A Fragment on the Cultivation and Improvement of the Animal Spirits.—It is surprising to see for what foolish causes men hang themselves. The most silly repulse, the most trifling ruffle of temper, or derangement of stomach, anything seems to justify an appeal to the razor or the cord. I have a contempt for persons who destroy themselves. Live on, and look evil in the face; walk up to it, and you will find it less than you imagined, and often you will not find it at all; for it will recede as you advance. Any fool may be a suicide. When you are in a melancholy fit first suspect the body, appeal to rhubarb and calomel, and send for the apothecary; a little bit of gristle sticking in the wrong place, an untimely consumption of custard, excessive gooseberries, often cover the mind with clouds and bring on the most distressing views of human life.… The greatest happiness which can happen to any one is to cultivate a love of reading. Study is often dull because it is improperly managed. I make no apology for speaking of myself, for as I write anonymously, nobody knows who I am, and if I did not, very few would be the wiser—but every man speaks more firmly when he speaks from his own experience. I read four books at a time; some classical book, perhaps, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. The “History of France,” we will say, on the evenings of the same days. On Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, Mosheim or Lardner, and on the evenings of those days, Reynolds’s Lectures or Burns’s Travels. Then I have always a standard book of poetry, and a novel to read when I am in the humor to read nothing else. Then I translate some French into English one day and retranslate it the next; so that I have seven or eight pursuits going on at the same time, and this produces the cheerfulness of diversity, and avoids that gloom which proceeds from hanging a long while over a single book. I do not recommend this as a receipt for becoming a learned man, but for becoming a cheerful one.—From Reid’s “Life and Times of the Rev. Sydney Smith.”

Scenes on a Stage Coach.—The views of the mountains as the afternoon wore away, grew more and more interesting. The ravines darkened, the summits brightened. Cloud-shadows chased each other up and down the steeps, or, flitting slowly across the valley, spread thick mantles of black that seemed to deaden the sound of our wheels as we passed over them. On one side all was light, on the other all gloom. But the landscape is not all that may be seen to advantage from the top of a stage coach.

From time to time, as something provoked an exclamation of surprise or pleasure, certain of the inside occupants manifested open discontent. They were losing something where they had expected to see everything.

While the horses were being changed, one of the insiders, I need not say it was a woman, thrust her head outside of the window, and addressed the young person perched like a bird upon the highest seat. Her voice was soft and persuasive. “Miss!” “Madam!” “I’m so afraid you find it too cold up there. Sha’n’t I change places with you?” The little one gave her voice a droll inflection as she briskly replied: “Oh, dear, no, thank you; I’m very comfortable indeed.” “But,” urged the other, “you don’t look strong; indeed, dear, you don’t. Aren’t you very, very tired, sitting so long without any support to your back?” “Thanks, no; my spine is the strongest part of me.” “But,” still persisted the inside, changing her voice to a loud whisper, “to be sitting alone with all those men!” “They mind their business, and I mind mine,” said the little one reddening; “besides,” she quickly added, “you proposed changing places, I believe!” “Oh!” returned the other, with an accent impossible to convey in words, “if you like it.” “I tell you what, ma’am,” snapped the one in possession, “I’ve been all over Europe alone, and was never once insulted except by persons of my own sex.”—From Drake’s “Heart of the White Mountains.”

Every Man has his Price.—It is a curious trait in human nature, that each individual places the highest value on himself; treats the world as if it were only in existence on his account, looks upon himself as if he were the central point round which all things turn—and that yet, in spite of this universal self-appreciation, so many persons make themselves the slaves of others, or of some insignificant desire of their own. This contradiction in the human mind, this inordinate pride of men in combination with ignorance of their own true value, this insatiable self-seeking in connection with so contemptible a depreciation of themselves, is so common that we are only astonished that thoughtful persons, perceiving it in others, are not thereby led to discover it in themselves.… Every man has a price at which he sells himself. What is thy price? Hast thou ever weighed what thou art really worth? Go into thy chamber and devote some moments of earnest thought to an examination of thyself, and try to discover for what earthly good thou wouldst be likely to give thyself away. Look no farther back than the last year; pass in review thy secret thoughts and silent wishes even of the last few weeks only! Ah! a short while will no doubt suffice to show thee thy weak points, which, had they been assailed by any tempter, would soon have revealed to thee at what price thou wouldst have sold thy goodness, thy Christian principles, thy heaven on earth, thy eternal prospects. Thou shudderest? Thou wouldst rather not look into thyself? But if thou valuest thy goodness, thy Christian principles, thy heaven on earth, thy eternal prospects, ah, shrink not from this self-investigation?—From Zschokke’s “Meditations on Life, Death, and Eternity.”

