'V.
- fT) ft)-.'-'''
BY S. B. ROW.
TIIE EXCELLENT MAN.
They gave me advice and counsel in store,
Praised mo and honored me. more and more;
t?aid that I only should "wait a while,"
Offered their patronage, too, with a smile.
But, with all tbeir honor and approbation, '
I should, long ago, have died of starvation, u
Had there not come an excellent man,
Who bravely to help me along began.
Good fellow! he got me the food I ate, '
His kindness and care I shall never forget;
Yet I can not embrace him. tho' other folks can,
Hot I myself am this excellent man. . .. ,
" THE REWARD OF MERIT.
- FIRST KATE LOVE STORY. ,
Annie had arrived at the mature age of (do
not start, reader.) twenty-seven, and yet in a
state of single blessedness. Somehow or other
be had not even fallen in love as yet. "Had
the no offers ?" What a simple question ! Did
you ever know half a-million of dollars to go
begging Offers? Yes, scores of them ! It
may be accounted as one of her oddities, per
haps, but whenever the subject happened to
be touched upon by her father, Annie would
ay that she wanted some one who could love
her for herself, and she must hare assurance
ot this, and how should she in her present po
sition ? Thus matters stood, when Annie was
led to form and execute what will appear a very
atrange resolution but she was a resolute girl.
We must now go back six years.
One dark, rainy morning in November, as
our old friend was looking composedly at the
cheerful fire In the grate of his counting room,
really indulging in some serious reflections on
the past ami future, the far future, too, a gent
leman presented himself and inquired for Mr.
Bremen. The old man uttered not a word,
but merely bowed. There was that in his
looks which said "I am he."
The stranger might have been thirty years
or so of age. He was dressed, in black, a
muurnin? weed was on his hat. and thera ws
oiuething in his appearance which seemed to
indicate that the friend whose loss he deplored
bad recently departed. The.' letter of intro
duction which he presented to Mr. B. was
quickly yet carefully perused., and as it was
somewhat unique, we shall take the liberty of
submitting it to the inspection of the reader :
, llmo., 18 .Friend Paul This will in
troduce to thee friend Charles Copeland. He
has come to thy city in pursuit of business. . I
hare known him from a youth up. Thou m.-.y-est
depend upon him for aught ih-.it he can do,
and shall not lean as upon a broken reed. II
thou canst do any thing for him thou mayest
peradventure benefit thyself and find cause to
r .-juice. ' - Thy former and present friend, -
' ' " Micau Looms."
It is not every one that can get old Micah
l.oomis's endorsement on bis character," said
Paul Bremen, to himself as be folded up the
letter of his well known associate and friend
of former days. "Old Micah is good for a
qnarter of a million, or for anything else it
Mill do I want him getting old, business in
creasing must have some help now as well
an any time."
The old gentleman looked at all this, as he
tootl gazing in perfect silence on the man be
fore him. At length he opened his lips.
"Mr. Copeland, yon know all about books?"
"I havo had some few years experience." ;
Any objection to a placo here ? Pretty close
work only one thousand a year."
None.".
When can you begin ?"
Now."
A real smile shone on the old man's face.
It lingered there like the rays of the setting
un Mnong the clouds of evening, lighting urj
those seemingly hard, dark features.
A stool was pushed to the new comer, books
were opened, matters explained,' directions
given, the pen was dipped in the ink, and. in
nhort, before an hour had passed away, you
would have thought that the old man and
young man had known each other for years.
; In reference to our new Jriend, it will be
sufficient to remark that he had been liberally
educated, as the phrase goes, and though he
had entered early into business, he had not
neglected the cultivaiion of his mind and heart,
lie had found time to cherish a general ac
quaintance with the most noteworthy authors
of the day, both literary and religious, and
with many of past times. After a few years
of success in the pursuits of which bo had de
voted himself, misfortunes came thick and
fast npon him. Ho found himself left with
scarcely any property, and alone in tho world,
save his two only daughters. .
As year after year passed away, he grew
steadily in the confidence of his employer, who
felt, though he said it not, that in him he pos
sessed a treasure. , , - ,
Very little iudeed was said by either of them,
not connected with the routine of business,
and there had been no intercourse whatever
between them, save in the counting room.
Thus six years went by, towards the closo of
which period old Bremen was found looking
with much frequency and earnestness at the
young woman before him ; something was evi
dently brewing in that old head. What could
it be ? And then, too, he looked so curiously.
