jsjses^^^fpnbUcaUon. COUNTY AGITATOR is published rss MomW. aßd mailed to iaba«*ibM» J* p*** q7s POI* 4B PER j-mbs, It is intended;*!) notify every for which haiaa paid shall Sr.» wi *' the stamp —“Time Oct,” on the mar r.rt ’ Mtier. The paper will then be stopped he received. By thisV ?fl » can be brought ip debt to the rtfP® 6 ” printer- 0B p s the Official Paper of the County, ' I£cA cita ’J jtccdily increasing circulation reaoh -jth sVP neighborhood in the County. It is sent M> tWer '«to any Post Office within the county M 4 most convenient post office may be SaiUi County. in •» s4l r j. not exceeding 5 lines, paper incln- J^,_===== " | For the Agitator. geow better. better! let each shining sun 8 still find thee upward tending; Remember life has just begun, Bui it will have no ending. Re thoughtful, resolute and strong To civo the Bight assistance. And oh ! when tempted to the wrong Qrow better by resistance. Oh monrncr! sorrowing o’er the truth And trust of days departed. The pride and promise of thy youth, miich left thee broken-hearted— . j look np ! for there remameth still One glorious assurance, The .oil that calmly bears with dl Grows better by endurance. Then with one sigh for errors past, One tear for by-gone sorrow; Turn to the Now, for duties fast Arc crowding; and to-morrow Yet more await the earnest soul Baptized with griefs immersion ; Still faithfully perform the whole, w Grow better by exertion. And oh! we all are marching to The kingdom of God’* glory j The angel hosts almost in view Are telling their sweet story. *.ca of death that realm shall bound Foml hearts and hands to sever, Bat there we may as time rolls round, Grow wise and’ good forever. The Three Wishes. A BUTCH LEGEND. At a small fishing village in Dutch Flanders, fare is still shown the sight of a hut, which ruan object of much attention whilst it stood, on account of a singular legend that relates to its first inhabitant, a kind-hearted fellow, who depended on his boat for subsistence, and his own happy disposition for cheerfulness during nory hardship and privation. Thus the story goes; One dark and stormy night in winter, as Jan Schalken was sitting by his good-natured buxom tife by tire fire, he was awakened from a tran sient doze by a knocking at the door of his j-at. He started up, drew back the holt, and a itranger entered. lie was atall man, hutlittle Mali be distinguished, either of his face or Ejore, as he wore a large dark cloak, which he hid contrived to pull over his head after the fashion of a cowl. “lam a poor traveler,” said the stranger, 'tad want a night’s lodging. 'Will you grant itto me?” “At, to be sure,” replied Schalken, “but I m afraid your cheer will be hut sorry. Had na come sooner you might have fared better. Sil down, however, and eat what is left.” The traveler took him at his word, and in a nort time afterwards, retired to his humble sleeping place. Iri the morning, as he was shout to depart, he advanced towards Schalken, and, giving him his hand, thus addressed him; “It is needless for you, my good friend, to ir,;r who I am ; tut of this be assured, that I tsaand will be grateful; for when the rich and powerful turned me last night from their inhos pitable gates, you welcomed me as man should itlcome man, and looked with an eye of pity tn the desolate traveler in the storm. I grant you three wishes. Be they what they may, base wishes slmlljbe gratified.” Xow Schalken certainly did not put much isith in these promises, hutjstill he thought it lac safest plan to make trial of them ; and ac cordingly, began to fix how he should fix his wishes. J:in was a man who had few or no rabiliems views, and was contented with the wav of Jifo in which he had been brought up. In fact, jhe was so well satisfied with his situa tion, that he had not the least inclination to tss a single day. of his laborious existence; let, on the contrary, had a very sincere wish of adding a few years to those which ,he was destined to live. This gave rise to wish the srst- “Let my wife and myself live,” he said, ‘‘fifty years longer than nature has designated.” “It shall be done,” cried the stranger. iHiilet Schalken was puzzling his brains for s second wish, he bethought him that a pear which was in his little garden, had been toucntly despoiled of its fruit, to the no small -•ament of the said tree, and grivous disap fcatment of its owner. "Fur my second wish, grant that whoever J-fchs my pear-tree shall not have power to it until my permission be given.” This was also assented to. Schalken was a man, and liked to sit down and chat with wife of an evening ; but she was a bustling and often jumped up in the midst of a that she had only heard ten or k'-lve times, to scrub the table, or set their splatters in order/ Nothing disturbed him grouch as this, and