Advice to an Inexperienced Teacher of History.—But the method of teaching history must be determined in the main by the object aimed at. If the object is to deposit in the mind the greatest number possible of historical facts, there is perhaps no better way than to confine the instruction to drill upon the contents of a manual by question and answer, with frequent examinations in writing. Such a method would probably be effective in two ways; it would give learners positive knowledge, or the semblance of it, and it would pretty certainly make them hate history. I do not hesitate to say that the ultimate purpose of school instruction should be to incite an interest in history, and to create a love for historical reading.

A word may be here most conveniently said on the subject of chronology. A few dates should be well fixed in the memory; they should be carefully selected by the teacher, and some explanation given of their significance. But “a few,” you will say, is a little indefinite. Of course, opinions will differ as to the number of indispensable dates in any history, though there might be a general assent to the principle of requiring the pupil to commit as few as possible. Of the two hundred and fifty dates given in “Smith’s Smaller History of Greece,” I insist on fifteen, and I think the number might be reduced to ten. But if learners are properly taught, they will, of course, be able to determine a great many dates approximately.

Remembering that you must make history interesting, to that end use all available means to produce vivid impressions. This is a trite remark, but it will bear repeating. Casts, models, coins, photographs, relief maps, may not be at your command, but maps of some sort you must have. Historical instruction, without the constant accompaniment of geography, has no solid foundation—“is all in the air.”—From “Methods of Teaching History.”[AK]

The Coming of Luther.—The events of the sixteenth century have been too often regarded as constituting a break in history. But to the eye of thought reviewing the course of history, the continuity remains unbroken. Luther was but the child of the ages preceding; the Protestant revolution was the natural and orderly sequence of a long course of preparation. It was indispensable indeed for a time that men should regard the Reformation as breaking with the past, in order that they might estimate more deeply the meaning of the truth which had been revealed to them, and secure its firmer establishment. In the turmoil of an age of transition it is not always given to the leaders to discern the route by which they have been led. Luther entered upon the inheritance of Wycliffe and of Huss, and still further was he indebted to the spirit of German mysticism. But his greatness was also peculiarly his own. He was not so much a theologian as a man who afforded in his own rich nature, unveiled so completely before his age, the materials for theology. His life was a type of humanity for his own and succeeding ages. He lived through the religious experience of the MediÆval dispensation before he came to his knowledge of a higher birthright. Viewed from the standpoint of a formal theology, he is full of inconsistencies and contradictions, and even dangerous errors. But regarded simply as a man, with his rich endowment of human instincts and yearnings, to which he gave the freest, most unguarded expression, he was in himself a revelation of the human consciousness in its freshness and simplicity, with which a complete theology must come to terms. It is because the explosive utterances of his vigorous, tumultuous nature have been weighed as if they were carefully formed, dogmatic statements, that Luther has been so often misunderstood by Protestant as well as by Roman Catholic writers.—From Allen’s “Continuity of Christian Thought.”[AL]

Natural Resources of Ireland.—Ireland is a much richer country by nature than is generally supposed. In fact, she has not yet been properly explored. There is copper ore in Wicklow, Waterford, and Cork. The Leitrim iron ores are famous for their riches; and there is good ironstone in Kilkenny, as well as in Ulster. The Connaught ores are mixed with coal beds. Kaolin, porcelain clay, and coarser clay abound; but it is only at Belluk that it has been employed in the pottery manufacture. But the sea about Ireland is still less explored than the land. All around the Atlantic’s seaboard of the Irish coast are shoals of herring and mackerel, which might be food for man, but at present are only consumed by the multitudes of sea birds which follow them.—From Smiles’s “Men of Invention and Industry.”