The operation of man’s mind and of his heart are as yet mysteries. We talk of eager love; we speak of the warm blood of the South; we name certain classes of our fellow beings excitable, and others phlegmatic; but we ourselves little understand what we mean when we apply such terms, and never try to dive into the sources of the qualities or the emotions we indicate. We ask not how much is due to education, how much to nature; and never think of the immense sum of co-operating causes which go to form that which is really education. Is man or woman merely educated by the lessons of a master, or the instructions and exhortations of a parent? Are not the acts we witness, the words we hear, the scenes with which we are familiar, parts of our education? Is not the Swiss, or the Highlander, of every land, educated in part by his mountains, his valleys, his lakes, his torrents? Is not the inhabitant of cities subjected to certain permanent impressions, by the constant presence of crowds, and the everlasting pressure of his fellow men? Does not the burning sun, the arid desert, the hot blast, teach lessons never forgotten, and which become part of nature to one class of men; and frozen plains, and lengthened winters, and long nights, other lessons to the natives of a different region? Give man what instruction you will, by spoken words or written signs, there is another education going on forever, not only for individuals but for nations, in the works of God around them, and in the circumstances with which his will has encompassed their destiny. * * * * * BY J. G. WHITTIER. THE WORSHIP OF NATURE. The ocean looketh up to heaven, As ’twere a living thing; The homage of its waves is given In ceaseless worshiping. They kneel upon the sloping sand, As bends the human knee; A beautiful and tireless band— The priesthood of the sea. They pour the glittering treasures out Which in the deep have birth; And chant their awful hymns about The watching hills of earth. The green earth sends its incense up From every mountain shrine— From every flower and dewy cup That greeteth the sun-shine. The mists are lifted from the rills, Like the white wing of prayer They lean above the ancient hills, As doing homage there. The forest tops are lowly cast O’er breezy hill and glen, As in a prayerful spirit passed On nature as on men.