The Irish servant was puzzled. "Sure," said
James, "somethings coming." Annie, too,
was somewhat perplexed, for those looks dwelt
.much on her. -
What is it, father?" she said to him one
morning at the breakfast table, as he sat ga
zing steadfastly in her face ; "do tell me." -
I wish you'd have him !" burst forth like
an avalanche. "Known him for six years
irae as a ledger a gentleman real sensible
man don't talk much regular as clock work
prime for business worth his weight in
gold." i
Have who, father ? What are you talkmg
about?" ' .
"My head clerk, Copeland yon don't know
him I do haven't seen anybody else worth
a, quill."
Annie was puzzled. She laughed, however,
and said.
"Marry my father's clerk ! what would peo
ple say ?"
"Humbug, child, all humbng worth forty
of your whiskered, lounging, lazy gentry ;
ay what they please ; what do I care ? what
do you care ! what's money, after all 1 got
enough of it want a sensible man want some
body to take care of it, all humbug." " '
"What's all hnmbug, father?"
"Why, people's notions on these matters
Copeland is poor so was I oncemay be a
gain world's full of changes seen a great
iwmy f then in ' my day can't stay , hero
long got to leave you, Annie wish you'd
like him." - : '
-"Father, are you serious ?" '
i "Serious, child !" and he looked so.
Annie was a chip of the old block ; a strong
minded, resolute girl. ., A new idea seemed to
strike her. . . , : ;
"Father, if yon are really serious in the
matter, I'll see this Copeland ; I'll get acqaint
ed with him. If be likes me, and I like him,
I'll have him. But he shall love me for my
self alone; I must know it. Will you leave
the matter to me ?" ,
'Go ahead, my child, and do as you "like.
Good morning." ... , , .
. "Stop a moment, father. I shall alter my
name a little ; I shall appear to be a poor girl,
a companion of our friend Mrs. Ilichard's, in
II street. She shall know the whole affair;
you shall call mo by my middle name, Peyton ;
I shall be -a relative of yours; yon shall sug
gest the business to Mr. Copeland, as yon call
him, and arrange for the first iuterview. The
rest will take care of itself." . .
"I see, I see," and one of those rare smiles
illuminated his whole face. It actually got
between his lips, parted them asunder, glanced
upou a set of teeth but little the worse for
wear, and was resling there, when he left the
house for his counting room. , The twilight ot
that smile had not yet gone when he reached
the well known spot, aud bowed, and looked
'good morning" to those in his employ, for
old Paul was. after his fashion, a polite man.
On the morning of that day what looks were
directed to our friend Charles ; so many,, so
peculiar, so full of something, and the head j
clerk could not but notice them, and that, too,
with some alarm. - What was coming? At
length the volcano burst forth. . . '.,
Copeland, my good fellow, why don't you
get a wife ?"
Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet ho could
not have been more astounded. Did Mr. Bre
men say that, and in his counting room too?
The very ledger seemed to blush at tho intro
duction of such a subject." Ha for tho first
time nuifij a blot on the fair page before hint.
: "I say why don't you get a wife? know
just the. thing foryou prime article poor
enough to be sure what of that a fortune
in a wife, yon know a sort of a relation of
mine don't want to meddle with other peo
ple's affairs, know our own business best can't
help thinking you'll be happier must see'her.'
Now the fact is, that Charles had for some
time past thought so himself ; but how the
old man should have divined his feelings was
quite a puzzle to him. In the course of the
day a note was put into Mr. Bremen's hands
by James, his Irish servant, tho contents of ;
which produced another grim smile. When
the moment for his return home arrived. Mr. '
B. handed a sealed document ot rather impos
form to Charies, saying
"Copeland, you'll oblige me by leaving that
at No. 67 II street. Place it in tho hands .
of the person to whom it is directed; don't
want to trust it to any one else." ?
. The clerk saw on the outside, Mrs. Richards,
No. C7 II street. The door bell was rung.
The servant ushered Copeland into . a small,
neat parlor, where sat a lady apparently twenty-five
or thirty years of age, plainly dressed,
engaged in knitting a stocking. Our friend
bowed, and inquired for Mrs. Richards.
"She is not in, but is expected presently;
will yon be seated ?" There was an ease and
quietness,' and an , air of self-command about
this person which seemed peculiar to Cope
land. lie felt at ease at ouce, (you ultvays do
with such people,) made some .common-place
remark which was immediately responded to ; i
then auother ; and soon the conversation grew I
so interesting that Mrs. Richards was nearly
forgotten. Her absence was strangely pro- j
traded, but at length she made her appear
ance. The document was presented ; a glance
at the outside :
.-Mr. Copeland ?-"' Charles bowed.
