child but have his own way, and amuse himself as he pleases, and it will be found that natural objects are those by which he is most attracted. How important is it, therefore, that they should become fraught with instruction! and this a little, a very little, care on the part of his seniors may accomplish.

There is a happy influence exerted by these objects on the expanding faculties of a child. To him "the isle is full of noises, sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not." The child loves at times to be alone. The most active, the one that is the merriest among its playmates, will sit apart from them all, amid the waving grass, or on the pebbly beach, and to the careless eye seem the very image of vacancy and idleness. But who can tell the precious growth of these sunny hours, when unconsciously the child is drinking in deep draughts of a love of nature, and becoming imbued with its refining influences. The chirp of the grasshopper in the meadow is likened to that of "the cricket on the hearth," and both insects are associated with pleasant fancies, with the brightness and glories of the summer, with the comfort and happiness of the winter fireside. There are riches here that the mere utilitarian would in vain attempt to estimate.

It may perhaps be thought that the love of natural objects, and more especially the love of animals and plants, acquired in childhood, passes away with the early season of life, and, like the morning dew, leaves no indication of its existence. But the inference would be unsound, and the comparison itself is fallacious. In the verdure of the pastures the dew leaves proof of its influence; and enshrined in memory the love of "fairy-formed and many-coloured things" continues dormant, but not lifeless. The abiding nature of these impressions is truly marvellous, but must be universally admitted. It is one of those ultimate facts in our nature which no one questions. To it the poet appeals, when, in "the Song of the Shirt," the wretched woman tells of the sufferings of her body, and the cravings of her mind:

"Work! work! work!

In the dull December light,

And work! work! work!

When the weather is warm and bright!

While underneath the eaves

The brooding swallows cling,

As if to show me their sunny backs,
And twit me with the Spring.

"Oh, but to breathe the breath

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet,

With the sky above my head,
And the grass beneath my feet.
For only one short hour

To feel as I used to feel,

Before I knew the woes of want,

And the walk that costs a meal!"

It may perhaps be urged that although such thoughts might spring up in her "brain benumbed," they could not exist in the mind of the

busy and prosperous man of the world. The facts recorded in the life of George Stephenson, the eminent engineer, lead to an opposite conclusion. His father, "old Robert," was fond of birds and animals, and one day, we are told, "he took his little boy George to see a blackbird's nest for the first time. Holding him up in his arms he let the wondering boy peep through the branches, held down for the purpose, into a nest full of young birds-a sight which the boy never forgot, but used to speak of with delight to his intimate friends when he himself had grown an old man." The taste for natural objects continued through life; and in the leisure intervals of his active professional career he "delighted to snatch an occasional hour to indulge his love of rural life, and went bird-nesting in spring and nutting in autumn." During his closing years, in the leisure of a country residence, this love of nature was to him a never-failing source of enjoyment.

Those who have not given attention to the quickness and accuracy of the observation of children may suppose that it goes no further than to notice the difference in the primrose and dandelion, the periwinkle and limpet. I have myself met with striking proofs of the contrary in the case of children only two years old. I have known them discover embryo gnats on the surface of a water-tank, and I have seen them recognise on a beach, shells so small that a thousand of them would not weigh an ounce.

Their power of observation, however, does not end here; they can often recognise the same object, amid the variety of aspect which it assumes. Thus the scarlet pimpernel is a flower soon known, especially as the opening or closing of the blossoms, gives it a just claim to the poetic title of the shepherd's weather-glass. It sometimes assumes a blue instead of a scarlet colour, but this difference of garb does not cause any doubt as to its identity, and children at once recognise their old acquaintance in its new costume. In the same way the change from blue to white in the wild hyacinth excites surprise, but does not cause any confusion.

As it is a beneficent law of our nature that the legitimate exercise of every organ and faculty is in itself a source of pleasure, we may feel assured that the use of the observant powers in the several cases referred to, was in every instance a source of gratification. With the pleasure thus experienced there comes a stimulus which leads to new exertion and new gratification; that "desire of objects new and strange" that gives to novelty its zest, and stimulates to further research. The object, whether animal or plant, that the child thus sces for the first time, may be described in a score of books, and have been familiar for ages to men of science. That detracts not from the delight of the child; it is new to him, and his pleasure is akin to that of the naturalist, who detects an unrecorded species, gives it a name, and chronicles it for the first time in the rolls of science. Who shall venture to say that the pleasure of the child is not the more vivid of the two?

I shall never forget the delight evinced by some children when, for

the first time, they remarked the club-shaped central column and green membraneous sheath of the Arum; or when they recognized the expressiveness of its appellation, "Jack in the Box."

It is impossible to say how soon the idea of similarity and consequent affinity between objects becomes active in children. It is so at

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a very early age. A child who had been accustomed to hear a pet canary addressed by the name Dickey," was taken when not quite two years old to the coast, and when a large sea-gull for the first time flew over his head he pointed to it and exclaimed "Dickey." He gave it the only name applicable to a bird which his vocabulary furnished. It was used by him as a term for the group, not merely as the name of an individual.

Turning to a different class of natural objects, we find that very young children soon attempt to separate insects of different kinds into distinct assemblages, to each of which they give a name. Thus all insects with mealy wings are by them called butterflies, with horny coverings they are called beetles, and with transparent wings they are most commonly flies.

On this point we shall give but one more illustration. To see how assiduously children will labour to evolve their confused ideas of classification and arrangement, look at them on a dull winter day, when, for amusement, they have had recourse to stores of shells collected during the summer. See in how many fantastic figures they will be arranged, in how many ways they will be grouped. Sometimes mere size is the criterion for placing certain sorts together, sometimes it is colour, but after a time it is invariably form. The truth is perceived, though faintly, and encompassed with the mists of error. By degrees it becomes clearer, and we then find the churn-shells deposited in one place, the silver-shells in another, and the most common bivalves in a third.*

From what has been advanced, we may infer that objects of natural history are highly attractive to children, and afford them delightful occupation and amusement. Also that the faculties of children are capable of observing the minute, of recognising the known under new aspects, of detecting resemblances amid much apparent diversity, and grouping the several objects according to their real or supposed affinities.

