the future. The order of all things becomes not merely an iron rule, from which nothing can ever swerve, but an iron rule which guides to nothing and ends in nothing.

Such a supposition is possible to the logical understanding: it is not possible to the spirit. The human heart refuses to believe in a universe without a purpose. To the spirit, all things that exist must have a purpose; and nothing can pass away till that purpose be fulfilled. The lapse of time is no exception to this demand. Each moment of time, as it passes, is taken up in the shape of permanent results into the time that follows, and only perishes by being converted into something more substantial than itself. A series of recurring cycles, however conceivable to the logical understanding, is inconceivable to the spirit; for every later cycle must be made different from every earlier by the mere fact of coming after it and embodying its results. The material world may possibly be subject to such a rule, and may, in successive epochs, be the cradle of successive races of spiritual beings; but the world of spirits cannot be a mere machine.

In accordance with this difference between the material and the spiritual worlds, we ought to be prepared to find progress in the latter, however much fixity there may be in the former. The Earth may still be describing precisely the same orbit as that which was assigned to her at the creation. The seasons may be precisely the same. The planets, the moon, and the stars may be unchanged both in appearance and in reality. But man is a spiritual as well as a material creature; must be subject to the laws of the spiritual as well as to those of the material world; and cannot stand still because things around

him do. Now, that the individual man is capable of perpetual, or almost perpetual, development, from the day of his birth to that of his death, is obvious of course. But we may well expect to find something more than this in a spiritual creature who does not stand alone, but forms a part of a whole world of creatures like himself. Man cannot be considered as an individual. He is, in reality, only man by virtue of his being a member of the human race. Any other animal that we know would probably not be very dif ferent in its nature, if brought up, from its very birth, apart from all its kind. A child so brought up, becomes, as instances could be adduced to prove, not a man in the full sense at all, but rather a beast in human shape; with human faculties, no doubt, hidden underneath, but with no hope, in this life, of ever developing those faculties into true humanity. If, then, the whole in this case, as in so many others, is prior to the parts, we may conclude that we are to look for that progress which is essential to a spiritual being subject to the lapse of time, not only in the individual, but also quite as much in the race taken as a whole. We may expect to find, in the history of man, each successive age incorporating into itself the substance of the preceding.

This power, whereby the present ever gathers into itself the results of the past, transforms the human race into a colossal man, whose life reaches from the creation to the day of judgment. The successive generations of men are days in this man's life. The discoveries and inventions which characterize the dif ferent epochs of the world's history are his works. The creeds and doctrines, the opinions and principles, of the successive ages, are his thoughts. The state

of society, at different times, are his manners. He grows in knowledge, in self-control, in visible size, just as we do; and his education is, in the same way and for the same reason, precisely similar to

ours.

All this is no figure, but only a compendious statement of a very comprehensive fact. The child that is born to-day may possibly have the same faculties as if he had been born in the days of Noah: if it be otherwise, we possess no means of determining the difference. But the equality of the natural faculties, at starting, will not prevent a vast difference in their ultimate development. That development is entirely under the control of the influences exerted by the society in which the child may chance to live. If such society be altogether denied, the faculties perish, and the child (as remarked above) grows up a beast, and not a man. If the society be uneducated and coarse, the growth of the faculties is early so stunted as never afterwards to be capable of recovery: if the society be highly cultivated, the child will be culti vated also, and will show, more or less, through life, the fruits of that cultivation. Hence each generation receives the benefit of the cultivation of that which preceded it. Not in knowledge only, but in develop ment of powers, the child of twelve now stands at the level where once stood the child of fourteen; where, ages ago, stood the full-grown man. The discipline of manners, of temper, of thought, of feeling, is transmitted from generation to generation; and, at each transmission, there is an imperceptible but unfailing increase. The perpetual accumulation of the stores of knowledge is so much more visible than the change in the other ingredients of human progress, that we

are apt to fancy that knowledge grows, and knowledge only. I shall not stop to examine whether it be true. (as is sometimes maintained), that all progress in human society is but the effect of the progress of knowledge for the present, it is enough to point out that knowledge is not the only possession of the human spirit in which progress can be traced.

We may, then, rightly speak of a childhood, a youth, and a manhood of the world. The men of the earliest ages were, in many respects, still children, as compared with ourselves, with all the blessings and with all the disadvantages that belong to childhood. We reap the fruits of their toil, and bear in our characters the impress of their cultivation. Our characters have grown out of their history, as the character of the man grows out of the history of the child. There are matters in which the simplicity of childhood is wiser than the maturity of manhood; and in these they were wiser than we. There are matters in which the child is nothing, and the man every thing; and in these we are the gainers. And the process by which we have either lost or gained, corresponds, stage by stage, with the process by which the infant is trained for youth, and the youth for manhood.

This training has three stages. In childhood, we are subject to positive rules, which we cannot understand, but are bound implicitly to obey. In youth, we are subject to the influence of example; and soon break loose from all rules, unless illustrated and enforced by the higher teaching which example imparts. In manhood, we are comparatively free from external restraints; and, if we are to learn, must be our own instructors. First come Rules, then Examples, then

Principles. First comes the Law, then the Son of Man, then the Gift of the Spirit. The world was once a child, under tutors and governors until the time appointed by the Father. Then, when the fit season had arrived, the Example, to which all ages should turn, was sent to teach men what they ought to be. Then the human race was left to itself, to be guided by the teaching of the Spirit within.

The education of the world, like that of the child, begins with Law. It is impossible to explain the reasons of all the commands that you give to a child; and you do not endeavor to do so. When he is to go to bed; when he is to get up; how he is to sit, stand, eat, drink; what answers he is to make when spoken to; what he may touch, and what he may not; what prayers he shall say, and when; what lessons he is to learn, every detail of manners and of conduct the careful mother teaches her child, and requires implicit obedience. Mingled together in her teaching are commands of the most trivial character, and commands of the gravest importance; their relative value marked by a difference of manner rather than by any thing else, since to explain it is impossible. Meanwhile, to the child, obedience is the highest duty; affection, the highest stimulus; the mother's word, the highest sanction. The conscience is alive; but it is, like the other faculties at that age, irregular, undeveloped, easily deceived. The mother does not leave it uncultivated, nor refuse sometimes to explain her motives for commanding or forbidding; but she never thinks of putting the judgment of the child against her own, nor of considering the child's conscience as having a right to free action.

As the child grows older, the education changes