Miss Peyton." The young lady bowed,
and thus they were introduced. There was
no particular reason for remaining any longer, ,
and our friend took his departure.
That night, Annie said to Mr. B., "I like
his appearance, latherr" :
"Forward ; march !" said old Paul, and he
looked at his daughter with vast satisfaction.
'The old man's as swate to-night ns a new
poratee," said James to the cook. '
The next day Charles Copeland came very
near writing several times," Miss Peyton Dr,"
as be was making out some bills of merchan
dise sold. ,
"Delivered the paper last evening ?"
Copeland bowed.
"Mrs. Richards is an old friend hnmble ic
circumstances the young lady.Pey ton worth
her weight in gold any day have her myself
if I could." -
. , ' , . ...,
"How much. you remind me of Mr. B."
said Charles one evening to Annie; "I think
you said you were a relation of his ?" '
; 'I am a relative of his through my moth
er," was the grave reply.
Mrs. Richards turned away to conceal a
smile. , . . (
Somewhat later than usual oil that day,
Aunie reached her father's house. ; There was
no mistaking the expression of hercounlenance.
Happiness was written there.
"I see, I see," said the old man ; "the ac
count is now closed, books balanced, have it
all through now in short order. You are a
sensible girl no foolish puss just what I
want bless you, child, bless you."
The next day Paul came, for almost the first
time in his life, rather late to his counting
room. Casks and boxes seemed to be starting
with wonder.
"Copeland, you ard . a 'fine fellow heard
from Mrs. Richards proposal to my relation,
Peyton all right done up well. Come to
my house this evening never been there yet
before, eh ? eight o'clock precisely want to
see you got something to say." . .
How much interest bo seems to take in
this matter," said Charles. "He's a kind old
fellow in his way ? a little rough, but good at
heart."
; Yes, Mr. Copeland, even kinder than you
think for. . :
' At eight o'clock precisely, tho door bell of
Mr. Bremen's mansion rung. ' Mr. Charles
Copeland was ushered in by friend James.
ni.i Paul took him kindly by the' hand, and
turning round abruptly, introduced him to
"My daughter, Miss Annie re ion Bremen,"
iti tmnit-diafelv withdrew. ......
"Charles, will you forgive mo this? lie
was too much astonished to make any reply.
; "If you only knew my feelings and motives,
I am sure you would." r-" - ; '
' That the motives ant iceiings were soon vx
CLEARFIELD, FA., WEDNESDAY, JUXE 30, 1858.
plained to his entire satisfaction, no one will
doubt. , .-. - " .;..-::-. .v. .
'Copeland, my dear fellow," shouted old
Paul, as he entered the room, "no use of a
long engagement.". . i '... . - .
i, "Oh, father !" ; r .. . -. ,- ': : t
"No use, .1 say; marry no get ready
afterwards, next Monday evening, who cares ?
Want it over, feel settled. . Shan't part with
Annie, though must bring your wife here
no words partner in business Bremen and
Copeland papers all drawn uri can't alter it
be quiet, will yon ? won't stay in tho room."
I have now finished my, story, reader. I
have given you tho facts. , I cannot say, how
ever, that I approve of the deception practis
ed upon our friend Charles. As, however,
onr Lord commended tho "unjust steward be
cause he acted wisely," sol suppose the good
sense shown by the lady in choosing a husband
for the sake of what he was and not for the
sake of what he might have possessed, merits
our approbation. It is not every one who has
moral courage enough to step out of the cir
cles which surround tho wealthy, and seek for
those qualities of mind and heart which wealth
neither gives nor takes agay. , , t , ;
' THE TRUE TEACHER, I
An Address read before the Clearfield County Nor
mal School, at Curwcn8vuIo, on Wednesday eve
ning, June 1G, 1Ss3, by Kerr. I. J. Stixk. . ,
PUBLISHED AT TUB REQUEST OF TIIE KORMAL SCnOOL,
Young Ladies and Gentlemen of the Clearfield
County Xormal School : I come before you
this evening as the first on the list of those
who are to deliver a course of lectures in this
hall during the remaining weeks of your pres
ent session. '..Why I have consented thus to
appear in jour presence why lam here, I
need not consume time in saying, as, no doubt,
every one has already formed an opinion! One
may attribute it to a desire to be' seen and
beard, and another may view it as a commend
able spirit of pleasure in adding to the intel
lectual festivities of the session. - A third and
a fourth may have still different views. . This
one ni3V say that it is from a habit of speak
ing, while that one may "presume that it is
just to let the people know that the school
master is abroad;" I shall quarrel with none,
but accept the opinions of all as allowable in a
free country. Who would be ashamed to bo
seen and heard in a" good cause ? ' Who would
not take pleafnre in adding to the enjoyment
of others ? ' Who that is not dumb would not
speak for truth and virtue t And who would
not let the people know for in some places
they do not appear to havo learned yet that
"the school-master it abroad ?"