he was determined if pos to prevent the recurrence of-the nuisance, this object in view, he approached close J/ta stranger, and in a low whisper told him h? third and last wish: that whoever sat in a Ocular chair in his hut, should not be able out of it until it should please him so border. This wish was agreed to by the trav el who, after many greetings, departed on J Way. Years passed on, and his last two had been fully gratified by often detain -h thieves in Ins tree and his wife in her chair. time was approaching when tho promise '•longevity would be falsified or made mani- lfc happened that the birthdays of the and his wife were the same. They sitting together on the evening of the day him 79 years, and Mietjie 73 years ■ l& ge, when the moon that was shining through of the hut seemed suddenly to be 1 ‘-itinguished, and tho stars rushed down the clouds, and lay glaring on the surface of Ji °cean, over which was spread an unnatural although the skies seemed to be mas -7*2 by the \vinds, and were heaving onward, their mighty waves of cloud. Birds ypped dead from the boughs, and tho foliage * trees turned to a pale red. All seemed ■'prognosticate the approach of Death, and in minutes afterwards sure enough he came. however, very different from all that * worthy couple had. heard of him. He-was Mainly rather thin, and had very little color, x i? WAs dressed, and his deportment t of a gentleman. Bowing very politely 419 ancient pair, he told them he 'merely THE AGITATOR vol. m came to give notice, that by right they should have belonged to him on that day, hut a fifty years' respite -was granted, and when that period had expired, he should visit them again. He then walked away, and the moon, and'the stars, and the waters regained their natural appear ance. For the next fifty years every thing passed on as quietly as before; hut as the time drew nigh for the appointed advent of Death, Jan became thoughtful, and he felt no pleasure at the idea of the anticipated visit. The day arrived, and Death came, preceded by the same horrors as on the former occasion. “Well, good folks,” said he, “you now can have no objection to accompany me ; for assu redly you have hitherto been highly privileged, and have lived long enough, i The old dame wept, and clung feebly to her husbahd, as if she feared they were to be divi ded after passing away from the earth on which they had dwelt so long and so happily together. Poor Schalfcen also looted very downcast, and moved after Death but slowly. As they passed by Jan’s garden he turned to take a last look at it, when a sudden thought struck him. He called to Death and said, “Sir, allow me to propose something to you. Our journey is n long one, and we have no provisions ; I am too infirm, or I would climb yonder pear tree, and take a stock of its best fruit with us; you are active and obliging, and will, I am sure, sir, get it for us.” Death, with great condescension complied, and ascending the tree, gathered a great num ber of pears, which he threw down to old Sohalken and his wife. At length he deter mined upon descending, but, to his surprise and apparent consternation, discovered that ho was immovable; nor would Jan allow him to leave the tree until he had given them a promise of another half century. Virginia, They jogged on the old way for fifty years more, and Death came to the clay. He was l»y no means so polite as he had formerly been, for the trick that Schalken had put upon him, offended his dignity and hurt his pride not a little. “Come, Jan,” said he, “you used me scur vily the other day, (Death thinks but very little of fifty years 1) and I am determined to lose no time—come.” Jan was sitting at his little table, busily em ployed in writing, when Death entered. He raised his head sorrowfully, and the pen trem bled in his hand, as he thus addressed him, “I confess that my former conduct towards you merits blame, but I have done with such knaveries now, and have learnt to know that life is of little worth, and that I have seen enough of it. Still, before I quit this world I would like to do all the good I can, and was engaged when you arrived in making a will, that a poor lad.who.has been always kind to us, may receive this hut and my boat. Suffer me but to finish what I have begun, and I shall cheerfully follow wherever you may lead.