These views and reflections may serve to illustrate and enforce the leading position of this address—that we are to educate young women for the enjoyments and duties of the sphere in which they are to move. We speak to-day of public instruction; but it should ever be borne in mind that the education of the schools is but a part, and often only the least important part, of the training that the young receive. There is the training of infancy and early childhood, the daily culture of home, with its refining or deadening influences, and then the education of the street, the parlor, the festive gathering, and the clubs, which exert a power over the youth of both sexes that cannot often be controlled entirely by the school.

Womanhood is sometimes sacrificed in childhood, when the mother and the family fail to develop the womanly qualities of modesty, grace, generosity of character, and geniality of temper, which dignify, adorn, and protect,

"The sex whose presence civilizes ours."

The child, whether girl or boy, reflects the character of its home; and therefore we are compelled to deal with all the homes of the district or town, and are required often to counteract the influences they exert. Early vicious training is quite as disastrous to the girl as to the boy; for, strange as it may seem, the world more readily tolerates ignorance, coarseness, rudeness, immodesty, and all their answering vices, in man than in woman. In the period of life from eight to twenty years of age the progress of woman is, to us of sterner mould, inconceivably rapid; but from twenty to forty the advantages of education are upon the other side. It then follows that a defective system of education is more pernicious to woman than to man.

We may contemplate woman in four relations with their answering responsibilities—as pupil, teacher, companion, and mother. As a pupil, she is sensitive, conscientious, quick, ambitious, and possesses in a marvellous degree, as compared with the other sex, the power of intuition. The boy is logical, or he is nothing; but logic is not necessary for the girl. Not that she is illogical; but she usually sees through, without observing the steps in the process which a boy must discern before he can comprehend the subject presented to his mind. In the use of the eye, the ear, the voice, and in the appropriation of whatever may be commanded without the highest exercise of the reasoning and reflective faculties, she is incomparably superior. She accepts moral truth without waiting for a demonstration, and she obeys the law founded upon it without being its slave. She instinctively prefers good manners to faulty habits; and, in the requirements of family, social, and fashionable life, she is better educated at sixteen than her brother is at twenty. She is an adept in one only of the vices of the school—whispering—and in that she excels. But she does not so readily resort to the great vice—the crime of falsehood—as do her companions of the other sex. I call falsehood the great vice, because, if this were unknown, tardiness, truancy, obscenity, and profanity, could not thrive. Holmes has well said that "sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle that will fit them all."

In many primary and district schools the habits and manners of children are too much neglected. We associate good habits and good manners with good morals; and, though we are deceived again and again, and soliloquize upon the maxim that "all is not gold that glitters," we instinctively believe, however often we are betrayed. Habits and manners are the first evidence of character; and so much of weight do we attach to such evidence, that we give credit and confidence to those whom in our calmer moments we know to be unworthy. The first aim in the school should be to build up a character that shall be truthfully indicated by purity and refinement of manner and conversation. It does, indeed, sometimes happen that purity of character is not associated with refinement of manners. This misfortune is traceable to a defective early education, both in the school and the home; for, had either been faithful and intelligent, the evil would have been averted. And, as there are many homes in city and country where refinement of manners is not found, and, of course, cannot be taught, the schools must furnish the training. In this connection, the value of the high school for females—whether exclusively so or not, does not seem to me important—is clearly seen. Young women are naturally and properly the teachers of primary, district, and subordinate schools of every grade; and society as naturally and properly looks to them to educate, by example as well as by precept, all the children of the state in good habits, good manners, and good morals. We are also permitted to look forward to the higher relations of life, when, as wives and mothers, they are to exert a potent influence over existing and future generations. The law and the lexicons say "home is the house or the place where one resides." This definition may answer for the law and the lexicons, but it does not meet the wants of common life.

The wife will usually find in her husband less refinement of manners than she herself possesses; and it is her great privilege, if not her solemn duty, to illustrate the line of Cowper, and show that she is of

"The sex whose presence civilizes ours."

It is the duty of the teacher to make the school attractive; and what the teacher should do for the school the wife should do for the home. The home should be preferred by the husband and children to all other places. Much depends upon themselves; they have no right to claim all of the wife and mother. But, without her aid, they can do but little. With her aid, every desirable result may be accomplished. That this result may be secured, female education must be generous, critical, and pure, in everything that relates to manners, habits, and morals. Much may be added to these, but nothing can serve in their stead. We should add, no doubt, thorough elementary training in reading, writing, and spelling, both for her own good and for the service of her children. Intellectual training is defective where these elements are neglected, and their importance to the sexes may be equal. We should not omit music and the culture of the voice. The tones of the voice indicate the tone of the mind; but the temper itself may finally yield to a graceful and gentle form of expression. It is not probable that we shall ever give due attention to the cultivation of the human voice for speaking, reading, and singing. This is an invaluable accomplishment in man. Many of us have listened to New England's most distinguished living orator, and felt that well-known lines from the English poets derived new power, if not actual inspiration, from the classic tones in which the words were uttered.

A cultivated voice in woman is at once the evidence and the means of moral power. As the moral sensibilities of the girl are more acute than those of the boy, so the moral power of the woman is greater than that of the man. Many young women are educating themselves for the business of teaching; and I can commend nothing more important, after the proper ordering of one's own life, than the discreet and careful training of the voice. It is itself a power. It demands sympathy before the suffering or its cause is revealed by articulate speech; its tones awe assemblies, and command silence before the speaker announces his views; and the rebellious and disorderly, whether in the school, around the rostrum, or on the field, bow in submission beneath the authority of its majestic cadences. It is hardly possible to imagine a good school, and very rare to see one, where this power is wanting in the teacher. Women are often called to take charge of schools where there are lads and youth destitute of that culture which would lead them to yield respect and consequent obedience. Physical force in these cases is not usually to be thought of; but nature has vouchsafed to woman such a degree of moral power, of which in the school the voice is the best expression, as often to fully compensate for her weakness in other respects.

It is unnecessary to commend reading as an art and an accomplishment; but good readers are so rare among us, that we cannot too strongly urge teachers to qualify themselves for the great work. I say great work, because everything else is comparatively easy to the teacher, and comparatively unimportant to the pupil. Grammar is merely an element of reading. It should be introduced as soon as the child's reasoning faculties are in any degree developed, and presented by the living voice, without the aid of books. The alphabet should be taught in connection with exercises for strengthening and modulating the voice, and the elementary sounds of the letters should be deemed as important as their names. All this is the proper work of the female teacher; and, when she is ignorant or neglects her duty, the evil is usually so great as to admit of no complete remedy.

Reading is at once an imitative and an appreciative art on the part of the pupil. He must be trained to appreciate the meaning of the writer; but he will depend upon the teacher at first, and, indeed, for a long time, for an example of the true mode of expression. This the teacher must be ready to give. It is not enough that she can correct faults of pronunciation, censure inarticulate utterances, and condemn gruff, nasal, and guttural sounds; but she must be able to present, in reasonable purity, all the opposite qualities. The young women have not yet done their duty to the cause of education in these respects; nor is there everywhere a public sentiment that will even now allow the duty to be performed.

It is difficult to see why the child of five, and the youth of fifteen, should be kept an equal number of hours at school. Each pupil should spend as much time in the school-room as is needed for the preparation of the exercise and the exercise itself. The danger from excessive confinement and labor is with young pupils. Those in grammar and high schools may often use additional hours for study; but a pupil should be somewhat advanced, and should possess considerable physical strength and endurance, before he ventures to give more than six hours a day to severe intellectual labor. It must often happen that children in primary schools can learn in two hours each day all that the teacher has time to communicate, or they have power to receive and appropriate. Indeed, I think this is usually so. It may not, however, be safe to deduce from this fact the opinion that children should never be kept longer in school than two hours a day; but it seems proper to assume that, if blessed with good homes, they may be relieved from the tedium of confinement in the school-room, when there is no longer opportunity for improvement.

We are beginning to realize the advantages of well-educated female teachers in primary schools; nor do I deem it improbable that they shall become successful teachers and managers of schools of higher grade, according to the present public estimation. But, in regard to the latter position, I have neither hope, desire, nor anxiety. Whenever the public judge them, generally, or in particular cases, qualified to take charge of high schools and normal schools, those positions will be assigned to them; and, till that degree of public confidence is accorded, it is useless to make assertions or indulge in conjectures concerning the ability of women for such duties. It is my own conviction that a higher order of teaching talent is required in the primary school, or for the early, judicious education of children, than is required in any other institutions of learning. Nor can it be shown that equal ability for government is not essential. There must be different manifestations of ability in the primary and the high school; but, where proper training has been enjoyed, pupils in the latter ought to be far advanced in the acquisition of the cardinal virtue of self-control, whose existence in the school and the state renders government comparatively unnecessary.