' But again. I come before you, ladies and
gentlemen, as one of your own number, ns a
teacher. Your interests are my ' interests ;
your hopes are my hopes; yonr good is my
good. . And now the gentlemen may suppose
that from a long habit of dictating to children,
the. speaker presumes on his right to bo heard ;
while the ladies will, no doubt, think but I
may not read their thoughts, and must content
myself with hoping the best. . ' ' 'k
Let it be sufficient, then, to say that I have
accepted the very flattering invitation of your
worthy Preceptor to address you at this time,
with feelings of mingled pleasure and regret.
Of pleasure that I am permitted to add my
mite to your intellectual enjoyments in your
present capacity, and to meet, for my own en
joyment, the greetings of so many noble hearts
and love-lit eyes ; of regret that I have bad
but two days', time to prepare my address,
and that, in consequence of this, and more
real deficiencies,- which , may be perceived
as -1: proceed, I cannot promise you ' "
"Tho feas t of reason and tho flow of soul" '
that should always accompany an intellectual
'treat". . I know that time and fore-thought
are necessary to tho production of an address
suitable for the ears of an association of Teach
ers. But I know, also, that you, as teachers,
have learned not to expect cviy thing from one
w'Cak mortal the production of every intellec
tual flower and fruit from one decaying brain.
And in the poet's language, slightly altered,
if I chance to fall below '
A splendid oratorio show, - .
Don't view me with a critic's eye, - ; . . .
' . Nor pass me altogether by. - '
.'''.' For I may say a thing or two
That may be new to some of you.
But I find that I am making a little speech
of my introduction, or, as my old schoolmas
ter used to call it, making the porch too big
for the house" a thing by no means premed
itated ; and you are anxious for the announce
ment of my subject. Then, let it be, The True
Teacher, and our object, to consider his Char
acteristics and his Influence. And here let me
say that ' I have chosen - this subject, not be
cause I supposed that I could do it justice, but
becauso of its fruitfulness the shortness of
the time allowed for the preparation of my
address admonishing me that a fruitful subject
was necessary. . .... .. . -
' The work of the teacher is something more
than an ordinary work ; and, to be successful,
he needs to bo something more than an ordi
nary -man she something more than an Ordina
ry woman.' Not only in the school-room are
the teachei's patience and good nature severe
ly taxed; oftentimes ahead he is faulted for
his very virtues, and pupils come into the
school-room with their heads swimming with
false notions ot his character and his worth,
falsely instilled by falsely-judging parents and
others, who were never inside of his school
room in their lives. Yet the True Teacher
stands a man amid all these vexations stri
ving to do his duty, leaving the talk to others.
Like Napoleon, but in a better cause, be not
only undertakes ; he accomplishes. His mot
to is not tho cowardly one, "I can't," nor yet
the timid one, "I'll try;" but in all the dig
nity of a man he stands and proclaims,
u ul! '. and Darkness recedes . before him, Ig
norance hides her face in shame, and Sin
skulks howling back to the pit whence first she
sprung, while the glorious light of Science
and Truth breaks in upon benighted minds as
his comes in contact with them, and they ac
knowledge Virtue's reign. . But let ns speci
fy. And here a word of explanation by way of
apology to the fairer aide of the house, may
be advisable, if not. necessary. . Whenever I
use in this address, the name "man," I use it
as a generic name, embracing both sexes, and
so with the pro-name "he," -referring to
"teacher." Did custom allow it, I should be
pleased to show my respect for the sunshiny
side f bnmanity,nd especially for our whole
souled lady teachers by always putting an s"
before that little masculine pro-name. , But
custom is aroitrary. . , . . f ...