— Pray sit down; in a few minutes my task will be ended,” Death, thus appealed to, could refuse no lon ger, and seated himself in a chair, from which he found it as difficult to rise as he had*for merly to descend the pear tree. Ilis liberation was bought at the expense of an additional fifty years, at the end of which period, and ex actly on their birth-day, Jan Schalken and his wife died quietly in their bed, and the salt water flowed freely in the little village, in which they had lived long enough to be considered the father and mother of all its inhabitants. Pat and the Wedded Pair. “Last month Gen. Sampson Dove, of Winep usa, married the darter of the American Keoun sel (consul) to Dublin, r Miss Jemima Fox. Did you ever see her, stranger?” “Never,” I said. “Well, that’s a cruel pity, for you would have seen a peeler, I tell you—a real corn fed gal, and no mistake. Just what Evo was, I guess, when she walked about the garden, and angels come to see her, and weren’t so everlastin’ thin and vaporyvlilte I sunbeams. Well they first went to wedding ‘tower/ and after they had stared af"the lovely place till they hurt their eyes, they came down here to see the Groves of Blarney, and what noc. Well, the gineral didn’t want folks to know he was only just married, for people always run to the winders and doors to look at a bride, as if she was a bird that was only seen once in a hun dred years. It’s onconvanient that’s a fact, and it makes a sensitive, delicate-minded gal feel as awkward as a wrong boot, f So says the gineral to Pat, “Pat,” says ho, “don’t go now and tell folks we are only just married ; lie low, a t\d keep dark, will you ? that’s a good fellow.” “Bedad, never fear, yep honor, divil a much they’ll get out of me, I can tell you. Let me alone for that; I can keep a secret as well as ever a priest in Ireland.” Well, for all that they did star© in a way that was a caution to owls: and well they might, too, for it ain’t of ten they saw such a girl as Miss Jemima, I can tell you; though the Irish gals warn’t behind the door when beauty was given out—that’s a fact. At last the gineral sec something was in the wind, above common, for the folks looked amazed in the house, and they didn’t seem half pleased either. So says he, one day, “Pat,” says he, “I hope you did not tell them we were only just married, did you?” “Tell them you was only just married, is it, yer honor?” said he ; let me alone for that! They were mighty inquisitive about it, and especially the master —he wanted to know all about it, entirely.— Married, is it?” says I; “why they ain’t mar ried at all, at all; the divil a parson ever said grace-over them ! But I’ll tell you what —(for I was determined it was hut little truth he’d get out of me) —I’ll tell you what,” says I, “if you won’t repeat it to nobody, they are goin’ to be married in about a fortnight, for I heard them say so this blessed day, with my own ears.”— If the general wasn’t raving, hopping mad, it ain’t no matter. In half an hour he and his wife were on board the steamer for England, and Pat is in bed here yet from the licking he got,” —Dublin University Magazine . It is the opinion of a western editor that wood goes further when left out of doors than when well housed. He says some of his went half a mile. aaefeoteg to tftc SSytension of tfce a«a ,#m&o«i atia tt>e SptcaO of &ealtd£ a&tfotm. WHILE THEBE SHALL BE A WRONG UNEIQHTED, AND UNTHi “MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN" SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE. WELLSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING, AUGUST 4, 1859. A Victim of Circumstantial Evidence. Joe Brace was a farmer's son in the town of and by his tricks and pranks caused his watchful “parienfc" no little trouble some times. It happened on one occasion, tliat Mas ter Joo was caught in some misdemeanor, and as n punishment for the same, .bad been com pelled to hoe in the cornfield until sucm time as the said “parient" should judge proper) that Ko should be released. Joe, like a dutiful son, took his hoe, and straightway commenced sad havoc among the weeds which obstructed the growth of the corn. Dinner time crime and passed iby and still no call for poor j[oe, who began to think his punishment “greaier than he conid bear; but still he toiled on, expecting every moment to hear the which would release him for a time at least from his task. But there was no such good luckjfor him. The old man determined that he should “sweat it out/* as he termed it; and stretching himself on the lounge in the back, room, was soon fast asleep. Joe labored faithfully until ndar three o'clock, when, hunger getting the betterjof duty, .he resolved to obtain something to stay his “stomach" at-all hazards. So, dropping his hoe, he steered cautiously for the hoiise; and entering the back door unobserved, succeeded in reaching the pantry without detection—the old man being asleep, and the other portion of the household being engaged with sojme com pany in the front part of the house, who had arrived a few moments before. On entering, he commenced an attack on a mince jpie, that had been set before the window to coi)l, being just from the oven. When he had about half demolished.the pie, and - was thinkingiof some means to escape detection, his nieditatipns were disturbed by something coming in contact with his limbs. On looking down, he saw t!he favor ite pussy, who had stolen in at the cloor, and was rubbing herself, and purring, as if expres sing her entire satisfaction at the prjceeding. On perceiving her he thought of a pUn which he put into immediate execution. Grasping her fore-logs, he dabbled her fore-feet abcut in the remaining part of the pie, and placing her on the shelf, left the pantry, the oat jumping to the floor, and following him, leaving h jr tracks, of course, both on the shelf and on the floor.