its nature, and the demands of the whole public. The present time is remarkable for the zeal which every where prevails for the instruction of the whole community. This zeal is not confined to place. Wherever the mind is, there is this zeal at work to increase by all sorts of means, the intellectual and moral property of nations. It knows no distinctions of ranks. The lower, and we may say the lowest, are within the reach of its influences, and are pressing upwards to the highest. It cannot be strange if such zeal were sometimes without knowledge. It has been remarked, and wisely, as we think, that the tendency of the present system is to make readers instead of thinkers. That the mind which is systematically submitted to it, is in danger of becoming little more than a highway for other men's thoughts, and the individual may come to feel satisfied with the fact that such thoughts have passed over this road. A more serious objection has been urged to the same system of intellectual forcing. It is urged that it pays but little regard to the great subject of establishing sound principles in the mind, and of developing the best affections of our nature, and is satisfied if it gives knowledge. The knowledge, it is said, is of things, of facts, or supposed facts, and the labour is done when the memory is sufficiently encumbered and loaded with them, to meet the views of the system maker. These are serious objections. They have not been advanced carelessly, and from a mere disposition to find fault. They deserve a careful investigation. We shall in the following article, direct our attention to the following inquiries; what are the purposes of instruction; and what are its means.

In answering the first question it may be remarked, that the great purpose of instruction is to awaken and to keep alive and active in the individual the consciousness of his intellectual and moral nature, and to fit him for the production of all the good of which he is capable, and to indicate to him the highest happiness of which he is susceptible. A child uses his mind, and experiences pleasure, in the earliest years of his being; but he may have passed much of his life, and never have deeply and truly been conscious of the nature within him. He may never have turned the mind inward upon itself, and returned from his inquiry glorying in his spiritual nature, and full of the high purpose of preserving it unsullied by vice, and of carrying it onward in all that is most worthy of it. It might seem that the mind itself, from its own constitution, would necessarily lead the individual into the most direct course for making these discoveries.

But this is not the case. We may use all its powers, and profitably, too, both for ourselves and others, and still escape that knowledge of itself which is the surest means of securing to it the deep consideration it deserves. To become thus conscious of the mind's being is to honor it. It becomes an object of interest whenever it is discovered to us, and an equal object of respect. If we would bring into full operation the benevolent principle, we should begin with teaching this truth. Who in the full conviction of his own intellectual nature, can regard with indifference or contempt a being who possesses the same. It may have been dishonored, and folly or crime, or cold neglect of it, may have almost extinguished it. But while it remains, it has within itself the principle of a new life, and there is that around it, and from which it cannot escape, which is ever ready to minister to its restoration, and to open to it the way of an nbroken progress.

Another purpose of all direct influence upon others, especially in the way of instruction, is to develope the powers of that being which our previous labours have discovered to the individual. The process by which this has been attempted has been by tasking the various powers, with a regard to the order of their natural development. The earliest demands made upon the mind, and which are indirect in the infant, and proceeding from the necessity of the case, are on the memory. A vast deal is learnt at this time, without direct instruction, and the facility with which the amount and variety is learnt, is truly surprising. Direct instruction is made to avail itself of what necessity originally demanded, and the memory for many succeeding years continues to be tasked. It may be that this fact in the early history of the individual comes at length to be a serious obstacle to the true progress of the whole mind. Is it not true that many very distinguished men have been remarkable, in early life, for the little attention they have given to the common objects of instruction, and have been habitually dull in performing their tasks. It would seem that the reflective, the entire powers in such instances, had been originally more energetic than the passive ones; that, in other words, these individuals had been more occupied with their own thoughts than with those of others. Along with the exercise of memory, an improved system of teaching makes demands upon the reflective powers also. This is its most important feature. It should never be lost sight of. There are many ultimate facts, which are either not capable of explanation, or get no new interest from explanation.

These are to be early made the property of the mind; upon all others the mind should be habitually and strongly exerted. It is man's prerogative that he can think. That he can dwell upon, and derive intense delight from the invisible, from that of which the senses can take no note. His own nature, and all its unseen, internal endowments,-the mighty principles which are in active energy around him,-the supreme intelligence of the universe,—the past, with its treasures of thought, and all its imperishable remains,-the present, with its ceaseless action, its designs, and its accomplishments,-the future, with its uncertainty and its promise,—every thing in the wide universe addresses itself to the mind, and calls earnestly upon it to put forth all its powers, and to make all being its possession.