Where there is a human being, there are the opportunity and the duty of education. But our present great concern, as friends of learning, is with those schools where children are first trained in the elements. If in these we can have faithful, accurate, systematic, comprehensive teaching, everything else desirable will be added thereunto. But, if we are negligent, unphilosophical, and false, the reasonable public expectation will never be realized in regard to other institutions of learning.

The work must be done by women, and by well-educated women; and, when it is said that in Massachusetts alone we need the services of six thousand such persons, the magnitude of the work of providing teachers may be appreciated. Have we not enough in this field for every female school and academy, where high schools are not required, or cannot exist, and for every high school and normal school in the commonwealth? If it is asserted that the supply of female teachers is already greater than the demand, it must be stated, in reply, that there are persons enough engaged in teaching, but that the number of competent teachers is, and ever has been, too small. It is something, my friends, it is often a great deal, to send into a town a well-qualified female teacher. She is not only a blessing to those who are under her tuition, but her example and influence are often such as to change the local sentiment concerning teachers and schools. When may we expect a supply of such persons? The hope is not a delusion, though its realization may be many years postponed. How are competent persons to be selected and qualified? The change will be gradual, and it is to be made in the public opinion as well as in the character of teachers and schools. And is it not possible, even in view of all that has been accomplished, that we are yet groping in a dark passage, with only the hope that it leads to an outward-opening door, where, in marvellous but genial light we shall perceive new truths concerning the philosophy of the human mind, and the means of its development? At this moment we are compelled to admit that practical teachers and theorists in educational matters are alike uncertain in regard to the true method of teaching the alphabet, and divided and subdivided in opinion concerning the order of succession of the various studies in the primary and grammar schools. Perfect agreement on these points is not probable; it may not be desirable. I am satisfied that no greater contribution can be made to the cause of learning than a presentation of these topics and their elucidation, so that the teacher shall feel that what he does is philosophical, and therefore wise.

The only way to achieve success is to apply faithfully the means at hand. Generations of children cannot wait for perfection in methods of teaching; but teachers of primary schools ought not to neglect any opportunity which promises aid to them as individuals, or progress in the profession that they have chosen. As teachers improve, so do schools; and, as schools improve, so do teachers. The influence exerted by teachers is first beneficial to pupils, but, as a result, we soon have a class of better qualified teachers. With these ideas of the importance of the teacher's vocation to primary instruction, and, consequently, to all good learning, it is not strange that I place a high value upon professional training. A degree of professional training more or less desirable is, no doubt, furnished, by every school; but the admission does not in any manner detract from the force of the statement that a young man or woman well qualified in the branches to be taught, yet without experience, may be strengthened and prepared for the work of teaching, by devoting six, twelve, or eighteen months, under competent instructors, in company with a hundred other persons having a similar object in view, to the study, examination, and discussion, of those subjects and topics which are sometimes connected with, and sometimes independent of, the text-books, but which are of daily value to the teacher.

At present only a portion of this necessary professional training can be given in the normal schools. If, however, as I trust may sometimes be the case, none should be admitted but those who are already qualified in the branches to be taught, the time of attendance might be diminished, and the number of graduates proportionately increased. There are about one hundred high schools in the state, and, within the sphere of their labors, they are not equalled by any institutions that the world has seen. Young men are fitted for the colleges, for mechanical, manufacturing, commercial, agricultural, and scientific labors, and young men and young women are prepared for the general duties of life. They are also furnishing a large number of well-qualified teachers. Some may say that with these results we ought to be content. Regarding only the past, they are entirely satisfactory; but, animated with reasonable hopes concerning the future, we claim something more and better. It is not disguised that the members of normal schools, when admitted, do not sustain an average rank in scholarship with graduates of high schools. This is a misfortune from which relief is sought. It is a suggestion, diffidently made, yet with considerable confidence in its practicability and value, that graduates of high schools will often obtain additional and necessary preparation by attending a normal school, if for the term of six months only. And I am satisfied, beyond all reasonable doubt, that, when the normal schools receive only those whose education is equivalent to that now given in the high schools, a body of teachers will be sent out who will surpass the graduates of any other institution, and whose average professional attainments and practical excellence will meet the highest reasonable public expectation. Nor is it claimed that this result will be due to anything known or practised in normal schools that may not be known and practised elsewhere; but it is rather attributable to the fact that in these institutions the attention of teachers and pupils is directed almost exclusively to the work of teaching, and the means of preparation. The studies, thoughts, and discussions, are devoted to this end. If, with such opportunities, there should be no progress, we should be led to doubt all our previous knowledge of human character, and of the development of the youthful mind.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, before I conclude, allow me to remove, or at least to lessen, an impression that these remarks are calculated to produce. I have assumed that teaching is a profession—an arduous profession—and that perfection has not yet been attained. I have assumed, also, that there are many persons engaged in teaching, especially in the primary and mixed district schools, whose qualifications are not as great as they ought to be. But let it not be thence inferred that I am dissatisfied with our teachers and schools. There has been continual progress in education, and a large share of this progress is due to teachers; but the time has not yet come when we can wisely fold our arms, and accept the allurements of undisturbed repose.

Nor have I sought, on this occasion, to present even an outline of a system of female education. In all the public institutions of learning among us, it should be as comprehensive, as minute, as exact, as that furnished for youth of the other sex. Nor is it necessary to concern ourselves about the effect of this liberal culture upon the character and fortunes of society. I do not anticipate any sudden or disastrous effects. The right of education is a common right; and it is unquestionably the right of woman to assert her rights; and it is a wrong and sin if we withhold any, even the least. Having faith in humanity, and faith in God, let us not shrink from the privilege we enjoy of offering to all, without reference to sex or condition, the benefits of a public and liberal system of education, which seeks, in an alliance with virtue and religion, whose banns are forbidden by none, to enlighten the ignorant, restrain and reform the depraved, and penetrate all society with good learning and civilization, so that the highest idea of a well-ordered state shall be realized in an advanced and advancing condition of individual and family life.



THE INFLUENCE, DUTIES, AND REWARDS, OF TEACHERS.

[A Lecture delivered at Teachers' Institutes.]

It is the purpose, and we believe that it will be the destiny, of Massachusetts, to build up a comparatively perfect system of public instruction. To this antiquity did not aspire; and it is the just boast of modern times, and especially of the American States, that learning is not the amusement of a few only, whom wealth and taste have led into its paths, but that it is encouraged by governments, and cherished by the whole people. Antiquity had its schools and teachers; but the latter were, for the most part, founders of sects in politics, morals, philosophy, religion, or the habits of daily life; while its schools were frequented and sustained by those who sought to build on the civilization of the times such structures as their tastes conceived or their opinions dictated.

There were not in Athens or Rome, according to the American idea, any schools for the people; and Carlyle, Brownson, and Emerson, are such teachers in kind, though not in power and influence, as were Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. These men were leaders as well as teachers, and their followers were disciples and controversialists rather than pupils. But it is not possible for modern leaders in politics, philosophy, and social life, to rival the ancients. Manual labor is not more divided and subdivided than is the influence of the human intellect. The newspaper has inspired every man with the love of self-judgment, and the common school has qualified him, in some degree, for its exercise. The ancients, whose names and fame have come down to us, taught by conversations, discussions, and lectures; the moderns, as Carlyle, Brownson, and Emerson, by lectures, essays, and reviews. But these systems are quite inadequate to meet the wants of American civilization.

Indeed, however men of talent may strive, there cannot be another Socrates, Plato, or Aristotle; for the printing-press has come, and their occupation has gone. Teachers were philosophers, pupils were followers and disciples, while learning was devoted to the support of speculations and theories.