— Joe now made immediate haste for the field, much refreshed by his “bait," and was soon diligently at work. lie had been hoeing but a short ti hearing a noise in the rear, he look saw the old man coming, with tabby arm, and his gun over his shoulder, spoke; the old man passing by, and round behind a knoll which hid him view. Joe loaned on hishoo for a moment, listening, when the silence was disturbed by th-s report of a gun and the screechings of a cat, plainly in timating what had been the fate of pjoor pussy. In a moment more the old man reappeared with his gun in his hand, the smoko still curling from the barrel; and as he passed by his labor ing hopeful, if he had not been a little hard of hearing he might have heard : goes an other victim to circumstantial evidence.” Marriage. —ln the pressure that now weighs upon all persons of limited fortune, sisters, nieces, and daughters, arc the only commodities that our friends arc willing to bestow upon us for nothing, and which we cannot a: ford to ac cept, even gratuitously. It seems to have been the same, at a former period, in France. Mat tie Jean Picard tells us that, when) he was re turning from the funeral of his wife, doing his best to look disconsolate, such of tb j neighbors as had grown-up daughters and co isins came to him, and kindly implored him not to he inconsolable, as they could give him a second wife. “Six weeks after,” says Maitre Jean, “I lost my cow, and, though I really grieved on this occasion, not one of them offered to give me another.” It has been recorded- by some anti-connubial wag, that when two widowers were once condoling together on tbjo recent be reavement of their wives, one of them exclaimed, with a sigh, “Well may I bewail my loss, for I had so few differences with the de ir deceased, that the last day of my marriage was as happy as the first,” “There I surpass y6u,”said his friend, “for the last day of mine wes happier /” Genius and Labor. —Alexander Hamilton once said to an intimate friend: “.Men give me some credit for genius. All the genius that I have lies in just this: When I have a subject in hand, I study it profoundly. Day and night it is before me. I explore it in all its bearings. My mind becomes pervaded withi;. Then the effort which I make is what the people are pleased to call the fruit of genii s. It is the fruit of labor and thought.” • Mr Webster once replied to a gc ntleman who pressed him to speak on a subject of great im portance: “The subject interests me deeply, but I have not time. There Sir,” pointing to a huge pile of letters on his table,. “is a pile of unanswered letters, to which I must reply before the close of the session, (which was then three days off.) I have not time to master the subject so as to do it justice.” “But, Mr, Webster, a few words from you would do so mu;h to awaken public attention to it.” “If there be such weight in my words as you represent, it is because I do not allow myself to speak on any subject till I have imbued my mind with it.” Long-winded persons can gath the following:— “Here, John,” said the gentler vant on horseback, in the rear, “ and just take hold of my hors mount; and, after lam dismoun dismount, too. Then John, nng of your horse, and put it down; please ungirth the saddle of my it down. Then John, tako up your horse and put and girth i I Afterwards, John, take up the horse and put and girth it on youi John, I will seat myself in yo: you can scat yourslf in minp, a sume our journey.” I “Bless me, master," said tl couldn’t you have simply said 1( dies.?” COMMUNICATIONS. For th« Agitator. Old Stiles at the Dinner Table. The “Autocrat at the Breakfast Table,” hag earned for himself a name worthy to rank with the best authors of our country. Besides this he has had an opportunity to have his say on almost every imaginable subject, a piece of luck which docs not present itself to everybody in this world; and when the editor of the Ag itator invited me to a place in his columns, I took care to stipulate as a condition of my com ph'inoe, that I should say just whatever I please. I will confess in the outset that my object in writing is not to gain a name in the “world of letters”—for alas! how