arrative.

To follow out this plan of Nature regularly, as in a school education,
the method must be exceedingly obvious; for if the first class, by once
hearing the chapters read, have received merely the outline,--the
frame-work of the narrative,--it must be obvious, that when this has by
reflection become familiar, a second reading would enable them to fill
up much of this outline, by which they would be on a par with the
second. Another reading would, in like manner, add to the second, and
form a third; and so forth of all the others. Each reading would add
more and more to the knowledge of the pupil; and yet, every idea
communicated would be nothing more than a fuller developement of the
original outline,--the frame-work,--the skeleton of the story which he
had acquired by the first reading. By successive readings, therefore,
the first class will take the place of the second, the second of the
third, and so on to the end. This is Nature's uniform method of
perfecting her pupils in any branch of _connected_ knowledge;--a method
which, therefore, it should be the object of the Educationist to
understand, and closely to imitate.

From the cases which we have in this chapter supposed as examples, there
are several important practical inferences to be derived, to which we
shall here very briefly advert.

In the first place, we are led to infer, from all the cases brought into
notice, that every kind of external force, or precipitation in
education, is abhorrent to Nature. In each of the cases supposed, we
have a remarkable exhibition of the calm serenity of Nature's operations
in the education of the young. For instance, in the last case supposed,
the children all listened,--they all heard the same words,--the mental
food was the same to each, however diversified their abilities might be;
and it was indiscriminately offered in the same form to all, although
all were not equally prepared to receive and digest it. The results
accordingly were, in fact, as various as the number of the persons
present. And yet, notwithstanding of all this, there was no hurry, no
confusion, no attempt to stretch the mind beyond its strength. Each
individual, according to his capacity, laid hold of as much as his mind
could receive, and silently abandoned the remainder.--But if there had
been any external urgency or force employed, to compel the child to
accomplish more than his mind was capable of, this serenity and
composure would have b