But, while we have no such teachers as those of Athens, and need no such schools as they founded, we have teachers and schools whose character and genius correspond to the age in which we live. Teaching is a profession; not merely an ignoble pursuit, nor a toy of scholastic ambition, but a profession enjoying the public confidence, requiring great talents, demanding great industry, and securing, permit me to say, great rewards. To be the leader of a sect or the founder of a school, is something; but the acceptable teacher is superior to either; he is the first and chief exponent of a popular sovereignty which seeks happiness and immortality for itself by elevating and refining the parts of which it is composed. The ancient teacher gathered his hearers, disciples, and pupils, in the streets, groves, and public squares. The modern teacher is comparatively secluded; but let him not hence infer that he is without influence. Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, had their triumphs; but none more distinguished than that of a Massachusetts teacher, who, at the age of fourscore years, on a festive day, received from his former pupils—and among them were the most eminent of the land—sincere and affectionate assurances of esteem and gratitude. The pupil may be estranged from the master in opinion, for our system does not concern itself with opinions, political or religious; but the faithful teacher will always find the evidence of his fidelity in the lives of those intrusted to his care. No position is more important than the teacher's; and his influence is next to that of the parent. It is his high and noble province to touch the youthful mind, test its quality, and develop its characteristics. He often stands in the place of the parent. He aids in giving character to the generations of men; which is at once a higher art and a purer glory than distinguishes those who build the walls of cities, or lay the foundations of empires. The cities which contested for the honor of being the birthplace of Homer are forgotten, or remembered only because they contested for the honor, while Homer himself is immortal. If, then, the mere birth of a human being is an honor to a city, how illustrious the distinction of those who guide the footsteps of youth along the rugged paths of learning, and develop in a generation the principles of integrity and mercy, justice and freedom, government and humanity! If in a lifetime of toil the teacher shall bring out of the mass of common minds one Franklin, or Howard, or Channing, or Bowditch, he will have accomplished more than is secured by the devotees of wealth, or the disciples of pleasure. As the man is more important than the mere philosopher, so is the modern teacher more elevated than the ancient.

The true teacher takes hold of the practical and elementary, as distinguished from the learning whose chief or sole value is in display. Present gratification is desirable, especially to parents and teachers; but it may be secured at the cost of solid learning and real progress. This is a serious error among us, and it will not readily be abandoned; but it is the duty of teachers, and of all parents who are friends to genuine learning, to aid in its removal. We are inclined to treat the period of school-life as though it covered the entire time that ought properly to be devoted to education. The first result—a result followed by pernicious consequences—is that the teacher is expected to give instruction in every branch that the pupil, as child, youth, or adult, may need to know. It is impossible that instruction so varied should always be good. Learning is knowledge of subjects based and built upon a thorough acquaintance with their elements. The path of duty, therefore, should lead the teacher to make his instruction thorough in a few branches, rather than attempt to extend it over a great variety of subjects. This, to the teacher who is employed in a district or town but three or six months, is a hard course, and many may not be inclined to pursue it. Something, no doubt, must be yielded to parents; but they, too, should be educated to a true view of their children's interests. As the world is, a well-spoken declamation is more gratifying to parents, and more creditable to teachers, than the most careful training in the vowel-sounds; yet the latter is infinitely more valuable to the scholar. Neither progress in the languages nor knowledge of mathematics can compensate for the want of a thorough etymological discipline. This training should be primary in point of time, as well as elementary in character; and a classical education is no adequate compensation.

Elements are all-important to the teacher and the student. It is not possible to have an idea of a square without some idea of a straight line, nor to express with pencil or words the arc of a circle without a previous conception of the curve. Combination follows in course. We are driven to it. Our own minds, all nature, all civilization, tend to the combination of elements.

We think fast, live fast, learn fast, and, as the fashion of the world requires a knowledge of many things, we crowd the entire education of our children into the short period of school-life. Here, and just here, public sentiment ought to relieve the teacher by reforming itself.

It should be understood that school-life is to be devoted to the thorough discipline of the mind to study, and to an acquaintance with those simple, elementary branches, which are the foundation of all good learning. When a knowledge of the elements is secured, then the languages, mathematics, and all science, may be pursued with enthusiasm and success by a class of men well educated in every department. Public sentiment must allow the teacher to give careful instruction in reading and spelling, for example, in the most comprehensive meaning of those terms—in the sound and power of letters, in the composition and use of words, and in the natural construction of sentences. This, of course, includes a knowledge of grammar, not as a dry, philological study, but as a science; not as composed of arbitrary rules, merely, but as the common and best judgment of men concerning the use and power of language, of which rules and definitions are but an imperfect expression.

Nor do we herein assign the teacher to neglect or obscurity. He, as well as others, must have faith in the future. His reward may be distant, but it is certain.

It is, however, likely that the labors of a faithful elementary teacher will be appreciated immediately, and upon the scene of his toil. But, if they are not, his pupils, advancing in age and increasing in knowledge, will remember with gratitude and in words the self-sacrificing labors of their master.

We are not so constituted as to labor without motive. With some the motive is high, with others it is low and grovelling. The teacher must be himself elevated, or he cannot elevate others. The pupil may, indeed, advance to a higher sphere than that occupied by the teacher; but it is only because he draws from a higher fountain elsewhere. In such cases the success of the pupil is not the success of the master. He who labors as a teacher for mere money, or for temporary fame, which is even less valuable, cannot choose a calling more ignoble, nor can he ever rise to a higher; for his sordid motives bring all pursuits to the low level of his own nature.

Yet it is not to be assumed that the teacher, more than the clergyman, is to labor without pecuniary compensation; for, while money should not be the sole object of any man's life, it is, under the influence of our civilization, essential to the happiness of us all. Wealth, properly acquired and properly used, may become a means of self-education. It purchases relief from the harassing toil of uninterrupted manual labor. It is the only introduction we can have to the thoroughfares of travel by which we are made acquainted personally with the globe that we inhabit. It brings to our firesides books, paintings, and statuary, by which we learn something of the world as it is and as it was. It gives us the telescope and the microscope, by whose agency we are able to appreciate, even though but imperfectly, the immensity of creation on the one hand, and its infinity on the other. The teacher is not to labour without money, nor to despise it more than other men; and the public might as well expect the free services of the minister, lawyer, physician, or farmer, as to expect the gratuitous or cheap education of their children. While the teacher is educating others, he must also educate himself. This he cannot do without both leisure and money. The advice of Iago is, therefore, good advice for teachers: "Go, make money. * * Put money enough in your purse." The teacher's motives should be above mere gain; though this view of the subject does not, as some might infer, lead to the conclusion that he ought to labor for inadequate compensation.

When George III. was first insane, Dr. Willis was called to the immediate personal charge of the king. Dr. Willis had been educated to the church, and a living had been assigned him; but, becoming interested in the subject of insanity, he had established an asylum, and gained a distinguished position in his new profession. The suffering monarch was sadly puzzled to know why Dr. Willis was with him, and how he had been brought there. The custodian was not very definite in his explanations, but suggested that he came to comfort the king in his afflictions; and, said he, "You know that our Saviour went about doing good."—"Yes," said the king, "but he never received seven hundred pounds a year for it." This was good wit, especially good royal wit, because unexpected. But there is no reason why actual monarchs of England, or coming monarchs of America, should be treated or taught gratuitously. The compensation, the living of the teacher, is one thing; the motive may and ought to be quite different. The teacher should labor in his profession because he loves it, because he does good in it, and because he can in that sphere answer a high purpose of existence. These being the motives of the teacher, he should educate, draw out, corresponding ones in his pupils.

The teacher is not to create—he is to draw out. Every child has the germs of many, and, it may be, quite different qualities of character. Look at the infant. It is so constituted that it may have a stalwart arm, broad chest, and well-rounded, vigorous muscles; but yet it may come to adult age destitute of these physical excellences. Yet you will not say that the elements did not exist in the child. They were there; but, being neglected, they followed a law of our nature, that the development of a faculty depends upon its exercise. Nature will develop some quality in every man; for our existence demands the exercise of a part of our faculties. The faculty used will be developed in excess as compared with other faculties. It is the business of the teacher to aid nature. For the most part, he must stimulate, encourage, draw out, develop, though it may happen that he will be required occasionally to check a tendency which threatens to absorb or overshadow all the others. He must, at any rate, prevent the growth of those powers which tend towards the savage state.

While the teacher creates nothing, he must so draw out the qualities of the child that it may attain to perfect manhood. He moulds, he renders symmetrical, the physical, the intellectual, the moral man. Nature sometimes does this herself, as though she would occasionally furnish a model man for our imitation, as she has given lines, and forms, and colors, which all artists of all ages shall copy, but cannot equal. But, do the best we can, education is more or less artificial; and hence the child of the school will suffer by comparison with the child of nature, when she presents him in her best forms.

In a summer ramble I met a man so dignified as to attract the notice and command the respect of all who knew him. I was with him upon the lakes and mountains several days and nights, and never for a moment did the manliness of his character desert him. I have seen no other person who could boast such physical beauty. Accustomed to a hunter's life; carrying often a pack of thirty or forty or fifty pounds; sleeping upon the ground or a bed of boughs; able, if necessity of interest demanded, to travel in the woods the ordinary distance which a good horse would pass over upon our roads; with every organ of the arm, the leg, the trunk, fully expressed; with a manly, kind, intelligent countenance, a beard uncut, in the vigor of early manhood, he seemed a model which the statuaries of Greece and Rome desired to see, but did not. He had at once the bearing of a soldier and the characteristics of a gentleman. He was ignorant of grammatical rules and definitions, yet his conversation would have been accepted in good circles of New England society. This man had his faults, but they were not grievous faults, nor did they in any manner affect the qualities of which I have spoken.

