effectually to make real the thing represented as a distinct and definite idea of the representation itself. Let the teacher be sure that good phothographic pictures of the earth's surface are made upon the minds of his pupils, and then he is ready to talk to them of the wonders of boiling springs, of burning mountains, of buried cities, of rivers of moving ice, of dark caves, and mighty cataracts. Then he can scale with them the mountain sides, or sail down noted rivers, or visit renowned cities. Then the study of the character and habits of different nations, a survey of the characteristic vegetation of different zones and of the peculiarities of the animals of different continents, will become pleasant and profitable.

In teaching geography there are two extremes, both of which must be avoided. The teaching may degenerate into mere map-teaching, or it may fall into the other extreme of becoming purely descriptive. The names of mountains, valleys, oceans, cities, rivers, etc., must be taught, and a picture giving their relative locations must be studied; but these names should be so joined with the realities as to create in the minds of the children a lively and pleasant interest. By a judicious course of instruction between these two extremes, the right kind of maps will become, as they should, true and interesting interpreters of nature.

THE

IS COLLEGE EDUCATION DECLINING ?*

HE President of Columbia College, New York, in a recent paper of great research and statistical value, has avowed his conviction that college education, as such, is greatly on the decline in the United States; so that whereas one in forty-one used to take a college course, now not above one in sixty does so. Perhaps hardly any more competent or considerate educator of youth could write on this subject. He is himself a graduate of Yale, a teacher nearly all his life, distinguished as a professor both in the North and in the South, and in several distinct professorships, especially the higher walks of mathematical and astronomical science, chemistry, and mineralogy. Is it so, then, that the proportion of college students is declining? And, if so, what does it indicate? A decline in the love of high scholarship, or simply the conviction that there are other and better ways of practically securing the best education? There are many things that appear to favor different conclusions from those of President Barnard. Thus, where do we find a single college once well established that has had to be shut up for want of students, or even from a diminished number? Yet new colleges are continually being established all over the land, and are raising both their price of tuition and standard

Philadelphia Public Ledger.

of scholarship. Never, perhaps, in the history of the country have such large and additional endowments been secured for these institutions as within the last five years.

Many of our colleges seemed to be threatened with decay by the late war, but they generally appear to exceed all former prosperity now that peace has been restored. In hard times the number of students diminishes, while in flush times, like the present, students flock largely to college. All these things must be taken into the account. That the number of graduates is increasing absolutely would seem to be certain; but whether in proportion to our population, the statistics of Dr. Barnard will be most valuable aids in determining.

Supposing, however, that the number of college graduates is declining relatively to population, what is the cause? In part it is the higher standard of education required for beginning on such a course. At Princeton, Harvard, and Yale, the amount of classical preparation to enter is practically far higher than used to be necessary to graduation— higher than is really necessary now for graduation in many of our younger colleges. Dr. Hedge gave an accurate description of all this a few weeks ago, as far as it pertained to Cambridge. He showed that in its early history, though nothing but Latin was to be spoken within the walls, yet nothing beyond a little of Cicero and Virgil were allowed to be studied, and in Greek the New Testament alone; while the arrangement of the different heads of sermons in common-place books was the chief training of the student mentally. Such was college education in New England at first. Even in the last twenty years the requirements for entering are so much more strict in all the older colleges, that this sort of life is getting to be quite a different thing. Aaron Burr entered the Sophomore class, at Princeton, at thirteen, and graduated at sixteen. Now the average age for entering Harvard and Yale is seventeen and a half. A college course education, therefore, has gradually become somewhat revolutionized, though called by the same name. It is intended now for young men from eighteen to twenty-two, instead of for youths from fourteen to eighteen. The standard of education is not only rising for youths of the same age, but the average age through which it is carried on is rising also. So far has this been extended, that Harvard now proposes to begin with the present Sophomore standard, and from that point throw away all further compulsory study of the classics or mathematics, and allow instead a four years' course of optional studies-a university instead of a college course. Whatever, then, may be coming to college courses, the demand for education of the highest character is rising amongst us, and all colleges feel the influence of that movement. Equal to what used to be the best college education, is becoming in many different ways attainable all over our land more readily than ever, and by those who seek it from the plow, the loom, or the anvil.

The chief real question, then, is this: How far should a system of general education be carried, before a specific direction be given to it connected with the future profession of the young man? If he is going to be a lawyer, a divine, a medical man, or a scientific farmer, or an educated mercantile man, or dealer in stocks and exchange, how far should all these have a common education in the same text-books, and where should each branch off on his own specific road? At West Point for the army, and the Naval School for the navy, the separation begins at about the point where a youth would be considered well prepared to enter college. Yet, as a general rule, the broader the base of general principlesthat is, of common or universal education-the higher the superstructure of a specific education can afterwards be profitably carried.

PLANTING-TIME IN GOSSIPBOROUGH.

FARMER THRIFTY.

CHARACTERS:

FARMER THRIFTY'S WIFE.

FARMER THRIFTY'S SON HARRY, (home from college.)
MISS LOQUACITY, (the news-peddler.)

SCENE-Kitchen. TIME-Afternoon of a rainy day in May.

(Right) FARMER T., sitting on a low chair, shelling corn.

(Center) MRS. T., in bordered cap standing at table, ironing.

(Left) HARRY T., in study-gown and slippers, lounging upon a sofa, reading.

