[THE following Essay was written by a Female Teacher, and read at the Semi-Annual Meeting of the Essex County Teachers' Association, April 29, 1848.]

HOW TO TEACH AND LEARN GEOGRAPHY.

The attainments of scholars depend very much on the ability and habit of apprehending distinctly the ideas conveyed by the words they read and hear. The mind of one is a picture gallery, where all seems a living reality; that of another is a garret, too dark to allow even its rubbish to be visible. Geography is a study valuable just in proportion as the pupil sketches in his own mind, correct, vivid, and permanent delineations of the objects described in the text book. A class, for instance, bring to the recitation the sentence, "Venice, at the head of the gulf of the same name, is built on seventy-two islands, joined together by 500 bridges, with canals for streets, and gondolas for carriages." The sentence falls with fluency from the lips of all; but upon the canvass of one's imagination, the city is located, the gulf is outspread, the isles are depicted, the bridges are thrown from isle to isle, and the light gondolas float on the canals whose waters wash the very base of the houses. When that pupil, some weeks after, learns that "Osaca is the Venice of Japan," these six short words convey to the mind a vivid description of that Asiatic city. Never

after, till memory forsakes her seat, will the word Venice fail to bring to that scholar's thoughts a picture of this "city of a hundred isles." But another scholar, who repeated the same words just as glibly, pondered not the sense, pictured not the object, fixed no localities, and added not a single permanent idea to his scanty stock. He learned only the words, and they are to him a shell which he has either not the skill or the disposition to break, and which will soon escape his feeble grasp.

Again, a class learn the words, "The largest of the pyramids is 500 feet high, and covers eleven acres of ground.' Among those pupils on whose tongues the sentence trips nimbly, what a difference should we observe if we could look into their minds. A few have in imagination measured both the height and the base. To them it towers, almost as if within their vision, to the very clouds. They measure out its eleven-acred base, and travel on foot around it. The massive heap has to them not merely a name, but a habitation a presence on the earth and in the sky. Others of the class have no distinct outline of the structure. They hardly know whether its top equals that' of the neighboring spire, or its base that of the county jail, so familiar to their eyes. It is enough for them that they do not miss the answer, that they lose no credit-mark by an imperfect recitation, or have not the mortification of being sent to their seats to re-learn their lesson.

Again, a sentence in the lesson reads, "The Moors, Arabs, Berbers, Egyptians, Abyssinians, and Fellatas, belong mostly to the Caucasian race, while the inhabitants south of the Desert belong chiefly to the African race." One scholar, to learn it, repeats the sentence over and over, till the words of the question, "To what race do the people of Africa belong?" call up the words of the book. The other looks over the continent, surveys Morocco, Egypt, Abyssinia, and the other nations of Northern Africa, and gives to their inhabitants the speaking eye, the soft, long hair, the expressive features of the white man; while to the other inhabitants of Africa, he gives their own sooty color, frizzled wool, thick lips, projecting heels, receding foreheads, and dull intellects. The former may give the sentence more exactly as it stands in the book than the latter, but the last has that in the eye and tone which shows to the discriminating teacher that the pupil has looked through the words to the sense beyond.

Illustrations might be brought without number. Geography properly learned, from beginning to end, is but furnishing to the mind a splendid panorama of the world we live in. Delightful to the young soul, fresh to our earth is it, when thus studied. The rivers wind along their circuitous banks, down mountainous

precipices, over pebbly beds, now clear, now muddy, here broad, there narrow. He sees the whole scene, Alps above Alps, the gentle swelling hill, the lofty peak, the snowy summit, the cloud-capped height. The desert and the forest, the rolling sand, the lofty pines, the groves and vines, all know their places in the picture. The pupil who, in studying geography, thus turns his conceptive faculties to their best use, is furnished with enduring materials of thought. Those who learn but words, must plod their weary way over a barren desert, scarcely relieved by any verdant oases. To the one, nature and art throw open their multifarious and boundless treasures. He sits by his own fireside and makes the tour of the world, as by the magnetic wire. He treads the distant hemisphere, and soars to eagle heights. To the other, the book of nature and of art is a sealed volume, of which no Open Sesame " reveals the beauties, the wonders, the realities.

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How shall scholars be led thus to study? It is not enough that they commit their lessons to memory, and draw maps; though neither of these things should be omitted. It is as much the duty and the privilege of the teacher to open the mental eye to the world we live in, as to unloose the tongue to the names of the objects and to the expression of facts. The teacher must have faithful and accurate delineations on his own inner landscape. Words must to him convey meaning distinct and graphic. His own imagination must be trained to fill up the scanty outlines of the text-book. He will never impart a gift he does not possess. If with him geography is but a list of well-remembered questions and answers, vainly will you look to see the mass of his pupils make it any thing else. If, when he draws a map, he looks not beyond the blackboard or drawingpaper, neither will his pupils. He should read graphic descriptions he should give his own mind to the subject. He should in fancy climb mountains, descend craters, explore mines, ascend domes, fish on coral reefs, and dive for pearls. He should skate with the Russ- smoke with the Turk - try the wooden shoe of the French, and toil with his brother Swiss. This will make the unseen real, and his manner of speaking will convey impressions to his class that will insensibly carry them beyond the words.