; 1." Tho first characteristic of trie True Teach
cr which we notice.' is good lommon sense. Of
this he needs no little store, in order to meet
and to overcome the trials and difficulties in
cident to his profession. Trials are bis. His
life is a warfare. The enemy is cunning and
treacherous. ' Ho will not show his colors in
open day , but while the sun shines be lies in
ambush, and "because his deeds are evil,"
stalks out in the darkness of the night, to
come suddenly upon the object of his hatred.
But he who catches the faithful sentinel asleep
at his post, will have to visit that post more
than once. Let him be sagacious. Ourtcach
er is also sagacious sagacious with a wiser sa
gacity ; and his good common sense enables
him to meet on more than equal terms the
wily adversary.
. Good common sense is found necessary in
relation to the assignment of every lesson and
the hearing of every recitation every order,
every motion every word and every look in
side of thot school room and outside, with his
pupils and with their parents.
2. Another characteristic of the True Teach
er, is amiableness gentle and persuasive man
ners. He needs not be, he .must not be, a
sickly sentimentalist, such as he who would
appear refined ; but be ought to be, and he is
a man of true feeljngs, and of kind and gentle
manner in a' word, a gentleman: A surly,
crabbed man is orrtof4iis proper place in the
ranks of teachers. . . .. ; . .
, The minds and tho hearts of children, as
well as their bodies, are tender things, and
must be tenderly dealt with. The True Teach
er, observant of human nature, is aware of
this, and his own amiable disposition naturally
prompts him to a right discharge of his duties
in this respect. lie is not apt to snarl, as a
chained dog, at every little annoyance, and
even the petty failings of childhood sometimes
please him. He sees in children nothing less
than men and women undeveloped.. And while
he possesses absolute authority over his school,
he commands by requesting, and this in a spirit
of , kindness , aud cheerfulness.. And being
kind and cheerful himself, the same spirit per
vades his school. There love and honor dwell,
happiness is1 there, and tho children think
there is not on earth an-other such teacher as
theirs.; Blessed among teachers is that one
who has gained the object and confidence of
his pupils ; thrice blessed is ho who retains it.
i 3. Again the True Teacher is characteriz
ed by patience... Impatience and fretfulness in
a teacher is a sure sigh of his having been by
Nature designed for some sterner calling than
than that of directing tho tender mind of child
hood in the acquisition of knowledge.
: .Childhood has many little failings, scarcely
amounting to faults, yet to meet which in the
proper manner, requires no small amount of
patience. Besides, in regard to "lessons,"
many things which to the teacher appear very
plain and simple, are to. the little learner very
difficult and intricate ; and much labotions and
prtient explanation is necessary.. For instance,
the Alphabet is to the child but a complexity ;
of characters, the different names and sounds
of which it thinks a herculean task to learn.
And as it gazes upon the open page, and scans j
the letters, and then counts the leaves of the j
"primer," to see how many it must turn over
before it is "through," without just at that
time the right sort of instruction cheerful pa
tient instruction it may come to the conclu
sion of the "idle boy" in the book, that "that's
too much to Icirft to know so : little." The
thought may arise that play is more pleasant
than coming over a page so dull; for what is
profitable or unprofitable it does not enter the
mind of childhood to consider,
i So, again, when it comes to form letters in
to words, and words into' sentences, ! these
things, .though more pleasant, arc wonderful
things, difficult things, and cause many anx.
ious hearings of the little heart, and tho es
capcof many broken little sighs. And so it
is throughout the whole course of elementary
education, until tho pupil has become of an
age and a mind to know the importance of
mental discipline, and the necessity of appli
cation, which, indeed, from the false notions
of education existing among so many parents
and teachers, never happens with some.
. And patience in the teacher is required by
another consideration. The results of his la
bors are not always seen at once. They are
not generally immediate. Like the husband
man, he sews the seed in seed-time, but must
wait until harvest-time for tho fruit. More
than this, ne sews the seed ; the world reaps
the harvest, and that saying is fulfilled, "one
soweth, and another reapeth." '
4. Moreover, the True Teacher is a man of
strong Sympathies. He can sympathize with
the "little ones" in their joys and their griefs;
can amuse, as Well as instruct ; can cheer and
animate ; can comfort them in their little vex
ations and sorrows, and wipe away their tears.
There is scarce a step between joy and sorrow
in childhood, scarce a wink of the eye between
smiles and tears."- '
i A celebrated painter was once painting a
child crying. Being asked why he represent
ed it in that mood, by one dash of the brush
he cleared away its frowns aud tears, and put
upon its countenance a most bewitching smile.
