falls, he shall be the first to ask it why it fell. And, in the echoes of the answer it shall return, he will hear music which, as yet, has never fallen on the ear of mortals; for it is none other than the eternal harmony of the spheres.

Near the barren shores of Cornwall, several years ago, some English gentlemen noticed an unpromising lad swinging upon a gate. But his soul was alive to the voice of nature. As he wanders on the beach one day, he finds an old, rejected clyster apparatus. In the hands of the somewhat uncouth boy, it finds a use its author never dreamed of. Still later, a few plates of copper and of zinc, under his manipulation, make wondrous revelations, and force asunder the elements of substances so closely wedded that no alchymic skill had yet availed to detect their individual existence. A new era dawns

upon the world of science. The chair of the Royal Institution receives its most distinguished occupant, and the miner, as he walks fearless and unharmed through magazines of destruction, invokes blessings on the name of Davy.

And who is that fatherless youth, an almost unrestrained wanderer upon the rocky shores of Scotland? Under the village school dame, he has made the "grand acquirement of his life;" for he has learned to read. Henceforth, he will be mostly nature's pupil.

He has read "Jack the Giant

Killer," "Aladdin and his Wonderful Lamp," "Gulliver's Travels," "Robinson Crusoe," and the

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Pilgrim's Progress." He must earn his own subsistence, and hence is taught to wield the mason's hammer. One day, when his fellow-laborers are at rest after their mid-day meal, he strolls away to spend his half-hour's intermission upon a mossy knoll in a neighboring wood, which, through the trees, commands a wide prospect of the bay and shore. Not a wrinkle is on the water; no cloud is on the sky. The branches of the trees are still as though traced on canvas. Ben Nevis rises on the west, "white with the yet unwasted snows of winter, sharply defined in the clear atmosphere, as if all its sunny slopes and blue retiring hollows had been chiselled in marble." And so his half-hour passes in delightful contemplation of nature's loveliness. soul!

Ah! his is more than a mere mechanic's Some blow of his shall yet discover the finger-prints, as well as the foot-prints, of the Creator; and he shall interpret them to the wondering ears of future generations.

Seventy-two thousand francs for the library of a naturalist! And, at this price, an excellent bargain for the government of France. And what price shall be set upon the Cabinet of Comparative Anatomy in the Jardin des Plantes? Cuvier, educated for the Christian ministry, while director of Protes

tant worship, himself scarcely less a preacher for his devotion to the works of nature. Edwards, as a boy watching spiders journeying through the air upon balloons of their own construction, and writing the results of his observations to men of science beyond the ocean-scarcely less a naturalist for being one of the greatest theologians of his age; while, in his favorite solitude upon the banks of the Hudson, he hangs a prayer upon every thorn of the tree by which he kneels.

And what means that row of stakes athwart the Alpine glacier? The world now knows comparatively little of him who placed them there; but he has caught the true spirit of the motto "Excelsior!" as it came ringing down from the heights above. Henceforth, his time is too valuable to be spent in making money. Napoleons cannot buy him. He is studying lessons of wonderful sublimity; and he shall hereafter tell you, with the certainty of prophetic inspiration, how the earth emerged from chaos, and that the New World is the oldest world on earth.

Why should not the student of nature be an enthusiast? It is fanaticism that demands our condemnation. Enthusiasm in what is good commends itself to our approval. And why should not the naturalist be devout? By becoming familiar with their works, we hold communion with the gifted and

the good among our fellow-men, and imbibe something of their spirit. So, in studying the works of nature, we learn the better to understand, admire, and adore their author; for each object in her wide domain is but a thought of God.

Fellow-teachers,

can we not each do something to infuse into our pupils the spirit of a Newton, a Davy, a Miller, or an Agassiz? And, while we endeavor to train their intellectual and moral powers by the best means at our disposal, can we not, by drawing their attention wisely to the things which the Almighty has made "beautiful in their time," as well as good, cause them to become more devout and intelligent worshippers in his vast and holy temple?

LECTURE IV.

READING: STYLES AND METHODS.

BY Z. RICHARDS.

In this paper I propose to confine myself to the three points suggested by the language of the subject for discussion.

1. Reading.

What, then, is reading? If I were to consider this audience as a class of my pupils, I would call upon each of you to give a written, categorical answer. What answer would you give? As I cannot call for, or expect answers to be given here, it may not be proper for me to give any of the different answers, which I suppose would be given. I presume that you will all admit, that hardly any two would agree. We may safely conclude that the answers would widely differ, not only in form and language, but in meaning; some of which might be instructive, and others amusing. It is somewhat interesting to notice the number of persons who are ready to criticize readers, and give their opinions as to what makes a