This is what nature sometimes does; this is what we should always strive to do, extending this symmetry, if possible, to the moral as well as to the intellectual and physical organization. This man is ignorant of science, of books, of the world of letters, and the world of art, yet we respect him. Why? Because nature has chosen to illustrate in him her own principles, power and beauty.

That we may draw out the qualities of the human mind as they exist, we must first appreciate our influence upon childhood and youth. Our own experience is the best evidence of what that influence is. All along our lives the lessons of childhood return to us. The hills and valleys, the lakes, rivers, and rivulets, of our early home, come not in clearer visions before us than do the exhortations to industry, the incentives to progress, the lessons of learning, and the principles of truth, uttered and offered by the teachers of early years. In the same way the lines of the poet, the reflections of the philosopher, the calm truths of the historian, read once and often carelessly, and for many years forgotten, return as voices of inspiration, and are evermore with us.

That the teacher may have influence, his ear must be open to the voice of truth, and his mouth must be liberal with words of consolation, encouragement, and advice. He rules in a little world, and the scales of justice must be balanced evenly in his hands. He should go in and out before his scholars free from partiality or prejudice; indifferent to the voice of envy or detraction; shunning evil and emulous of good; patient of inquiries in the hours of duty; filled with the spirit of industry in his moments of leisure; gathering up and spreading before his pupils the choicest gems of literature, art, and science, that they may be early and truly inspired with the love of learning.

The public school is a little world, and the teacher rules therein. It contains the rich and the poor, the virtuous and the corrupt, the studious and the indifferent, the timid and the brave, the fearful and the hearts elate with hope and courage. Life is there no cheat; it wears no mask, it assumes no unnatural positions, but presents itself as it is. Deformed and repulsive in some of its features, yet to him whose eye is as quick to discover its beauty as its deformity, its harmony as its discord, there is always a bright spot on which he may gaze, and a fond hope to which he may cling. Artificial life, whether in the select school or the select party, tends to weaken our faith in humanity; and a want of faith in our race is an omen of ill-success in life. Teachers should have faith in humanity, and should labor constantly to inspire others with the belief that the true law of our nature is the law of progress.

Those who come early in life to the conclusion that the many cannot be moved by the higher sentiments and ideas which control a few favored mortals, cease to labor for the advancement of the race. They consequently lose their hold upon society, and society neglects them. For such men there can be no success.

Others, like Jefferson and Channing, never lose confidence in their species, and their species never lose confidence in them. When the teacher comes to believe that the world is worse than it was, and never can be better, he need wait for no other evidence that his days of usefulness are over.

The school-room will teach the child, even as the prison will instruct maturity and age, that few persons are vicious in the extreme, and that no one lives without some ennobling traits of character and life. The teacher's faith is the measure of the teacher's usefulness. It is to him what conception is to the artist; and, if the sculptor can see the image of grace and beauty in the fresh-quarried marble, so must the teacher see the full form of the coming man in the trembling child or awkward youth.

The teacher ought not to grow old. To be sure, time will lay its hand on him, as it does on others; but he should always cultivate in himself the feelings, sentiments, and even ambitions of youth. Far enough removed from his pupils in age and position to stimulate them by his example, and encourage them by his precepts, he should yet be so near them that he can appreciate the steps and struggles which mark their progress in the path of learning. There must be some points of contact, something common to teacher and pupils. Indeed, for us all it is true that age loses nothing of its dignity or respect when it accepts the sentiments and sports of youth and childhood. But above all should the teacher remember the common remark of La Place, in his Celestial Mechanics, and the observation of Dr. Bowditch upon it. "Whenever I meet in La Place with the words, 'Thus it plainly appears,' I am sure that hours, and perhaps days, of hard study, will alone enable me to discover how it plainly appears." The good teacher will seek first to estimate each scholar's capacity, and then adapt his instructions accordingly. Though he may be far removed from his pupils in attainments, he should be able to mark the steps by which ordinary minds pass from common principles to their noblest application.

This observation may by some be deemed unnecessary; but there are living teachers who, having mastered the noblest sciences, are unable to appreciate and lead ordinary minds.

The teacher must be in earnest. This is the price of success in every profession. The law, it is said, is a jealous mistress, and permits no rivals; the indifferent, careless minister is but a blind leader of the blind, and the "undevout astronomer is mad."

Sincerity of soul and earnestness of purpose will achieve success. According to an eminent authority, there are three kinds of great men: those who are born great, those who achieve greatness, and those who have greatness thrust upon them. If we take greatness of birth to be in greatness of soul and intellect, and not in the mere accident of ancestry, it is such only who have greatness thrust upon them; for the world, after all, rarely makes a mistake in this respect. But there is a larger and a nobler class, whose greatness, whatever it is, must be achieved; and to this class I address myself.

Success is practicable. There need be no failures. A man of reflection will soon find whether he can succeed in his pursuit; if not, he has mistaken his calling, or neglected the proper means of success. In either case, a remedy is at hand. If a teacher is indifferent to his calling, and cannot bring himself to pursue it with ardor, it is a duty to himself, to his profession, to his pupils, to abandon it at once. It is idle to suppose that we are doing good in a work to which we are not attracted by our sympathies, and in which we are not sustained by our faith and hopes. The men who succeed are the men who believe that they can succeed. The men who fail are those to whom success would have been a surprise. There is no doubt some appropriate pursuit in life for every man of ordinary talents; but no one can tell whether he has found it for himself until he has made a vigorous and persistent application of his powers. If the teacher fail to do this, he need not seek for success in another profession, when he has already declined to pay its price.

The choice of a profession is one of the great acts of life. It should not be done hastily, nor without a careful examination and just appreciation of the elements of character. A competent teacher may aid his pupils in this respect. A mistake in occupation is a calamity to the individual, and an injury to the public. Our school-rooms contain artists, farmers, mathematicians, mechanics, poets, lawyers, statesmen, orators, and warriors; but some one must do for them what Shakspeare says the monarch of the hive has done for all his subjects—assigned them

"Officers of sorts; Where some, like magistrates, correct at home; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; Which pillage, they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons, building roofs of gold; The civil citizens kneading up the honey; The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate; The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy, yawning drone."

Teachers are so situated that they may give wholesome advice; while parents—and I say it with respect—are quite likely, under the influence of an instinctive belief that their children are fitted for any place within the range of human labor or human ambition, to make fatal mistakes. While all pursuits and professions, if honest, are equally honorable, the individual selection must be determined by taste, circumstances, individual habits, and often by physical facts. It is not for one person to do everything, but it is for each person to do at least one thing well. As a general rule, the painter, who has spent his youth and manhood in studying the canvas, had better not study the stars; and the artist, who has power to bring the form of life from the cold marble, has no right to solve problems in geometry, weigh planets, or calculate eclipses. The proper choice of the business of life may do much to perfect our social system, and it will certainly advance our material prosperity. There is everywhere in our civilization mutual dependence, and there must be mutual support. In no other way can we advance to our destiny as becomes an enlightened people.

But all of life and education, either to pupil, teacher, or man, is not to be found in the school-room. The common period of school-life is sufficient only for elementary education. The average school-going period is ten years. Of this, one-half is spent in vacations and absences, so that each child has about five years of school-life. Only one-fourth of each day is spent in the school-room; and the continuous attendance, therefore, is about fifteen months, equal to the time which most of us give to sleep, every four or five years of our existence. This view leads me to say again that it is the duty of the teacher in this brief period to lay a good foundation for subsequent scientific and classical culture. More than this cannot be accomplished; and, where this is accomplished, and a taste for learning is formed, and the means to be employed are comprehended, a satisfactory school-life has been passed.

Education—universal education—is a necessity; and, as there is no royal road to learning, so there is no aristocracy of mental power depending upon social or pecuniary distinctions. The New England colonies, and Massachusetts first of all, established the system of education now called universal or public. It was not then easy to comprehend the principle which lies at the foundation of a system of public instruction. We are first to consider that a system of public instruction implies a system of universal taxation. The only rule on which taxes can be levied justly is that the object sought is of public necessity, or manifest public convenience. It quite often happens that men of our own generation are insensible or indifferent to the true relation of the citizen to the cause of education. Some seem to imagine that their interest in schools, and of course their moral obligation to support them, ceases with the education of their own children. This is a great error. The public has no right to levy a tax for the education of any particular child, or family of children; but its right of taxation commences when the education or plan of education is universal, and ceases whenever the plan is limited, or the operations of the system are circumscribed.