small a space is one county in that great world ! —but just to hare my say for a few months about matters and things in which we all take an interest. If you choose to sit down with me and hear me talk, why all the better for you; if not, you need not say anything against me, or tako ex ceptions to my conversation. Now some person, naturally inclined to find fault—and there are lots of such persons in the world, and they deserve our pity instead of our censure—may say “Old Stiles takes a good deal of a load upon himself, in trying to imi tate the ‘Autocrat,' and he will certainly fail." No sir; you are wrong. I don’t intend to give you learned or philosophical disquisitions on anything. X will only imitate him in so far as I talk at the table. Unlike the “Autocrat" I am a married man. I have a wife, my am, and two children (and nobody ought to have more than two, even if John Rogers had nine small children and—l mean ien; but that was when the world was younger than it now is, and more room for them,) and a cousin and a mother in-law—only six of us in all. We live in a little house up town—you needn’t mind what town it is—and we generally have enough to live on. lam a middle aged man. If I hadn’t been, you would never have seen this article, and I will tell you why. When I was a young man, I used to write poetry for the papers —the county papers you know—and one day I called upon the editor of the Gimlet Eyed Argus and asked him if ho didn’t consider “The Soldier's Grave,” and “Lines on the Death of Mary Jane Pye,” * and “Napoleon’s Lament,” (these were pieces I had sent to him,) worth at least a dollar a piece ! lie was a queer old fellow, was the editor of the Gimlet Eyed Argus, and he went into convulsions of laughter at my speech. When he recovered sufficiently to talk, ho said to mo: “Young man, I have charged your father sixteen dollars for putting your “poems” as you call them, in my paper, as that is just the amount of spaco they took up ; but, look here ! if you will agree never to inflict upon me any more such stuff, I will receipt the bill.” My feelings on that occasion aro more easily imag ined than pleasant to describe. Shame and in dignation struggled for supremacy in my young heart, and I wondered if everybody thought me as great a fool as the editor did. With shame uppermost in my mind, I arose to leave the office, when he stopped me with, “Don’t be in a hurry Mr. Stiles, 'l have a few words more to say to you. is the receipt. You are a young man of promise. You have ambition, and—though I say it to your face, genius. Now take my advice. I have published the Gimlet Eyed Argus forty years, and know something about what lam talking. A great many young people think if they can only make verses or rhymes, that therefore they are born poets. There was never a greater mistake. They are born fools, sir, and their folly is only equal to their vanity. Let me state a case in point, sir.’’ (Ilere the editor pulled out a drawer and took from it a manuscript.) He continued: “Now here, sir, is a poem “written expyessly for the Gimlet Eyed Argus, by Miss Amelia Sweetly”— that’s tho way it is headed. It is an account of an accident which occurred in Washington township done into rhyme. The friends of the bereaved liked it; Miss Swectly’s friends liked it; 'they were astonished at her talent and ad vised her to send it here to mo, supposing no doubt, that they were conferring a great favor upon me. I will read you the third verse, sir, so you can see what it is, and judge for your self: ime when, : *d up and under his Neither roceeding rom Joe's The tree it struck him on tho head And mashed out all his brains And now hes numbered with the ded Free from all caro and pane There sir, that’s what some folk think is the result of genius ! Take it and read it for your self, and remember, never write a line of poetry till you are forty years old Thus saying the editor bowed me out of his office. I took his advice, aqd for twenty years I never wrote either poetry or prose for the papers. But I couldn’t help writing both, and I have lots of doggerel laid up to dream over in my old age, and lots of essays wherewith I may at any time remind myself of the visions of my youth. But the vanity and vexation of spirit, the restless nights, and the sometimes gloomy and some times joyful days on which these brain chil dren of mine saw the light, were known only to myself. No envious sneer, no turned up nose, no laugh of ridicule ever greeted my pro ductions; neither did* words of praise from those who knew not how to judge, ever lead my mind astray by tickling my vanity, for the very best of reasons, namely, nobody ever saw them but myself. 