There is much gained by asking what may be called questions of instruction at the time of recitation. For instance, suppose the pupil states that "Mount Washington, the highest peak of the White Mountains, is 6,234 feet above the level of the sea," we may ask, "Is it more or less than a mile?" "How many feet is such a hill" (naming one in the vicinity) "above the level of the sea?" We should never give out a question of this kind, unless we know the answer, or know where

to find it. The teacher who, day after day, gives three such questions to a class in geography, will do much to rouse their minds to thought and detain them on the sense, both in the hour of silent study and that of cheerful recitation.

It is a very profitable exercise for pupils who have sufficient improvement to write legibly, to give them, now and then, by way of review, several lessons of written questions, the answers to which may be scattered over what they have already studied, or can be found in books within their reach, or to which the teacher has furnished answers in connection with previous recitations, or the answers to which may be found by reflection. To cite a few from the manuscript of a teacher.

"Which contains the greater number of square miles, Massachusetts or Ceylon?"

"Which contains the greater population?"
"How do their climates differ?"

"Where was the garden of Eden located?"
"What evidence that it was on the Euphrates?"
"Wherein are the Persians like the French? "
"Wherein are they like the Turks?"
"Wherein are they like the Germans?"

Another exercise which some teachers have found a valuable aid in carrying the minds of their pupils beyond the mere words, is a review by topics. Suppose, for instance, the class to have finished the lessons in the text-book on Europe, to have reviewed them by the book, and to have learned the set of questions just described. Each country may next be given out as a topic, and the scholars may be required so to learn it as to be able to go to the outline map and recite it; not in the words of the book, but in an order designated by the teacher. Let them point out the physical, political, and civil features of the country. Suppose the topic to be France. The pupil goes to his outline map, bounds it entirely, points out its mountains, rivers, capes, and promontories; states its government and religion, its civilization and education, the employments, manners, habits, and character of its population, &c. &c.,- bringing all his general and statistical knowledge to the recitation. Many pupils, habituated to the exercise, thus digest, systematize, and assimilate the previously learned, isolated facts, so as to double, at least, their value and interest.

The utility and desirableness of leading the pupils to take a realizing sense of what they learn, in this important and nearly universal branch of study, must be apparent to all who have ever thought of it. Let the teacher of this science realize the value of clear, distinct, and vivid conceptions, let him be sure to attain himself to such views; let his heart be set on seeing

his scholars take correspondingly enlarged and lively views; and let him apply the imagination which God has given him to the invention of plans to effect the object, and he will surely be enabled to devise ways and means which will be more successful in his hands than any which can be suggested by another. The soul of the teacher must be in the work. His heart must go with his tongue. Thus our pupils will not only learn geography thoroughly, but their minds will be prepared to take realizing views in other branches of science. They will understand what they read. When they apply their minds to the great and all-important subject of religion, they will look at it definitely and clearly. They will be likely to take thorough and common-sense views. They will not be so liable as others to fanaticism or superstition. But they will be likely to take practical religion as well as theoretical to their hearts-to bless the world they live in by their deeds of Love.

L.

EDUCATIONAL LIBRARY.

A greater number of books and periodicals devoted to the cause of Popular Education, have appeared during the last twenty-five years, than during all the previous period of the earth's history.

As teachers often find difficulty in ascertaining the best sources of information relating to the duties of their profession, we could not, probably, render our readers a more acceptable service, than by presenting a select list of educational works.

Theory and Practice of Teaching; by David P. Page, M.A., late Principal of the New York State Normal School. Syracuse: 1847. 8vo. pp. 349.

This volume embraces fifteen chapters, which are severally devoted to "The Spirit of the Teacher;" Responsibility of the Teacher; ." "Habits of the Teacher;" "Literary Qualifications of the Teacher; "Right Views of Education;" Right Modes of Teaching; "Conducting Exciting an Interest in Study;""School Govern"School Arrangements;" "The Teacher's Relation to the Parents of his Pupils;" The Teacher's Care of his Health;" "The Teacher's Relation to his Profession;" "Miscellaneous Suggestions; "The Rewards of the Teacher."

Recitations; " 66

ment;

This work has passed rapidly through several editions, and taken its place in the teacher's standard library of reference.

The School and the Schoolmaster; by Alonzo Potter, D.D., Bishop of Pennsylvania, and George B. Emerson, A.M., President of the American Institute of Instruction. Boston: William B. Fowle. 12mo. pp. 552.

PART I., by Dr. Potter, treats of "The School: its Objects, Relations,