No man can be taxed properly because he has children of his own to educate; this may be a reason with some for cheerful payment, but it has in itself no element of a just principle. When, however, the people decide that education is a matter of public concern, then taxation for its promotion rests upon the same foundation as the most important departments of a government. Yet, many generations of men came and passed away before the doctrine was received that, as a public matter, a man is equally interested in the education of his neighbor's children as in the education of his own. As parents, we have a special interest in our children; as citizens, it is this, that they may be honest, industrious, and effective in their labors. This interest we have in all children.

The safety of our persons and property demands their honesty; our right to be exempt from pauper and criminal taxes requires habits of universal industry; and our part in the general wealth and prosperity is increased by the intelligent application of manual labor in all the walks of life.

A man may, indeed, be proud of the attainments of his family, as men are often proud of their ancestry; yet they possess little real value as a family possession. The pride of ancestry has no value; it

"Is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till, by broad-spreading, it disperse to naught."

I pass from this digression to the statement that the chief means of self-improvement are five: Observation, Conversation, Reading, Memory, and Reflection.

It is an art to observe well—to go through the world with our eyes open—to see what is before us. All men do not see alike, nor see the same things. Our powers of observation take on the hues of daily life. The artist, in a strange city or foreign land, observes only the specimens of taste and beauty or their opposites; the mechanic studies anew the principles of his science as applied to the purposes of life; the architect transfers to his own mind the images of churches, cathedrals, temples, and palaces; while the philanthropist rejoices in cellars and lanes, that he may know how poverty and misery change the face and heart of man.

An American artist, following the lead of Mr. Jefferson, has beautifully illustrated the nature of the power of observation. We do not see even the faces of our common friends alike. The stranger observes a family likeness which is invisible to the familiar acquaintance. The former sees only the few points of agreement, and decides upon them; while the latter has observed and studied the more numerous points of difference, until he is blind to all others. Hence a portrait may appear true to a stranger, which, to an intimate acquaintance, is barren in expression, and destitute of character. Therefore, the artist wisely and properly esteemed himself successful when his work was approved by the wife or the mother. The world around us is full of knowledge. We should so behold it as to be instructed by all that is. The distant star paints its image on our eye with a ray of light sent forth thousands of years ago; yet its lesson is not of itself, but of the universe and its mysteries, and of the Creator out of whose divine hand all things have come.

Conversation is at once an art, an accomplishment, and a science. It leads to valuable practical results. It has a place, and by no means an inferior place, in the schools. Facts stated, questions proposed, or theories illustrated, in conversation, are permanently impressed upon the mind. It is in the power of the teacher to communicate much information in this way, and it is in the power of us all to make conversation a means of improvement.

But, when the pupil leaves the school, reading, so systematic and thorough as to be called study, is, no doubt, the best culture he can enjoy. In the first place, books are accessible to all, and they may be had at all times. They can be used in moments of leisure, in solitude, in the hours when sleep is too proud to wait on us, and when friends are absent or indifferent to our lot. Conversation may be patronizing, or it may leave us a debtor; when the book-seller's bill is settled, we have no account with the author.

If I am permitted to speak to all, pupils as well as teachers, I am inclined to say, "Do not consider your education finished when you leave home and the school." Your labors of a practical sort ought then to commence. With system and care, you may read works of literature and history, or devote yourself to mathematics in the higher departments of science. As a general thing, however, it is not wise to attempt too much at once. The custom of the schools is to require each pupil to attend to several branches at the same time; but this course cannot be recommended to adult persons with disciplined minds. It seems better to select one subject, and make it the leading topic, for a time, of our studies and thoughts. It may also be proper to suggest that works of fiction, poetry, and romance, ought not to be read until the mind is well disciplined, and a good foundation of solid learning is laid. Such works tend to make one's style of thought and writing easy, flowing, and agreeable; but they are also calculated to make us dissatisfied with the more substantial labors of intellectual life. Having obtained the elements of learning, one thing is absolutely essential—system in study. I fancy that there are two prevalent errors among us. First, that men often attain intellectual eminence without study; and, secondly, that exclusive devotion to books is the price of success. Whoever neglects study, whatever his natural abilities, will find himself distanced by inferior men; and, on the other hand, whoever will devote three hours each day to the systematic improvement of his mind will finally be numbered among the leading persons of the age. But, while we observe, converse, and read, the power of memory and the habit of reflection should be cultivated. The habit of reflection is a great aid to the memory, and together they enable us to use the knowledge we daily acquire.

No previous age of the world has offered so great encouragement, whether in fame or money, to men of science and literature, as the present. Formerly, authors flourished under the patronage of princes, or withered by their neglect; but now they are encouraged and paid by the people, and reap where they have sown, whether kings will or not. The poverty of authors was once proverbial; but now the only authors who are poor are poor authors. Good learning, integrity, and ability, are well compensated in all the professions. Some one remarked to Mr. Webster, "That the profession of the law was crowded."—"Yes," said he, "rather crowded below, but there is plenty of room above." Littleness and mediocrity always seek the paths worn by superior men; and the truly illustrious in literature and science are few in number compared with those who attempt to tread in the footsteps of their illustrious predecessors; but none of these things ought to deter young men of ability, industry, and integrity, from boldly entering the lists, without fear of failure. The world is usually just, and it will ultimately award the tokens of its approbation to those who deserve success.

And there is a happy peculiarity in talent,—the variety is so great that the competition is small. Of all the living authors, are there two so alike that they can be considered competitors or rivals? The nation has applauded and set the seal of its approbation upon the eloquence of Henry, Otis, Adams, Ames, Pinckney, Wirt, Calhoun, Clay, and Webster, not because these men resembled one another, but because each had peculiarities and excellences of his own. The same variety of excellence is seen in living orators, and in all the eloquence and learning of antiquity which time has spared and history has transmitted to us. It is said that when Aristides wrote the sentence of his own banishment for a humble and unknown enemy, the only reason given by the peasant was that he was "tired with hearing him called the Just." And the world sometimes appears to be restive under the influence of men of talent; but that influence, whether always agreeable or not, is both permanent and beneficial.

Not only does each generation respect its own leading minds, but it is submissive to the learning and intellect of other days. The influence of ancient Greece still remains. We copy her architecture, borrow from her philosophy, admire her poetry, and bow with humility before the remnants of her majestic literature. So the policy of Rome is perceptible in the civilization of every European country, and it is a potent element in the laws and jurisprudence of America. The eloquence of Demosthenes has been impressed upon every succeeding generation of civilized men; the genius of Hannibal has stimulated the ambition of warriors from his own time to that of Napoleon; while Shakspeare's power has been the wonder of all modern authors and readers. It is a great representative fact in mental philosophy, which we cannot too much contemplate, that Demosthenes and Cicero not only enchained the thousands of Greece and Rome in whose presence they stood, but that their eloquence has had a controlling influence over myriads to whom the language in which they spoke was unknown. The words that the houseless Homer sung in the streets of Smyrna have commanded the admiration of all later times; and even the mud walls around Plato's garden, on which are preserved the fragments of statuary with which the garden was once adorned, attract and instruct the wanderers and students about Athens.

But let us not deceive ourselves with the idea that we can illustrate anew the greatness which has distinguished a few men only in all the long centuries of the world's existence. Be not imitators nor followers of other men's glory. There is a path for each one, and his duty lies therein. Yet the leading men of the world are lights which ought not to be hid from the young, for they serve to show the extent of the field in which human powers may be employed. The rule of the successful life is to neglect no present opportunity of good either to yourself or to others; and the rule of the successful student is to gather information from whatever source he may, not doubting that it will prove useful to himself or to his fellow-men.

Our own age has furnished two men,—one living, the other dead,—quite opposite in talents and attainments, whose power and influence may not have been surpassed in ancient or modern times. I speak of Kossuth and Webster. Our history has no parallel for the first. Most men, young or old, gay or severe, radical or conservative, were touched by his mournful strains, and influenced by his magic words. He came from a land of which we knew little, and so laid open the history of its wrongs that he enlisted multitudes in its behalf. I speak not now of the views he presented, nor of the demands he made upon the American people. If he taught error and asked wrong, so the more wonderful was his career. No doubt his cause did much for him; but other patriots and exiles have had equal opportunities with Kossuth, yet no one has so swayed the public mind.

He was distinguished in intellect, a master of much learning, a man of nice moral feeling and strong religious sentiments, all of which were combined and blended in his addresses to the people. But he spoke a language whose rudiments he first learned in manhood. In his speech he neglected the chief rule of Grecian eloquence. With one theme, only,—the wrongs of Hungary; with one object, only,—her relief and elevation,—he commanded the general attention of the American mind. The mission of Kossuth in America deserves to be remembered as an intellectual phenomenon, whose like, we of this generation may not again see.

