ture have been stricken from its book of instruction, and the few simple truths, which it unconsciously receives, perverted. Parental responsibility and duty have much to do here. Nor is this an unimportant point. On the other hand, it is worthy of deep consideration. As civil guardians of the young, in the station of public instructers, it especially becomes those engaged in education, that more correct and just views be cherished and promulgated. I urge it on your attention for I am persuaded of its vast importance.

There is a beautiful anecdote connected with the early life. of Audubon, which he gives us in his brief account of himself, which is much to my purpose. "When I had hardly yet learned to walk, and to articulate those first words, always so endearing to parents, the productions of nature that lay spread all around were constantly pointed out to me. They soon became my playmates; and before my ideas were sufficiently formed to enable me to estimate the difference between the azure tints of the sky, and the emerald hue of the bright foliage, I felt that an intimacy with them not consisting of friendship merely, but bordering on phrenzy, must accompany me through life and now more than ever am I persuaded of the power of these early impressions. My father generally accompanied my steps, procured birds and flowers for me, with great eagerness, pointed out the elegant movements of the former, and splendid attire of the latter. My valued preceptor would then speak of the departure and return of birds with the seasons, and would describe their haunts; and more wonderful than all their change of livery; thus exciting me to study them and to raise my mind towards their great Creator." We may conceive that the genius and talent of this distinguished countryman of ours, so happily employed on a splendid branch of our natural history, was in no humble degree cherished and encouraged by the penetration and sagacity of the father; and that he laid, as it were, the corner-stone of the future fame of the son.

Another reason of such neglect, may be traced to our schools. The study of natural history in schools does not exist in very many, and is but a name in most. Unlike the

modes of instruction in some parts of Europe, our public and common schools exclude it entirely from their processes of education. The obvious cause is the mistake so prevalent in the community of its inutility. It is regarded as an accomplishment, like the study of the fine arts, too inapplicable

to the plainer and sterner routine of ordinary study. The system of utility and selfish views of inmediate, practical good, come into action. The future apprentice to the ingenious mechanic, for instance, receives his public instruction in the merest rudiments of knowledge. He goes to his trade or business with a tolerable proficiency in the simpler branches of an English education. The grand prototypes of his craft and vocation, in the inimitable workmanship of nature, are unknown to him. Unless his perceptions are keener than ordinary, or his intuitive genius cannot be constrained by even an inferior education, he will but passively and laboriously have followed in the well beaten track of mere imitation. For the great discoveries in his line of business, he is, and must be indebted to the few, who are more enlightened. Now what science has already effected in the arts, is stupendous : but what great discoveries it may cause, when a wider and more combined attention to the numerous branches of its investigations, shall be instituted, we can only faintly imagine from its past results: discoveries, too, not confined to the economical operations of matter, but in the higher, more exalting powers of moral and intellectual good.

Nearly the same remark which has been made on common schools may be applied to private institutions of education. The attention paid to natural history is limited, not even so much as to the rudimentary instruction in natural philosophy. Pupils of such schools will possess a better knowledge of the latter than of the former. The reason of this I apprehend is mainly owing, not so much to a prevailing idea of the greater importance of the one than of the other, but to greater facilities in the mode of instruction. The orrery, the telescope, some of the simpler instruments of mathematics, the brilliant experiments of the laboratory, furnished to the scholar, introduce him to tangible and engaging objects. But natural history on the other hand, has little of this character to captivate the attention. A few simple instruments are all the apparatus attached to its study. From this circumstance, and a too great want of proper elementary books, and a greater want of proper instructers, the entrance to its delightful domains is rendered disagreeable. The student is disgusted with its technicalities before his zeal is awakened to its curious facts. He attempts to study its theory, and its theory is considered the end and aim of pursuit. Or else he is led to the mere portal of its temple, and the catalogue committed to him,

and then is he bid to range its vast cabinets, with no friendly voice to encourage, and no kindly aid to point out its objects of thrilling interest. He is not led to connect the good and the beautiful, the wise and the excellent with every minutia of his study, and turns from the pursuit as unworthy his time and talents. The glories of the visible creation are no longer resplendent to his natural eye, and one of the greatest means of instruction given by his Creator is wasted and neglected.

I think that I do not overstate the fact when I make these assertions. Let me ask, is not this too much the case? Else why with so many facilities to its study, which most of our schools profess to possess, is there so little practical knowledge observable.

Take for example the single branch of Botany, by far the most attractive, elegant and precise, so well adapted to the refinement of a female education; and the subjects of its study so universally admired. As pursued in our schools it is generally a task. The pupils commit to memory page after page of some text book, so as to be able to tell the correct term for each organ of a plant without a single idea of its general economy. A specimen is soon put into their hands, and after being able to count the number of stamens, to determine without much hesitation the size and form of the leaves, and by much trouble to discover through the manual the name the mighty work is done. Pupil is now as wise as instructor their labors and investigations must cease.