Then, by another dash of the brush, it appear
ed the same as at first in frowns and tears.
"Thus, sir," said the artist to his interroga
tor, "yon see how easy a thing it is to make
children cither laugh or cry." "And as the
painter has power over the canvass, so has the
teacher power over tho mind and the heart.
At his will be can make his children either
laugh or cry. Oh, then, how careful should
he be that he cause not grief and tears and
gloom, but joy and smiles and happiness instead.-
: '
The True Teacher is lso capable of sympa
thizing fc-ith bis pupils in tbeir sports and
plays. Not only does he know how to make
the sad countcnanc cheerful, but also to make
even cheerfulness itself more cheerful. A
mong children, he becomes, in sport and play,
and at the proper time for these, enjoyments, a
child again. He lives the season of his child
hood over. . He is a poor teacher who can not
build play-housea with the girls, and play ball
with the boys. . Let no one be afraid that his
"dignity?' will be compromised by this line ot
conduct. The teachers most successful and
most respected in their schools are those who
aro tho most familiar with their pupils out ot
school.; .-. ! . - - -' :
5. Still another characteristic of the True
Teacher is,; ingenuity. He is a man of ready
invention.; Children . love novelty routine
they hate. ; The teacher to be successful, must
be lull of all manner of invention. . He must
be able to devise some "new thing'? pr the a
musement and instruction of his classea, every
day. i He must be able to present every suc
cessive lesson in a different light that is be
must be able to shed' still more light on each
successive lesson, comparing it with former
ones, and illustrating it by them. Anecaoie
may also come in for a good share in illustra
tion. 'Hence the teacher should be familiar
with history, biography, and especially human
nature in its various phases. -
One science, also, illustrates another, as well
as one part of a science another part. . Hence
the necessity, on tho part of the teacher, of a
general fund of knowledge, and not only so ;
but a mind, also, of bis own a thinking, rea
soning, and reasonable mind. "lie must," in
the language ot a celebrated educator, "bo a
sort of locomotive patent-office.", 1 would
add, that he must be also a sort of walking en
cyclopedia a living, moving being, foil of ob
servation, of reflection, and of originality an
alytic and synthetic, deductive and inductive,
and productive.
6. But the True Teacher is farther and espe
cially characterized by firmness ; or, in other
words, decision of character. With him "yes"
always means yes, and no" always means no.
lie always means just what he says no more,
no less. II is pupils soon become aware of this
fact ; and bence they learn that, though, as I
have said under another head, he commands
by requesting, his requests tnust be complied
with. The True Teacher is not a weak and
vascilating man.' He is careful that he never
makes a request of his pupils, nor forbids
them any anticipation, except for tbeir own
good, or at least without a very good reason ;
but he will allow not even the slightest resist
ance to his authority. Hence his pupils learn
to respect him, and, respecting him, they will
respect his authority, too. His mere ipsedixit
is enough for them. "He says so," is enough
to settle any question or dispute among them.
On the other hand, the teacher who is not
characterized by firmness, is not, can not be
respected by his pupils. Tho soldier could
not respect and confide in the general who
was continually changing his orders, and re
organising his files, in the same battle. - Be
sides, only confusion and disorder would arise
from such a course. The Teacher is a general,
at the head of an army an army of regulars
and irregulars, who need not only his constant
supervision and discipline, but his firm, tfti
wavering, absolute commands also, and these
given, though in kindness, yet in such a man
ner as to leave no room for doubt or disobe
dience. - -' - '' ' -'-' '
.7. The True Teacher is also a good tecticia,
or disciplina: ian. Now, as to discipline, the
world about us differ. So do teachers. By a
tactician or discialinarian, ! do not mean a
Treat pounder of little backs and heads, nor
yet a great x-pounder of knowledge ; but a
great general, a skillful captain. .Some peo
ple have an idea that the only way to be suc
cessful in the school-room is to let the pupils
know from the start that they have a master.
My experience has taught me otherwise. Chil
dren must be taught to love, not to fear; to
obeyfrom love, and not from compulsion. .
The True Teacher knows very well the turn
of every mind with which be has to deal ; and
while some must bo gently led, others must be
urged up the Hill of Science. And with, him
life is a reality. There is no monotony in his
school-room. Others may talk of monotony
of the dullness of . tho school-room. His
school-room is not dull ; it is a hive of "busy
bees improving each shining hour.' He is
earnest, active, energetic, alive to his duties,
and life and energy pervade his school.- The
hours glide like moments away, and dis
missed" generally, falls upon the ears of the
busy group before it was expected, and they
wonder where the time has gone which used to
move so slowly when John Smith kept school.