Mr. Webster had never great personal popularity. His presence was majestic, but forbidding. His manners were agreeable, and sometimes fascinating to his friends, when he was in a genial mood; but he was often reserved or even austere to strangers, and terrible to his enemies. His style of thought was mathematical, his language expressive, but never popular. He wrote as a man would dictate an essay which was to appear as a posthumous work. His eloquence was not that which often passes for eloquence upon the stump or at the bar. He seldom attempted to court the people, and when he did, it was as if he mocked himself, and scorned the spirit which could be moved by the breezes of popular favor. He was not free from faults, personal and political; yet he acquired a control which has not been possessed by any man since Washington. Whenever he was to speak, the public were anxious to hear and to read. Hardly any man has had the fortune to present his views in addresses, letters, and speeches, to so large a portion of his countrymen; yet the people whom he addressed, and who were anxious for his words and opinions, did not always, or even generally, agree with him. Mr. Webster's power was chiefly, if not solely, intellectual. He had not the personal qualities of Mr. Clay or General Jackson; he was not, like Mr. Jefferson the chosen exponent of a political creed, and the admitted leader of a great political party; nor had he the military character and universally acknowledged patriotism of General Washington, which made him first in the hearts of his countrymen. Mr. Webster stands alone. His domain is the intellect, and thus far in America he is without a rival. To Mr. Webster, and to all men proportionately, according to the measure of their gifts and attainments, we may apply his great words: "A superior and commanding human intellect, a truly great man, when Heaven vouchsafes so rare a gift, is not a temporary flame, burning brightly for a while, and then giving place to returning darkness. It is rather a spark of fervent heat, as well as radiant light, with power to enkindle the common mass of human mind; so that, when it glimmers in its own decay, and finally goes out in death, no night follows, but it leaves the world all light, all on fire, from the potent contact of its own spirit."

Some humble measure of this greatness may be attained by all; and, if I have sought to lead you in the way of improvement by considerations too purely personal and selfish, I will implore you, in conclusion, as teachers and as citizens, to consider yourselves as the servants of your country and your race. There can be no real greatness of mind without generosity of soul. If a superior human intellect seems to be specially the gift of God, how is he wanting in true religion who fails to dedicate it to humanity, justice, and virtue!

An eminent historian, seeing at one view, and as in the present moment, the fall of great states, ancient and modern, and anticipating a like fate for his own beloved land, has predicted that in two centuries there will be three hundred millions of people in North America speaking the language of England, reading its authors, and glorying in their descent. If this be so, what limits can we assign to the work, or how estimate the duty, of those intrusted with the education of the young?

Who can say what share of responsibility for the future of America is upon the teachers of the land?



LIBERTY AND LEARNING.

[An Address delivered at Montague, July 4th, 1857.]

I congratulate you upon the auspicious moments of this, the eighty-first anniversary of our National Independence; and its return, now and ever, should be the occasion of gratitude to the Author of all good, that He hath vouchsafed to our fathers and to their descendants the wisdom to establish and the wisdom to preserve the institutions of Liberty in America.

And I congratulate you that you accept this anniversary as the occasion for considering the subject of education. Ignorant and blind worshippers of Liberty can do but little for its support; but, whatever of change or decay may come to our institutions, Liberty itself can never die in the presence of a people universally and thoroughly educated. It is not, then, inappropriate nor unphilosophical for us to connect Education and Liberty together; and I therefore propose, after presenting some thoughts upon the Declaration of Independence, and its relations to the American Union, to consider the value of political learning, its neglect, and the means by which it may be promoted.

The events and epochs of life are logical in their nature, and are harmonious or inharmonious as the affairs of men are controlled by principle, policy, or accident. Humboldt, Maury, and Guyot, Arago, Agassiz, and Pierce, by observation, philosophy, and mathematics, demonstrate the harmony of the physical creation. In the microscopic animalculae; in the gigantic remains, whether vegetable or animal, of other ages and conditions of life; in the coral reef and the mountain range; in the hill-side rivulet that makes "the meadows green;" in the ocean current that bathes and vivifies a continent; in the setting of the leaf upon its stem, and the moving of Uranus in its orbit, they trace a law whose harmony is its glory, and whose mystery is the evidence of its divinity.

National changes, the movements and progress of the human race, as a whole and in its parts, are obedient, likewise, to law; and are, therefore, logical in their character, though generally lacking in precision of connection and order of succession. Or it may be, rather, that we lack power to trace the connection between events that depend in part, at least, upon the prejudices, passions, vices, and weaknesses, of men. The development of the logic of human affairs waits for a philosopher who shall study and comprehend the living millions of our race, as the philosophers now study and comprehend the subjects of physical science. We have no guaranty that this can ever be done. As mind is above matter, the mental philosopher enters upon the most varied and difficult field of labor.

Keeping this fact in mind, it appears to be true that every person of observation, reading, and reflection, is something of a mental philosopher, though much the larger number have no knowledge of physical science. And especially must the student of history have a system of mental philosophy; but often, no doubt, his system is too crude for general notice. Every historian connects the events of his narrative by some thread of philosophy or speculation; every reader observes some connection, though he may never develop it to himself, between the events and changes of national and ethnological life; and even the observer whose vision is limited by his own horizon in time and space marks a dependence, and speaks of cause and effect. All this follows from the existence and nature of man. Man is not inert, nor even passive, merely; and his activity will continually organize itself into facts and forms, ever changing in character, it may be, yet subject to a law as wise and fixed as that of planetary motion.

The Independence of the British Colonies in America, declared on the 4th of July, 1776, is not an isolated fact; nor is the Declaration itself a hasty and overwrought production of a young and enthusiastic adventurer in the cause of liberty.

The passions and the reason of men connected the Declaration of Independence with the massacre in King-street, of March 5th, 1770; with the passage and repeal of the Stamp Act; with the attempt to enforce the Writs of Assistance; with the act to close the port of Boston; with the peace of 1763; with the Act of Settlement of 1688; with the execution of Charles I., and the Protectorate of Cromwell; with the death of Hampden; with the confederation of 1643; with the royal charters granted to the respective colonies; with the compact made on board the Mayflower; and, finally, and distinctly, and chiefly,—as the basis of the greatest legal argument of modern times, made by the Massachusetts House of Representatives, from 1765 to 1775,—with the events at Runnymede, and the grant of the Great Charter to the nobles and people of England in 1215, which is itself based upon the concessions of Edward the Confessor, and the affirmation of the Saxon laws in the eleventh century. Our Independence is, then, one logical fact or event in a long succession, to the enumeration of which we may yet add the confederation of 1778, the constitution of 1787, the French Revolution of 1789, the rapid increase of American territory and States, the revolutionary spirit of continental Europe, the reforms in the British government at home, the wise modifications of its colonial policy, and for us a long career of prosperity based upon the cardinal doctrine of the equality of all men before the law.

Nor can any reader of the Declaration itself assume that it contains one statement, proposition, idea, or word, not carefully considered, and carefully expressed. It was not the production of hasty, thoughtless, or reckless men. The country had been gradually prepared for the great event. States, counties, and towns, had made the most distinct expressions of opinion upon the relations of the colonies to the mother country. On the 7th of June, 1776, Richard Henry Lee, of Virginia, moved, in the Congress of the United Colonies, a resolution declaring, That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British crown, and that all political connection between them and the state of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved. The subject was considered on the tenth; and, on the eleventh instant, the committee, consisting of Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Dr. Franklin, Roger Sherman, and Robert R. Livingston, was appointed. On the twenty-fifth of June, a Declaration of the Deputies of Pennsylvania, in favor of Independence, was read. On the twenty-eighth, the credentials of the delegates from New Jersey, in which they were instructed to favor Independence, were presented; and on the first of July similar instructions to the Maryland delegates were laid before Congress. At this time Congress proceeded to consider the Declaration and resolution reported by the committee. The Declaration was carefully considered, and materially amended in committee of the whole, on the first, second, third, and fourth, when it was finally adopted. It was then signed by the president and secretary, and copies were transmitted to the several colonies. The order for its engrossment, and for the signature by every member, was not passed until the nineteenth of July, and it was not really signed until the second of August following. It is not likely, considering the circumstances, and the known character of the members of Congress, among whom may be mentioned John Hancock, Samuel Adams, Benjamin Rush, Robert Morris, Benjamin Harrison, Elbridge Gerry, John Witherspoon, a descendant of John Knox, the Scottish Reformer, Charles Carroll, and Samuel Huntington,—all distinguished for coolness, probity, and patriotism,—that the immortal document can contain one thought or word unworthy its sacred associations, and the character of the American people!