But an intelligent parent might admit all these inferences, and yet might very fairly ask, "Supposing that my child liked these studies what good would they do him?" In other words, what are the results which they might be expected to produce?

The first and most obvious is, that the bodily organs, by means of which we take cognisance of external objects, are trained to habits of activity, promptitude, and correctness. It is to these Mr. Wyse refers in his work on Education Reform, where he urges that they should "as early as possible be prepared for use. If not, when wanted they will

It is worthy of note that the arrangement of shells according to their form was formerly the plan universally pursued even by men of science. They are now classified according to the structure of the animal by which they have been formed.

be found rusty or blunt. The education of the senses neglected, all after education partakes of a drowsiness, a haziness, an insufficiency which it is impossible to cure. Educated well, they give to all knowledge and virtue a positiveness, a firmness, a vivid freshness, such as makes the difference between waking and a dream."

The second effect is the training of the perceptive faculties, by the aid of which we are enabled to compare, examine, and discriminate. The mental powers, no less than the muscles of the body, require to be exercised, otherwise they become feeble and languid; habituated to activity, they are at all times vigorous and fit for service. The faculties which natural history pursuits bring into play, are not those which are called into action in the old routine of school education. It is the more desirable, therefore, that they should be systematically exercised, and brought into full and healthy action. If this be not done, if any portion of the mental constitution be allowed, through inaction, to lapse into feebleness, the whole mind is injured, the healthy action of all its powers is precluded.

From the combined action of the bodily senses and the mental faculties, comes the acquisition of knowledge. In the case of children, the amount of such knowledge is small, but it is good so far as it goes, and it prepares the way for better. It does not consist of hard names, but of facts connected with the history, powers, properties, uses, or peculiarities of the plant or animal. Such knowledge is imbibed with pleasure and retained with ease. Thus, for example, if children be taken in the month of June to some woody spot, when the woodroof, or woodruffe, is in blossom, make them observe its snowy petals, and its whorl of bright green leaves, tell them the old rhyme which embodies the antiquated manner of spelling the name, and gather a few of the blossoms, that they may, after becoming withered, emit their delightful fragrance. Let this be done, and three children out of four will remember the flower, call to mind its perfume, and, on the next opportunity, will seek to cull it, and to bring it home.

If we, in our intercourse with children, be content to communicate knowledge on one subject only at one time, and to make that clear, distinct, and intelligible, much will be gradually and insensibly acquired, and each little walk will become the medium of instruction, imparted without labour, and imbibed without irksomeness. Of the good effects of such rambles, I may venture to speak from my own experience. My children at times asked permission to bring with them some of their little playfellows; and thus it has often happened, that a very youthful assemblage of interrogators bore me company on the sea-shore, or in the little glens of a country excursion. questions I was often unable to answer, but still, enough was imparted to make all desirous of another ramble, with the sharp look out for specimens, the merry talk, and ever-varying incidents.

Their

But the good effects of such teaching are not to be measured by the

Double U, double o, double D E,

R O, double U, double F, E.

the old English word being Woodderowffe.

knowledge of actual facts so acquired. When once an interest is excited about the structure and habits of any animal or plant, the imagination is roused, and the child regards it with thoughts that are essentially poetic, though they may never find utterance in words. Thus, if the lapwing assume the movements of a wounded bird, to draw the intruder away from her nest; if the young ant cast off her transparent wings before entering on her domestic duties; if fragile gelatinous creatures light up the depths of ocean with phosphoric splendour, the mind does not rest on the simple fact, but traces out a thousand fanciful analogies. The bright things of earth, and the rich creations of fancy, are associated, and under their refining and elevating influence, the world can never appear a pestilent congregation of vapours.' In order to show that I do not over-estimate the value of this kind of teaching, I may quote the opinion of Mr. Wyse: "All that can still nourish the heart in the midst of this barrenness; which can still keep the fresh fountains of youth in our withering existence; which can bring even a portion of its life into our life; and not permit the world, worldly as it is, to be wholly desecrated to our sense; whatever can do this is a great and good gift to any human being, and at no time, and in few countries, greater or better than in our own.'

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The course of instruction here advocated should not only excite the imagination, it should penetrate the heart. The pleasure with which we contemplate the animal and vegetable world prompts us not wantonly to destroy or to injure that which we admire. A child tends and feeds a caterpillar, watches with amazement its transformations, and naturally feels reluctant to destroy a creature so wonderful. The same feeling is at work with regard to other tribes, and thus practi- · cally enforces the duty of-humanity to animals.

From habitually beholding the wonders of animal and vegetable life, from having them associated with pure and glowing thoughts, and with feelings of humanity towards all the inferior creatures, the mind is easily led to contemplate them with reference to their Divine Original. "The lilies of the field" become in this way vested with new beauties, and even a child can understand how true it is "that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." While he lisps the simple prayer, "give us this day our daily bread," it is not difficult to make the child comprehend that the same beneficent Being he addresses provides, by His good providence, the food of every creature that has life. The child thus instructed can enter in some degree into the spirit of the passage, "Behold the fowls of the air, for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them." ROBERT PATTERSON.

VIII. COLLECTIVE LESSONS AND THEIR PREPARATION. CONSIDERED with reference to the persons who are instructed, there are three different kinds of teaching, Individual, Class, and Collective Teaching.

VOL. I.-NO. IV.

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