Of the other branches of study still less is taught. The most erroneous notions of the insect world, are strengthened by an inattention to an early interest in its economy. A few facts with much error are gathered in our childhood from our picture-books and primers; and instead of improvement and sources of profound instruction, these astonishing instances of creative energy are rendered unavailing. So what is taught of mineralogy, the most attractive and splendid branch of geology; or of geology itself, with its brilliant discoveries into the history of the earth; or of conchology, connected as it is with zoological pursuits? Of comparative anatomy and of physiological studies, how little is known! Education has

so far deviated from its true course, as to have forgotten, in its sedulousness for the expansion of the mind, the primary, all important care of the physical structure. The consequences have been therefore natural and alarming; and to the patron of education, the subject of introducing juster conceptions of

its true object, and also of arriving at the best mode for its promotion must be of interest. To this neglect we may attribute much of the prevailing tendency to dissipation and immorality in the community. The great duties which religion has laid down, are evidently founded on the first principles of our very natures and physical organization, and where these are observed, through a proper dissemination of knowledge, there will also be perceived the most willing obedience to them. With just ideas of the value of the study of nature early impressed on the mind, the passions will seldom get the better of the reason, while such constant sources of pleasure, refined and delicate, are opened before it. If we for a moment reflect who are the idle, the dissipated, the immoral, we shall not find them among those men whose path of life, science has illumed: we cannot trace them to the philosophers, the naturalists, the scientific. Neither shall we see them among the more laborious occupations of life, where those occupations are enlivened by occasional glimpses at other and the fascinating studies of nature. Literature even does not save its disciples from many of the dissolute habits of society. The avocations of the busy world need moments of relaxation and amusement, and where a purer resource is not attainable, a grosser will be resorted to. We have at

command the most facile means to obviate this, and to check the onward progress of immorality. Let the glories of creation as of old, now be assiduously the subjects for more reflection. Among other important means let the investigations of natural science be made an effectual engine in the cause of good. Let us revert to the simplicity of primitive days, and derive instruction as well as pleasure, profit as well as relaxation from such sources. Let the philanthropist and the patron of education consider the matter, that a moral and intellectual reform, simultaneous and effective may be produced.

I adverted to the state of the natural sciences in our schools. A word more on that point. Primary instruction is probably the most difficult subject which taxes the ingenuity of the mind. To convey proper conceptions for the first time, to lay the foundation of knowledge, is a task as arduous as it is noble. The improvements which have been introduced into most of the branches of common education, evince a laudable and earnest interest in its behalf. But while the instructer is enabled to avail himself of so many advantages in the

instruction of his pupils, he finds an attempt to introduce studies other than ordinary, to be great and difficult. The text-books of natural history, where there are any, are peculiarly defective. A pursuit consisting so much in practical observation and individual interest, is erroneously supposed communicable by rules and formulas. The instructer must lay aside all technical formality, if he would be successful. He must dispense with the book, and resort to his own mind for truths. He must interest the scholar by facts, and not presume to draw the attention by abstract propositions. He is not to be content with a well recited lesson, or a close attention to a lecture; nor allow his pupils to think that when his course of instruction is completed, that he has otherwise than just opened the way before them to an illimitable field of beauty and wisdom. Let him interest the first steps to tread that field, and his work may be done, yet only because their own has been properly commenced.

It is at once perceptible, that I have presumed on the fact that the instructer is himself instructed, an adept, or at least, an untiring and zealous student. Without a floral gem of spring, a fresh flower of summer, he will find in the vegetable world sufficient subjects for his instructive employment. Without much of the complex apparatus of natural philosophy, and with a simple instrument or two, he can introduce the delighted pupil to the mysteries of organic life. His pupil will soon care less for the precision of science in his deep admiration of the hidden wonders of his physiological studies. The microscope will reveal to him worlds of life and exquisite symmetry, of which before he had not the faintest conception. It will unfold the nice and delicate economy of matter in plant and animal. He will see more in the crystalline globule of yet forming tissue, and in the development of the incipient germ, than hours of intense study could unveil to him. He would perceive with delighted eye and swelling heart and grateful mind, those objects of consummate skill and wisdom, which, though ever existent, were hidden from his view. Tell him not of the pleasures of the world and the guilty, misnamed delights of vice and folly, while he is so keenly alive to objects never failing, and always satisfactory. You will find it difficult to divert his attention from duty by offering such incitements for amusement, while his own course brings a higher satisfaction, combined with instruction.