Thirdly. Another and great purpose of this revelation to the individual of the mind's being, and of the powers with which it has been endowed, should be the development, and confirmation of principles. The rule of action in the things of the material physical world are fixed in them, and inhere in their very constitution. They are invariable in their agency as it regards the individual thing, and the thing itself only becomes changed by the direct agency of something external to itself. This is in no sense the case with man. He acts from within upon what surrounds him, and after a manner which he may himself control. He may be quiescent, however powerful the motive which may present. He may be active in the seeming absence of all external or foreign motive. He acts differently under the same circumstances; and after the same manner under the different. He is, in a most important sense, an independent being, and this it is which is his glory and his danger. But with this are associated other principles, and these are so related to the will, that this may receive the wisest and best direction, and all its promptings be for individual and general good. Thus it is that in a constitution which is more complicated than any thing else in the universe to which our knowledge extends, the utmost harmony may prevail. A power infinitely varied, or diverse powers, are susceptible, by their very constitution, of a direction which shall result in absolute good. There is, however, no such spontaneous and undeviating movement to good, that it shall always be sought for and loved; and it is the great purpose of education by all its influences to secure to the mind this direction of all its powers. We look for this in the establishment of principles, which shall become rules of action, and however acquired, naturally incline and lead the individual to

what is most worthy his highest nature. We may waste the time of the young upon books, we may store their minds with things, their names and their properties, we may continue our discipline by the prevailing doctrines and character of the time into mature life, and have for our portion, mourning over the feebleness of public virtue, and the rareness of individual greatness. The ancients in this had the advantage of the moderns. They found a deep principle of emulation in the human mind, and this they addressed with a success which has not since been even dreamed of. In the ancient gymnasium this principle was never for a moment lost sight of, and its nature as well as agency would almost seem to have been different from what it has been since. The effort and performance of the individual, we speak of bodily exercises, were never for a moment allowed to rest in himself. He was not great because he had done all that his mind and body enabled him to do, but also because he had accomplished more than another and all others. The comparison he instituted was not so much of himself with himself, as with the whole of human power, however and wherever exhibited. The effect of the ancient gymnasium upon the scholar was truly astonishing. It was discovered in the power of concentrating the whole will upon that which his own mind prompted, or which was suggested by another. His body, especially in regard to its muscular powers, and to their utmost extent, was a matter about which he acquired a perfect knowledge. He knew that the organs of motion in his frame were capable of producing a certain effect, and he produced it at once. He did not wait to doubt of the height or the distance. His light and powerful frame was impelled by the will at once, as soon as the purpose of the action was presented to his mind. There was no calculation of the risk to life or limb, and there was no injury sustained. Such was one effect of the development of a single principle of our nature. Had we time we might speak of other products of the Grecian education. We might speak of the language of Greece, so simple in its analogy, of such complex art in its composition and inflexion, and of such singular sweetness, variety, harmony, and majesty in its sound,'of the surpassing eloquence, the divine poetry of the same people. Their arts, too, painting and sculpture too might be enumerated. The arts were carried to a perfection only equalled by their language, and like that have descended to us for admiration, not rivalry. The preservation of the works of art of this people is one of the most welcome and interesting facts

in human history. There is now nothing fabulous in the story of the exquisite beauty, and surpassing majesty which the human mind has created, and always has understood and loved. A permanent visible form was given in these works, to those internal spiritual forms, which the mind has received from its author, and which it was a purpose in the fabric of nature about us to develope in all their powers. The painting or statue is a representation of a moral or ideal state. It was the mind of the artist which was transferred to inanimate substances, and the beholder felt, that by a mere act of vision he was made wholly acquainted with the mysterious operations of another mind. It was with the beauty of the external human form, developed under circumstances of climate, habits of life, and the moral and physical discipline of the gymnasium, that the artist felt an intellectual correspondence; and his statue or his painting was a sublime generalization of the individual perfection he was allowed every where to contemplate. His labours were the delight of all, and if Socrates found a willing and intelligent audience in the workshop of the mechanic, while he discoursed of philosophy, so did Zeuxis and Praxitiles appeal as successfully to the multitude, when Iphigenia, at the altar of sacrifice, glowed from the canvass of the one, and majesty and beauty lived in the marble of the other. We owe much to this reverence, this love of the great in the arts, which a mere populace could feel and act from. We owe to it much of our veneration for antiquity, much of our knowledge of what the mind then accomplished in one direction, for it was among the means of preserving to us some of its greatest achievements.

Such was the education of ancient Greece, and such were some of its effects; at least they existed together. Some attempt has been made in this country to introduce into schools a portion at least of the physical discipline of the gymnasium, and with a view to the growth of the mind, as well as to give tone to the body. As far as our knowledge goes of this subject the attempt has not been a successful one. We have talked with the boys from some schools where most has been attempted in this way. But we have learnt from none of them of any marked success. At first much has been done, but the effort has soon been relaxed, and at length laid aside. We all know the result of an experiment in this city, which was begun with much zeal, and at no little cost, but the time and the money were alike both sacrificed. We have been led into these remarks from a conviction of the importance of the subject.