1 But as I said, I am now a middle aged man. My son is nearly man-grown and is at present studying law in Foxtown. I gave him a name when ho was a child—Ezekiel—and he was the means of giving me a name which I will proba bly be known by till I die. When ho grew up, our neighbors, more vulgar and disrespect : ful among them, called me “Old Stiles” to designate me from him. I have been tohLso by members of roy own family, for no man ever dared to speak it to my face. I adopt it here, so that my son may not be blamed with these, articles, my own name being Uko his— Ezekiel. My daughter’s name is Letitia, but wo call her Letty for short. She is younger thanEzekiel,and i is at present at a boarding school. My cousin, Jemima Short is a single female, and says-she is only twenty-eight years old—was never mar-; rlcd, and lives with us because nobody else can ir a hint from man to his sof “icome forward, t e while I dis nted John, you ;irth the saddle ; then you will horse, and put the saddle of it on my horse, saddle of my ir horse. Then, nr saddle, and ind we will re- le man, “why It’s change sad- bear her; and Mrs. Bright is the name of my mother-in-law. Haying thus introduced the family, (all eicept my wife who will introduce herself in dde time,) next week I may tell you d few talks we had at the dinner table. MEMENTO. My son, be this thy simple plan: Serve God, and love thy brother man; Forgot not in temptation’s hour, That sin Tends sorrow double power j Count life a stage upon thy way. And follow conscience, come wbat may; Alike with heaven and earth sincere, With hand and brow and bosom clear, “Fear God—and know no other fear.” EDUCATIONAL. PBIZEjESSAY. The Duties and Responsibilities of the Common School Teacher. BT VICTOR A. ELLIOTT. The duties and responsibilities of the conr mon school teacher are many. They cannot be recounted and described in a short essay of this kind; therefore, this must be considered a mere corapend of facts, with few comments, and with little or no embellishments. Duty and re sponsibility seem to me to he inseparably con nected. I cannot conceive a duty with which there is not linked a responsibility, either great or small, accordingly as we possess power to perform that duty, and wherever power ceases, there responsibility ends ; for as we are not re quired to perform anything but what is within our power, so we shall not be held responsible for what is beyond our control. Hence it fol lows that an essay upon tho duties and respon sibilities of the common school teacher will be nothing more than an enumeration of his duties, with a few comments and conclusions. To this, then, I proceed: The first duty of the common school icad&er is his duty to himself. Not that this is hU high est or greatest duty; for that would seem to convey the idea of selfishness, which should form little or no part of the teacher’s qualifica tions, as little at most, as the extreme selfish ness of human nature, which Wfs declared that “self preservation is the firjplaw of nature/' will admit; but the comcqjffn school teacher should educate himself for/the high profession which he intends to follow. Ho should prepare himself by thorough mental and moral discipline for the responsible station which he expects to occupy; and he should not offer himself as teacher of the young, (until ho has undergone such a course of training. •He who disregards these obligations not tfply violates a plain duty which he owes to himself, but he brings untold injury upon his scholars.. Experience and ob servation have shown ,tjbat those teachers have succeeded best in teaching, who have fortified their minds with thelSSst moral principles, and have stored them with /the greatest amount of available intellectual knowledge. The teacher should (Jultivatc a good disposi tion. Ntwperson is properly fitted to become a teacher ofl the young, Whose temper is easily ruffled, or] who is cross, [peevish, or fretful. A sudden outburst of ang&r in the school room, would endanger the bomiea and even the lives of the scholars ; while Ncross, words wpuld be likely to spoil them dispositions, ruin J their reputations, and perhapSkinjure their mor-1 al characters. The teacher ehobM be careful to guard against tattling, envy, malice, or hatred ; j for he may bo assured that if such evil passions be allowed to corrode bis spirit corrupt his character, they will soon find their into the hearts of his scholars, and dfestroy' every thing that is lovely and amiable there. Such is the power and influence of example, that tfee teacher is teaching when he least expects it, and the scholar is learning what he most desires to conceal. The teacher who uses profane or obscene language, or makes use of low slang phrases before his scholars, or indulges in tho use of intoxicating drinks, has not rightly per formed his duty to himself before entering upon the duties of the school room. The teacher