8. Another very important nay, absolutely
indispensible characteristic of the True Teacher
is Strict Morality. lie is one who feels the
greatness of his mission, who feels the respon
sibilities of bis station, and boldly dares to
meet them, p He uses no impropriety of lan
guage, does, not stake bis reputation with his
money in games of chance, does not use in
toxicating drinks, nor spend his evenings at
grog shops and groceries, and I was going to
say, would blush as much to be caught defiling
himself with that filthy weed, familiarly called
tobacco, in any of its shapes, now any man
can lny claim to the title of a moral man, who
gets drunk, or uses tobacco, I can not perceive.
And no man who is not strictly a moral man,
if not decidedly religious, is fit to instruct the
young. The Teacher ought to be at least a
man who fears God, and keeps his command
ments, if he does not love Ilim, and serve Him
with all his heart; though better, far better
were it for all concerned, could this be predi
cated of him also.
I am aware that it is urged by some that the
Teacher has the care of the intellectual facul
ties only, ant that he is not responsible for
the morality of his pupils. This is a serious,
often a fatal mistake. The Teacher, though
not entirely, is to a degree responsible for the
moral as well as the intellectual growth of his
PUpilS. ' :
: Some teachers endeavor to shuffle off the
responsibility of moral even, to say nothing of
religions instruction, by leaving that to the
preacher." I was not long ago not less aston
ished than grieved to hear one whom I had
been accustomed to rank among the true teach
ers, say", with a seriousness that left no room
for doubt, that he felt himself "responsible
only for the menial improvement" of his pu
pils, while he left "the doctor to look after
their health,", and "the preacher to instruct
them in morals and religion." Truly here was
a defining of the duties of each profession,
and if correct, would not 'allow the physician
to instruct any in anatomy or phvsiology even,
nor the teacher to try to reform an evil habit,
nor the minister to stanch the bleeding of a
death-wound. Believe-me, I left that man
with a much lower estimate f him than that
which I had Dreviouslv entertained. Ah ! let
such remember that, in regard to the children
of their charge, there may come a time when
society may have questions to ask i mem
which may not bo so easily answered, and that
there is one who may one day rcquiro some
souls at tbeir hands. " ' ' '
Other traits or characteristics f the True
Teacher I might mention, but the time would
fail me to more than mention energy, activi
ty, integrity, diligence, perseverance, love lor
bis profession, devotednass to his calling. I
have also omitted literary qualifications ; first,
because to speak of them fully would require
at least tho time that ought to be devoted to a
ingle address, and secondly, because the cha
racteristics which I have pointed out as be
longing to the True Teacher, when viewed to
gether, imply, to some extent at least; a culti
vated mind. Let it suffice to say on this point
that i the Teacher should have a good general
education. The time is past.when "any body
YOL. 4.-M). 44.
can teach school.'. School-terpers are givittg
placc to school-reacr the profession is ta
king rank among the highest and tho most
learned professions ; and there is no danger of
the Teacher's education being too extensive,
provided that it is thorough. .
The True Teacher does not need a college
diploma, setting forth that he has gone over
a certain routine of studies, through which his)
abilities would never allow him to go, and very
deeply into which he never has peeped; but
ho does need to bear on his manly brow tho
mark of intellect enstamped, and intellect im
proved and cultivated. If be has enjoyed the
advantagess of a public education, so much
the better, if those advantages have been ira
proved. But he must be educated, in the true
sense of the word, just as much if he sports
college honors to his namo as if he does not.
And the education of experience will be of
most service, for experience is the school
where wisdom is learned.
' Again, did time permit, I might speak of
self-reliance. The True Teacher feels that,
what has been done once, can be done again .
that whatever any one else has done, he can
do in like circumstances. He has, then, a'
moderate sharo of what is vulgarly called self-'
conceit. I call it selj-relianct. - II 5 fe$!s thatt
be is a man, and not a mere machine he bas a :
will of his own, aDd will not be dictated to by,
those who know nothing of the "joy of grief
of the teacher's lot, though he ,' ever ready -
and willing to receive counsel and instruction;
from his more experienced co-luuorer ia the
great work in which he is engaged.
