford, he will be a better teacher of whatever he has occasion to teach. His advantage will appear, his gain and position, increase of power, and skill will be manifest in whatever simplest thing he is set to do. He will teach the English alphabet in a wiser and better manner, for it. He may not have a class in Homer's Iliad, but to read the Iliad will help him to explain the construction of many a sentence in Pope, or Milton, to the juveniles who are laboriously toiling through the darkness and intricacy of English Grammar. He may not have occasion to teach Chemistry, or Geology, or Zoology; but the physical sciences will replenish his mind with ideas, and furnish him useful illustrations with which to enliven the monotony or dullness of the class-book recitation. There is hardly a department, I suppose, of useful learning, which may not be of direct use to the teacher in the manner now indicated. If, as Cicero affirms, it is necessary for the orator to know all subjects in order to speak well upon one, it is at least equally true of the teacher. But there is, perhaps, no one science that tends more directly to enlarge the sphere of mental activity, and at the same time to strengthen and develop the native power of the mind, than the science of the mind itself.

But more especially will this science be of use to the teacher, in the knowledge which it will give him of the mind of his pupil, and the skill in dealing with that mind. The mind of the pupil is the instrument, on which he is set to play-a curious instrument of many and strange keys and stops-and to handle it well and skillfully is no ordinary acquirement. What shall we think of the man who knows nothing whatever of the instrument, not one key from another, but only and simply the music which he is to perform;-nothing of the

mind which is to be instructed, but only the knowledge to be communicated to it. If the mind of the pupil were like an empty cask, to be filled by tunnel and bucket in the quickest way, being of given capacity, and warranted not to leak, this method of operation might answer every purpose. But as it is, the mind being not at all the sort of thing now supposed, but altogether a different matter, is it not the very first thing in successful teaching to know well the nature and the laws of the mind that is to be taught; how to stimulate, how to encourage, how to restrain, how to control and direct its every movement and impulse.

Do you say this is to be learned not from books, but from intercourse with living men? I admit it, in part, and only in part. The materials of the desired knowledge are to be found everywhere in society, where man is found. And so the materials of botanical science are in the fields. But as I would not send a man into the fields to study botany, without first giving him the principles of the science as taught in the books, so neither would I send him to the streets and the markets to learn the nature and laws of the human mind, without any previous knowledge of the science as unfolded in the treatieses of those who have devoted their lives to its study and elucidation.

I have spoken thus far of mental science as useful to the teacher in quickening and enlarging his own mind, and giving him power over the mind of the pupil, rather than as a matter which he is likely ever to be required to teach. But I go further than this, I am not content with this, I urge its claims to a place among the actual studies of the school—at least the school of higher grade. Why should the pupil be ignorant of what it so much concerns every man to know? Why should he learn everything except the one thing, which, of all, it would seem he ought to know, that is, himself? Shall he learn geography, that he may know the country and the state in which he lives; arithmetic, that he may cast an account correctly; astronomy, that he may tell the stars; natural philosophy that he may know the laws of the material universe; and shall he not know the laws and faculties of his own mind? Of these, shall he be left in profound ignorance? Is it of more use to him to know how Kamskatka is bounded, or what is the largest river in New Zealand, than to know the nature and mutual relations of his own five senses;-to know that a bell will not ring in an exhausted receiver, and why not, than to know why he forgets proper names, and why he remembers one thing better than another, or how it is that he remembers anything at all?

It may be supposed by some that the study of the mind is too abstract and difficult a matter for the comprehension of the pupil at the

age in which we find him at the common school. Doubtless there are many treatises on the science which he would not comprehend, many subjects connected with it which he is not sufficiently mature to master; but to suppose that the simple elements and outlines of the science are beyond his reach, is a great mistake. As to the names and terms employed, they are for the most part already familiar, and do not for a moment compare in difficulty with the new and difficult words constantly in use in any and every physical science, as botany or physiology, or natural philosophy; while as to the truths contained in the science, they are, to say the least, not less important, not less interesting to the learner, certainly not less simple and easy of acquisition, than those of any other science. Any child that can be taught the complicated processes of multiplication and division of fractions, can be taught the most important truths of mental science, in less time, and with less trouble, both to himself and to the teacher. Let the teacher, in the absence of any suitable elementary treatise, be himself the book. Let him in some moment of leisure from the ordinary occupations of the school-room, such moments as every wise teacher will take care to secure, and to turn to good account, gather a little circle of his pupils around him, and propose to them, for instance, this question or problem,-how many really different sorts of things the mind can do. Their answers at first may be vague, and wide of the mark, but it will not be long ere they assume a definite shape, and presently reach the conclusion, that all the possible forms of mental activity may be reduced to the three distinct departments, of thinking, feeling, and willing. A great step has been taken when even this simple point is reached. Let him again, at another time, direct their attention to the manner in which one thought leads to, or suggests another; how it happens that the sight of Henry's book, or seat, reminds them at once of Henry; and they will soon find out for themselves what are the great laws of association. In like manner the philosophy of memory, of imagination, of attention, of abstraction, and classification, and other faculties, may be explained. If by the time such an exercise has been twice or thrice attempted, the teacher does not find his pupils becoming somewhat deeply interested in the new science, I will consent that he drop the subject.

My limits forbid me to pursue the subject further. Enough to have thrown out a few suggestions. Enough, if what I have said shall awaken the attention of even one thoughtful earnest mind, desirous of the best attainments for itself, and the highest skill in the noble profession of educating and training other minds, and shall lead it to a more careful study of that science which may be said to lie, in a sense, at the foundation of all others.