Mrs. T. I do say for it, Hezekiah, I shall be thankful when you get done making so much muss. When 'll you be done planting?

Farmer T. Oh, dear! I don't know. If we have much more of this wet weather, the corn's just as well off in the corn-house. It'll all rot if planted. We'll put it in as soon as this spell's over [with a side glance towards HARRY]. Harry likes well enough to spend the money; perhaps he'll lend a hand for a day or two, just to help us through.

Harry. I have been expecting that honor ever since my return from college. For such delightful service I shall need a uniform consisting of a broad-brimmed hat, a hack-about, scare-crow suit, a pair of gloves, and big boots-[aside] conditions hard to comply with, I reckon.

Mrs. T. My son, perhaps you'll find what will suit you in the attic. [Tests the heat of her iron with finger moistened by the lips].

Harry [with a disconsolate look]. All right, mother. There's nothing like being ready for an emergency. The weather may be fine to-morrow. I'll try my luck on an attic expedition. [Exit.]

Farmer T. I don't want you to get any more potatoes out of the big bin. There won't be enough left to plant.

Mrs. T. Well now, I do say, there it is again. You men never think

women's time good for any thing but to waste. Do you want me to blister my fingers on those little bits of potatoes in that small bin? Well, I sha'n't do it. So, there. [FARMER T. shells violently.] The small potatoes are just as good as any to plant. You allers cut up the big ones. What's the use? [Irons away vigorously.]

[Enter Miss LOQUACITY, without warning. Talks very fast.

Miss L. Lah suz! good morning. How do you do? Hard at it, I see. I came right in without knocking. Don't disturb yourself at all. I'll wait on myself. [Helps herself to a seat.] I feel kind o' at home. here. What's the sense o' going into a neighbor's house to be waited on? I try to feel perfectly at home wherever I go.

Farmer T. [aside.] That's the bother of it.

Miss L. Bless my heart, Lucy Ann, you don't know how I've wanted to see you all this week, and now its Wednesday; but you know it's been so awful wet. I sot out as soon as it held up. Lah me! do you know I fell in love with your new bonnet, last Sunday?

Farmer T. What if some luckless fellow had treated you in that way, Miss Loquacity?

Miss L. Me! Why, how?

Farmer T. As you did the bonnet.

Miss L. Well now, Uncle Hezekiah, you are too bad. There's no fear of that.

Farmer T. Uncle! Ugh! Uncle!

Miss L. Lah suz, I call that bonnet lovely. I said as much to Mrs. Stimpson, and, upon my word, what do you think she said. Just as sure's I set here, she said it was ugly's Cain. I don't care what the Stimpson's think, I mean to have one just like it. Did Miss Jenkins make it?

Mrs. T. No; I got it of Mrs. Millen.
Miss L. They say Mrs. Millen is going to be married to old Sniffins.
Mrs. T. I can't believe it.

Miss L. Nor I; but they say it's so. Lah suz me! there's lots o' folks going to be married. The school ma'am is going to marry Seth Jones; and Susan Jones is going to marry their hired man. Isn't that awful? Did you ever think Jennie Smith, who's been away to boardingschool, would take up with John Peters? They say that's coming off soon. And there's a stranger from out of town visiting Anne Stimpson. Anne and brother Sam have allers been pretty thick. I'm 'fraid something's wrong. Don't you think Mr. Larkins, whose wife died only last March, goes to see that young Miss Atkins! At least, I saw him going that way. Who do you suppose is going to take Fannie Lucas. She's been getting, I don't know how many, new dresses, and has had a dressmaker at the house a whole week

[Enter HARRY, in his attic uniform.]

Bless my soul and body! [Stares at him.] Upon my word, Harry Thrifty, is this you! Have you just come from college?

Harry. Oh, no. I have been home several days.

Miss L. Hadn't hearn of it. Lor' bless me ! what's this you got on?

Harry. This is the latest college style, Miss Loquacity. This coat has seen the first circles. But it has been badly used. It was, unfortunately, obliged to lie in the ditch overnight not long since, and—

Miss L. Now, that beats all natur. That the kind of clothes they wear at college! I do say for it!

Harry. Why, Miss Loquacity, that hat has covered more brains than some whole families possess. [Picks up the corn scattered on the floor.]

Miss L. My stars! is it possible! I do think this is a strange world.But there goes Parson Loveland; I must ask him where the prayer-meeting is to be this week. Good-day, all. [Exit.]

Mrs. T. Why, Harry! I am astonished! You know what a dreadful tongue she has.

Harry. Yes; everybody knows that. But she might as well talk about college styles as any thing.

Miss L. [Running in.] Do come here! Come quick. door, Miss L. going out last.] Do see that rainbow!

[All go to the

SHOOTING STARS.-The most imposing flight of meteors on record, occurred on the 13th of November, 1833. Astronomers tell us that a similar display may be expected on the same or following day of the current month. Only thirteen of these meteoric showers are recorded between the years 903 and 1833. That of the latter year extended over the entire breadth of North America, and from the Great Lakes to the West Indies. Arago computes that not less than two hundred and forty thousand meteors were visible that morning above the horizon of Boston. In many parts of the country the common people were terror-struck, imagining that the end of the world was come. Those whose education and vigor of mind kept them from such terrors were nevertheless reminded of the grand description in the Apocalypse: "The stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as the fig-tree casteth her untimely figs when she is shaken of a mighty wind."

It is thought that the expected display will be the last of the kind during the present century.