should cultivate good manners in himself; he should be polite and gentlemanly in his conver sation, neat in his personal appearance, punc tual in performing his labors, and faithful in fulfilling his promises; in short, he should bo a gentleman in the truest and best sense of the terra; he should bo moral, upright, refined; and and he should so conduct him self that the scholars under his charge may be led to “shun the very appearance of evil.” Again, the teacher should possess the art of pleasing. The cultivation of this art forms one of the many important duties which the teacher owes to himself; and that teacher who neglects this necessary accomplishment must expect to fall very short of accomplishing the good he otherwise might do in his sphere of usefulness. There arc certain persons in whom there seems to be an inherent natural attractiveness which draws us instinctively toward them, teaches us to love them, to put confidence in them, and to imitate them. What in them wc attribute to genius, is nothing more than the result of cul tivation ; it is the result of a desire to please practically carried out. If the teacher would win the love of his scholars, gain their confi dence, and teach them by precept and example what is right and r good, he must cultivate this art of pleasing; thus be will have the good; ; will and hearty cooperation of his scholars, j which will be found the most powerful auxil-' aries in accomplishing his object, and without which all his efforts will be a miserable failure. A person cannot consistently become a teacher if lie neglects this art of pleasing; for that alone can ensure success. He can acquire this art by open-hearted, manly conduct, by being generous in his conversation, and obliging in bis mariners; by manifesting an interest in the affairs of others—joy in their prosperity, and kindness even in their adversity. But in this he must be most sincere, for nothing is more offensive than affected kindness, or affectation of any kind. The next great duty of the teacher is his duty to his scholars . And here, I think, is where his great responsibility lies. Responsibility at taches itself to all hia duties, but hero it rests most heavily. The great prime object of the teacher should be to benefit and improve his scholars, to train up their minds to use- Rates of Advertising, Advertisements will be charged SI per square of 1» linos, one or three insertions, and 25 cent* for every subsequent insertion. less than'lo lines considered as a square. The subjoined rates will bo charged for Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly ad vertisements : 3 MONTHS- 6 MONTHS. 12 MONTHS' Square, - - $3,00 $4,50 $6,00 2 do. . 5,00 6,50 8,00 3 do. . 7,00 8,50 10,0 ft i column, . . 5,06 9,50 12,60 i do. . 15,00 20,00 30,00 Column, . . 25,00 35,00 50,00 Advertisements not having thenumher of insertion, desired marked upon them, will be published until or dpred out and charged accordingly. Posters, Handbills, Bill-Heads, Letter-Heads and all , kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments, ex- < coated neatly and promptly. Justices’, Constables’, and other BLANKS constantly on hand NO, 1. fulness, to develop their latent powers, to culti T vate their mental faculties and to mold them into proper form by a plastic though firm and steady hand, and to give shape and direction to the future action of the entire man. For the accomplishment of these desirable objects, the scholars are placed in the school-room at his disposal. Here he rules supreme. His power is unlimited, save by the Directors of the town; who seldom exercise their authority, bat trust implicitly to his judgment; and thus he is made the sole arbiter of his own will and of that of his scholars. Here, then, we have the extent of the teacher’s responsibilities, which are as great as his power is boundless. Who would thoughtlessly, and without j}nq preparation, place himself in the position of the toromon school teacher, attempt to perform his duties, and willingly bear his Her# before him are his scholars—bright, blushing boys, and bonny, blue-eyed maids—the darling objects of many a mother’s love and father’* pride; they are entrusted to his keeping; and he must watch over them, protect them, and in struct them in wisdom’s way, apd teach them to feel and know its troth. attrac tions the school-room may possess for his schol ars, the teacher must create; he must create the interest in their studies while in school, and the harmony in their plays while out. "What ever is done here, the teacher sees and hears, guides and controls, and must answer for its consequences and bear the" responsibility ; in short, he is the great central light of the school room, the dispenser of joy and happiness, or the source, of grief and sorrow; the power around yrhich all revolve; ruling over,.control ling nnd governing all. It is unnecessary to . 