And it is among the alarming symptoms of public sentiment that the Declaration of Independence is by some publicly condemned, and by others quietly accepted as entitled to just the consideration, and no more, that is given to an excited advocate's speech to a jury, or a demagogue's electioneering harangue, or the daily contribution of the partisan editor to the stock of political capital that aids the election of his favorite candidates. And upon this evidence is the nation and the world to be taught that but little was meant by the assertions, "that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that, to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed"? Would it not be wiser to test the government we have, by a statesmanlike application of the principles of the Declaration of Independence in the management of public affairs?

The Union is connected with the Declaration of Independence. The Union is an institution: the Declaration of Independence is an assertion of rights, and an exposition of principles. When principles are disregarded, institutions do not, for any considerable time, retain their original value. And it would be the folly of other nations, without excuse in us, were we to worship blindly any institution, whatever its origin or its history. I do not, myself, doubt the value of the American Union. It was the necessity of the time when it was formed; it is the necessity of the present moment; it was, indeed, the claim of our whole colonial life, and its recognition could be postponed no longer when the colonies crossed the threshold of national existence.

The colonies had carried on a correspondence among themselves upon important matters; the New England settlements formed a confederation in 1643, that was the prototype of the present Union; and the convention at Albany, in 1754, considered in connection with various resolutions and declarations, indicated a growing desire "to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty" to the successive generations that should occupy the American continent.

For these exalted purposes the Constitution was framed, and the Union established; and the Constitution and the Union will remain as long as these exalted purposes, with any considerable share of fidelity, are secured. The Union will not be destroyed by declamation, nor can declamation preserve it. Words have power only when they awaken a response in the minds of those who listen. The Union will be judged, finally, by its merits; and they are not powerful enemies for evil who attack it through the press and from the rostrum; but rather they who, clothed with authority, brief or permanent, interpret the constitution so as to defeat the end for which it was framed. Nor are they the best friends of the Union who lavishly bestow upon it nicely-wrought encomiums, as though the gilding of rhetoric and the ornament of praise could shield a human institution from the judgment of a free people; but rather they who, under Heaven, and in the presence of men, seek to so interpret the constitution as, in the language and in the order of its preamble, "to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty" to themselves and their posterity. Words are powerless, and enemies—envious, jealous, or deluded—are powerless, when they war upon a system of government that secures such exalted results. And, if in these later days of our national existence patriotism has been weakened, respect and reverence for the constitution and the Union have been diminished, it is because the actual government under the constitution has, in the judgment of many, failed to realize the government of the constitution.

But let no one despair of the Republic. Men are now building better than they know; possibly, better than they wish. A great government, powerful in its justice, and therefore to be respected and maintained, must also be powerful in its errors, prejudices, and wrongs, and therefore to be changed and reformed in these respects. The declaration "that all men are created equal" is vital, and will live in the presence of all governments, strong as well as weak, hostile as well as friendly. It has no respect for worldly authority, so evidently is it a direct emanation of the Divine Mind, and so does it harmonize with the highest manifestations of the nature of man. But the Declaration of Independence does not, in this particular, assert that all men are created equal in height or weight, equal in physical strength, intellectual power, or moral worth. It is not dealing with these qualities at all, but with the natural political rights and relations of men. In its view, all are born free from any political subordination to others on account of the accidents or incidents of family or historic name. And hence it follows that no man, by birth or nature, has any right in political affairs to control his fellow-man; and hence it follows further, as there is neither subjection anywhere nor authority anywhere, that all men are created equal, that governments derive their "just powers from the consent of the governed." And hence it must, ere long, be demonstrated by this country, under the light of Christianity, and in the presence of the world, that man cannot have property in his fellow-man.

And, again, let no one despair of the Republic or of the Union; nor let any, with rash confidence, believe that they are indestructible. They are human institutions built up through great sacrifices, and by the exercise of a high order of worldly wisdom. But the government is not an end—it is a means. The end is Liberty regulated by law; and the means will exist as long as the end thereof is attained. But, should the time ever come when the institutions of the country fail to secure the blessings of liberty to the living generation, and hold out no promise of better things in the future, I know not that these institutions could longer exist, of that they ought longer to exist. To be sure, the horizon is not always distinctly seen. The sky is not always clear; there are dark spots upon the disk of Liberty, as upon the sun in the heavens; but, like the sun, its presence is for all. And, whether there be night, or clouds, or distance, its blessings can never be wholly withdrawn from the human race.

It is not to be concealed, however, that the affections of the people have been alienated from the American Union during the last seven years, as they were from the union with Great Britain during the years of our colonial life immediately previous to the Massacre in King-street, in 1770. This solemn personal and public experience is fraught with a great lesson. It should teach those who are intrusted with the administration of public affairs to translate the language of the constitution into the stern realities of public policy, in the light of the Declaration of Independence, and of Liberty; and it should warn those who constitute the government, and who judge it, not to allow their opposition to men or to measures to degenerate into indifference or hostility to the institutions of the country.

A little distrust of ourselves, who see not beyond our own horizon, might sometimes lend charity to our judgment, and discretion to our opposition; for, in the turmoil of politics, and the contests of statesmanship, even, it is not always

"——the sea that sinks and shelves, But ourselves, That rook and rise With endless and uneasy motion, Now touching the very skies, Now sinking into the depths of ocean."

And, as there must be in every society of men something of evil that can be traced to the government, and something of good neglected that a wise and efficient government might have accomplished, it is easy to build up an argument against an existing government, however good when compared with others. This is a narrow, superficial, unsatisfactory, dangerous view to take of public affairs.

We should seek to comprehend the relations of the government, the principles on which it is founded; and, while we justly complain of its defects, and seek to remedy them, we ought also to compare it with other systems that exist, or that might be established. This proposition involves an intelligent realization by the people of the character of their institutions; and I am thus led to express the apprehension that the popular political education of our day is inferior to that of the revolutionary era, and of the age that immediately succeeded it.

There is, no doubt, a disposition and a tendency to extol the recent past. The recollections of childhood are quite at variance with the real truth, and tradition is often the dream of old age concerning the events of early life. As rivers, hills, mountains, roads, and towns, are all magnified by the visions of childhood, it is not strange that men should be also. Hence comes, in part, the popular belief in the superior physical strength and greater longevity of the people who lived fifty or a hundred years ago. Each generation is familiar with its predecessor; but of the one next remote it knows only the marked characters. Those who possessed great physical excellences remain; but they are not so much the representatives of their generation as its exceptions. The weak, the diseased, have fallen by the way; and, as there is an intimate connection between physical and intellectual power, the remnant of any generation, whatever its common character, will retain a disproportionate number of strong-minded men. Hence it is not safe to judge a generation as a whole by those who remain at the age of sixty or seventy years; especially if we reflect that public opinion and tradition are most likely to preserve the names and qualities of those who were distinguished for physical or mental power. Yet, after making due allowance for these exaggerations, I cannot escape the conclusion that we have, as a people, deteriorated in average sound political learning; and I proceed to mention some of the causes and evidences of our degeneracy, and of the superiority of our ancestors.

I. The political condition of the country has been essentially changed.—General personal and family comfort, according to the ideas now entertained, was not a feature of American society for one hundred and seventy years from the settlement at Plymouth. Life was a continual contest—a contest with the forest, with the climate, with the Indians, and especially was it a continual contest with the mother country. The colonists sought to maintain their own rights without infringement, while they accorded to the sovereign his constitutional privileges. Conflicts were frequent, and apprehensions of conflict yet more frequent. Hence those who had the conduct of public affairs were compelled to give some attention to English history, and to the constitutional law of Great Britain. Moreover, it was always important to secure and keep a strong public sentiment on the side of liberty; and there were usually in every town men who thoroughly investigated questions of public policy. There was one topic, more absorbing than any other, that involved the study of the legal history and usage of Great Britain, and a careful consideration of the general principles of liberty; namely, the constitutional rights of a British subject. Here was a broad field for inquiry, investigation, and study; and it was faithfully cultivated and gleaned. There has never been a political topic for public discussion in America more important in itself, or better calculated to educate an American in a knowledge of his political rights, than the examination of the political relations of the subject to the crown and parliament of Great Britain previous to the Declaration of Independence. It was not an abstraction. It had a practical value to every man in the colonies, and it was the prominent feature of the masterly exposition made by the Massachusetts House of Representatives, to which I have already referred. And we can better estimate the political education which the times furnished, when we consider that the revolutionary war was made logical and necessary through a knowledge of positions, facts, and arguments, scattered over the history of the colonies. But, when our Independence had been established and recognized, constitutions had been framed, and the governments of the states and nation set in motion, the beauty and harmony of our political system seemed to render continued attention to political principles and the rights of individual men unnecessary. Hence, we may anticipate the judgment of impartial history in the admission that public attention was gradually given to contests for office which did not always involve the maintenance of a fundamental principle of government, or the recognition of an essential human right. It does not, however, follow, from this admission, that we are indifferent to our political lot,—occasional contests upon principle refute such a conjecture,—but that men are not anxious concerning those things which appear to be secure. And the differences of political parties of the last fifty years have not been so much concerning the nature of human rights, as in regard to the institutions by which those rights can be best protected. Therefore our political questions have been questions of expediency rather than of principle. And, if there is any foundation for the popular impression that public offices are conferred on men less eminently qualified to give dignity to public employments, the reason of this degeneracy—less noteworthy than it is usually represented—is to be found in this connection.

