hip between the natural philosopher and the soldier has changed
the whole course of civilisation to this very day. Do not consider me
Utopian when I tell you, that I should like to see the study of physical
science an integral part of the curriculum of every military school. I
would train the mind of the lad who was to become hereafter an officer in
the army--and in the navy like wise--by accustoming him to careful
observation of, and sound thought about, the face of nature; of the
commonest objects under his feet, just as much as of the stars above his
head; provided always that he learnt, not at second-hand from books, but
where alone he can really learn either war or nature--in the field; by
actual observation, actual experiment. A laboratory for chemical
experiment is a good thing, it is true, as far as it goes; but I should
prefer to the laboratory a naturalists' field club, such as are
prospering now at several of the best public schools, certain that the
boys would get more of sound inductive habits of mind, as well as more
health, manliness, and cheerfulness, amid scenes to remember which will
be a joy for ever, than they ever can by bending over retorts and
crucibles, amid smells even to remember which is a pain for ever.

But I would, whether a field club existed or not, require of every young
man entering the army or navy--indeed of every young man entering any
liberal profession whatsoever--a fair knowledge, such as would enable him
to pass an examination, in what the Germans call
_Erd-kunde_--earth-lore--in that knowledge of the face of the earth and
of its products, for which we English have as yet cared so little that we
have actually no English name for it, save the clumsy and questionable
one of physical geography; and, I am sorry to say, hardly any readable
school books about it, save Keith Johnston's 'Physical Atlas'--an
acquaintance with which last I should certainly require of young men.

It does seem most strange--or rather will seem most strange 100 years
hence--that we, the nation of colonists, the nation of sailors, the
nation of foreign commerce, the nation of foreign military stations, the
nation of travellers for travelling's sake, the nation of which one man
here and another there--as Schleiden sets forth in his book, 'The Plant,'
in a charming ideal conversation at the Travellers' Club--has seen and
enjoyed more of the wonders and beauties of this planet than the men of
any nation, not e