'rther point out his duties ; they are as plain ly manifest as the sun in the canopy of heaven, which sheds its refulgent light on the lessor orbs; guides, controls, balances," upholds the solar system, and sustains the universe. Behold the faithful teacher, as he enters upon the discharge of his daily duties. With sub dued, but firm and manly voice he reads d por tion of God’s word as his morning devotion, and as a thank-offering, he brings a smiling - countenance and a kind and cheerful heart.— He talks to his scholars of the things that are good for this life and for the life to come. Ho teaches them kindness to their companions, and' urges upon them the necessity'of industry and untiring perseverance in their daily studies.—i He next proceeds to the regular exercises of the day. With one hand he points the way of sci ence ; with the other he waves a gentle token of submission to the disobedient pupil; with the one he lifts up the unfortunate and discour aged, inspiring them with confidence by his kind assistance and cheerful words ; with the other he inflicts deserved punishment upon the head of the willful transgressor. 1 He moves like a guardian angel among his s^olars; settling disputes, preventing quarrels, and rendering them happy by the radiance of his own genial and illumined spirit, while he teaches them to be both good and wisel- I can trace the scene no farther. My space is short. These are some of the duties, though faintly delineated, of the common school teacher to his scholars. The third and last duty of the common school teacher which I shall enumerate, is his duty to his country. This duty comprehends all others, When the teacher is discharging his duty to himself, by disciplining his intellectual and moral nature, by cultivating a good and amiable disposition, by acquiring the art of pleasing, and by forming proper habits, of life, he is at the same time performing his duty to his coun try; for the reason that he is making of him self and honest man. When he is dis charging his duty to his scholars, whether by sowing the seeds of morality in their hearts, by developing the germs of intellect in their young minds, or by walking before them an ex ample of righteousness, love, and truth, he is performing his duty to his country, because he is making of his scholars good and honest citi zens. But the duty of the teacher does not end here. It hrts a more extended application. It is not confined, to the narrow sphere of self, nor is it circumscribed by school house walls; nor is it yet limited to his scholars, nor bounded by the circle of his own immediate neighborhood; but it is a duty that goes with him wherever ho goes; it is the duty of the patriot citizen, and it should be faithfully discharged wherever his lot may chance to be cast. 1 - The teacher should become a missionary to bcriWt and improve the community in which ha roottta, and wherever he is acquainted. He shoula\o a civilizing agent, not only for the development uc.the mor al and intellectual condition of man, by teach ing him virtue and intelligence; but also f nr the improvement of' his social condition, by making him more useful and obliging to his fel-' low man. By this means, he would be eleva ting tjhe standard of society, and advancing the cause of civilization; he would be bettering the condition of his fellow mortals, and would thus; be discharging that highest of all duties, his' I duty to his God. Very intellectual women, we find, by obser vation, are seldom beautiful.—Tim formation of their features, and particularly cheir fore head, is more or less masculine. MissLandmi was rather pretty and feminine in tho face, but Miss Sedgwick, Miss Pardoe, Miss Leslie, and the celebrated late Anna Maria and Jane Por /ter, the contrary. One of the Miss Porters had a forehead as high as that of an intellectual man. I never knew a very talented man who was admired for hia personal beauty. Pope was awful ugly; Dr Johnson was no better, and Mirabeau was the ugliest man in all France, and yet he was the greatest favorite among the ladies. Women more frequently prize men of sterling qualities of the mind, than men do wom an. Dr Johnson chose a woman for a wife who had scarcely an idea above an oyster. He thought her the loveliest creature in existence, if we judge by the inscription he left on her tomb. A young Miss, having accepted the arm of a youth to gallant her home, and afterwards fear ing that jokes might be cracked at her, if tho fact should become public, dismissed him about half way, enjoining secrecy. “Don’t be afraid, said he,.“of my say ing any thing about it, for I feel as much ashamed of it as yon do,
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