Governments and political organizations accept the common law of society. When an individual or a corporation is prosperous, places of trust and emolument are often gained and occupied by unworthy men; but, when profits are diminished, or when they disappear entirely; when dividends are passed, when loss and bankruptcy are imminent, then, if hope and courage still remain, places of importance are filled by the appointment of abler and worthier men. The charge made against official character, to whatever extent true, is better evidence of confidence and prosperity than it is of the degeneracy of the people; and a public exigency, serious and long-continued, would call to posts of responsibility the highest talent and integrity which the country could produce. But it is, nevertheless, to be admitted as a necessary consequence of the facts already stated, and the views presented, that the average amount of sound political learning among those engaged in public employments is less than it was during the revolutionary era. It is, however, also to be observed, that, when such learning seems to be specially required, the people demand it and secure it. Hence the work of framing constitutions, even in the new states, has, in its execution, commanded the approval of political writers in this country and in Europe. And it must, also, be admitted that peace and prosperity render sound political learning and great experience less necessary, and at the same time multiply the number of men who are considered eligible to office. Candidates are put in nomination and elected because they have been good neighbors, honorable citizens, competent teachers of youth, or faithful spiritual guides; or, possibly, because they have been successful in business, are of the military or of the fire department, or because they are leaders and benefactors of special classes of society. In ordinary times these facts are all worthy of consideration and real deference; but when, as in the Revolution, every place of public service is a post of responsibility, or sacrifice, or danger, candidates and electors will not meet upon these grounds, but, disregarding such circumstances, the canvass will have special reference to the work to be done. For civil employments, political learning and experience are required; and for military posts, skill, sagacity, and courage. It may be said that our whole colonial life was a preparatory school for the revolutionary contest; and, therefore, the major part of the enterprise, ambition, and patriotism, of the country, was given to the training, studies, and pursuits, calculated to fit men for so stern a struggle. But now that other avenues are inviting in themselves, and promise political preferment, we are liable to the criticism that our young men, well educated in the schools and in a knowledge of the world, are not well grounded in political history and constitutional law, without which there can be no thorough and comprehensive statesmanship. And, as I pass from this branch of my subject, I may properly say that I do not seek to limit the number of candidates for public office; for every office is a school, and the public itself is a great and wise teacher. Nor do I ask any to abandon the employments and duties, or to neglect the claims of business and of social life; but I seek to impress upon our youth a sense of the importance of adding something thereto. The knowledge of which I have spoken is valuable in the ordinary course of public business, and absolutely essential in the exigences of political and national life. And it is with an eye single to the happiness of individuals, and the welfare of the public, that I invite my fellow-citizens, and especially the young men of the state, to take something from the hours of labor, where labor is excessive; or something from amusement, where amusement has ceased to be recreation; or something from light reading, which often is neither true, nor reasonable, nor useful; or something from indolence and dissipation; and, in the minutes and hours thus gained, treasure up valuable knowledge for the circumstances and exigences of citizenship and public office.

II. The claims of business and society are unfavorable to political learning.—I assume it to be true of Massachusetts that the proportion of freehold farmers to the whole population is gradually diminishing, and that the amount of labor performed by each is gradually increasing. From the settlement of the country to the commencement of the present century, there was a great deal of privation, hardship, and positive suffering; but the claim for continuous labor was not exacting.

The necessary articles of food and clothing were chiefly supplied from the land, and the majority did not contemplate any great accumulation of worldly goods, but sought rather to place their political and religious privileges upon a sure foundation. Agriculture was in a rude state, and consequently did not furnish steady employment to those engaged in it. It is only when there are valuable markets, scientific, or at least careful cultivation, and large profits, that the farmer can use his evenings and long winters in his profession. These circumstances did not exist until the present century; and we have thus in this discussion found both the motive and the opportunity for political learning among our ancestors.

It is also possible that the increased activity of business and business men is unfavorable to those studies and thoughts that are essential to political learning. Commerce and trade are stimulated by never-ceasing competition; and manufacturers are not free from the influence of markets, and the necessity of variety, taste, and skill, in the management of their business. If the larger share of the physical and mental vigor of a man is given to business, his hours of leisure must be hours of relaxation; and to most minds the study of history and of kindred topics is by no means equivalent to recreation. Moreover, society presents numerous claims which are not easily disregarded. Fashionable life puts questions that but few people have the courage to answer in the negative. Have you read the last novel? the new play? the reviews of the quarter? the magazines of the month? or the greatest satire of the age? These questions have puzzled many young men into customary neglect of useful reading, that they may not admit their ignorance in the presence of those whom they respect or admire.

But, everything valuable is expensive, and learning can be secured only by severe self-sacrifice. With our ancestors, after religious culture, historical and political reading was next immediately before them; but the youth of this generation who seek such learning are compelled to make their way without deference to the daily customs of society. There is no fashionable or tolerated society that invites young men to read the history of England prior to the time when Macaulay begins. Nor does public sentiment recommend De Lolme on the British constitution, the Federalist, the writings of Jefferson, Madison, Marshall, Story, and Webster, upon the constitution of the United States, and the practice of the government under it. Not but that these topics are considered in the higher institutions of learning; but I address myself to those who have enjoyed the advantages of our common schools only, where thorough instruction in national and general political history cannot be given. This kind of learning must be self-acquired, and acquired by some temporary sacrifice; and the sooner, in the case of every young man, this sacrifice is contemplated and offered, the more acceptable and useful it will be. And the acquisition of this kind of learning does not, in a majority of cases, admit of delay. It should be the work of youth and early manhood. The duties of life are so constant and pressing that we find it difficult to abstract ourselves and our thoughts from the world; but, from the age of sixteen to the age of twenty-five, the attention may be concentrated upon special subjects, and their elements mastered.

By the Athenian law, minority terminated at the age of sixteen years; and Demosthenes, at that period of his life, commenced a course of self-education by which he became the first orator of Athens, and the admiration of the after-world. The father of Demosthenes died worth fourteen talents; and the son, though defrauded by his guardians, was, as his father had been, enrolled in the wealthiest class of citizens; yet he did not hesitate to subject himself to the severest mental and physical discipline, in preparation for the great life he was to lead.

"Demosthenes received, during his youth, the ordinary grammatical and rhetorical education of a wealthy Athenian.... It appears also that he was, from childhood, of sickly constitution and feeble muscular frame; so that, partly from his own disinclination, partly from the solicitude of his mother, he took little part, as boy or youth, in the exercises of the palaestra.... Such comparative bodily disability probably contributed to incite his thirst for mental and rhetorical acquisitions, as the only road to celebrity open. But it at the same time disqualified him from appropriating to himself the full range of a comprehensive Grecian education, as conceived by Plato, Isokrates, and Aristotle; an education applying alike to thought, word, and action—combining bodily strength, endurance, and fearlessness, with an enlarged mental capacity, and a power of making it felt by speech.

"The disproportion between the physical energy and the mental force of Demosthenes, beginning in childhood, is recorded and lamented in the inscription placed on his statue after his death.... Demosthenes put himself under the teaching of Isaeus; ... and also profited largely by the discourse of Plato, of Isokrates, and others. As an ardent aspirant, he would seek instruction from most of the best sources, theoretical as well as practical—writers as well as lecturers. But, besides living teachers, there was one of the last generation who contributed largely to his improvement. He studied Thucydides with indefatigable labor and attention; according to one account, he copied the whole history eight times over with his own hand; according to another, he learnt it all by heart, so as to be able to rewrite it from memory, when the manuscript was accidentally destroyed. Without minutely criticizing these details, we ascertain, at least, that Thucydides was the peculiar object of his study and imitation. How much the composition of Demosthenes was fashioned by the reading of Thucydides, reproducing the daring, majestic, and impressive phraseology, yet without the overstrained brevity and involutions of that great historian,—and contriving to blend with it a perspicuity and grace not inferior to Lysias,—may be seen illustrated in the elaborate criticism of the rhetor Dionysius.