.Nor have I said anything directly ot aptness
to teach. It will be readily inferred, however, '
from the qualifications specified, that I would :
have the instructor of the young "apt to .
teach." " Indeed the characteristics named in
clude this. It is not a "simple element" iw
the character of the teacher, but a compound
of all that might be named, and perfected only '
by long and varied experience. The True
Teacher is "apt to teach." He can teach his
pupils all he knows himsilf, if any body else
can teach them any thing, and what may be
called the 'educational paradox' sometimes
more than be himself knows.. . , , . ,
Such, then, being the characteristics of the
True Teacher, surely an importance and a dig
nity are attached to bis office. The teacher1
calling is not to be lightly esteemed. It is a ,
great, a glorious calling, second to none on .
earth. How often do we find young men par- '
ticularly, making school-teaching but a step- '
stone to something in their estimation higher,-
as if there were something higher on the earth. -
The True Teacher is a man to be respected, .
nay, honored in his community. And why nit 7
Is noj his influence greater than the influence'
of any other ? Is not his work a nobler and a
moro laborious work ? His life is spent in
"doing good," in endeavors to make himself .
and others useful, honored, beloved, and hap- '
py. He bas a right to respect and esteem and'
honor, and what he rarely receives a just
recompense for his labors ; for he aims high, ,
and hopes much. And as he has a right, a di
vine right, to these things, so he expects them. ;
And above all, be expects his instructions to -'
be heeded, and good results to grow out of
them ; and if disappointed of this, whatever .
encouragements may be denied him, none can '
take away his right to weep over bis disap- '
pointments and the frailty ot man. : - '
The True Teacher lives not for the present i
only, lie lives for the future. . He points his
pupils on and up, encouraging, them by his
own bright example. He looks away ahead; -to
the time when the littje boys and girls a
round him have become men and women, and
the play-ground has been exchanged for tho
great arena of sterner life ; "when the spelling
book has given place to the ledger or the tomes '
of law or divinity, the mullen-stalk to the sol
dier's gun, and the sports of childhood to tho
great battle of life. And as his mind's eyo ,
scans the dim vistas of the future, he sees -them
honored and beloved, educated and use
ful, virtuous and happy. He looks only at the
bright . side. He sees them in the different '
pursuits of life ; some in humble retirement,
spreading peace and happiness around them, -
and alwayi strewing roses in their pathway for
others. - lie sees others in public life, sway-
ing nations by a word, causing nnjust judges
to tremble at their expositions of justice, and
the throne cf tyrants to totter at their bid- .
dings, while justice and crnelty cower in very.'
shame beneath their rebukes, and truth and '
virtue rejoice in the sunshine of their smiles.
Some he sees in tbeir abundance administer- .
ing to the poor feeding the hungry and cloth- ,
ing the naked, and spreading the Word of ''
Lile throughout the world. He sees others 1
spending tbeir lives, because all they have to
spend, in "doing good;" some physicians, .
some lawyers and statesmen of distinction and "
merits somejadges, governors, congressmen, '
while one stands at the head of government,'
with one by his side that would hardly be re
cognized as the romping bright-eyed girl of (
the hill-side school. Others he sees, like him- '
self, instructors of the yonng; some again, -"
heralds of the Cross, . ambassadors from God
to roan ; and with a thrill of holy pride and .-
pleasure indefinable, he cries, "thesa were my -pupils
!" He labors not for gold ; he toils by
day and racks his brain by night, not for any
marble monument to his fame ; bat, like tho
Spartan mother, he can point significantly to,.
living monuments of his faithfulness, with the -Spartan
expression "these are my jewels !"
Fes axd Povertt. Poverty runs strongly 1
to fun. A man is never so full of jokes as
when he is reduced to one shirt and two pota
toes. Wealth is taciturn and fretful. Stock- ',
brokers would no sooner indulge in a hearty .
laugh than they would lend money on a "sec-,
ond mortgage." Nature is a great believer "
in compensations. Those to whom she -sends '
wealth she saddles with lawsuits and dyspep-, :
sia. The poor never indulge, in a woodcock,'
but then they have a style of appetite that con-,
verts a number three mackerel into a salmon,
and that is quite as welL - - -
' Tne Tri e Doctrine. Sheridan said bean- :
tifully : Women govern ns ; let ns render
them perfect ; the more they are enlightened,
so much the more shall we be. On the cnlti- 1
vation of their minds depends the wisdom of i
men." , , . . a.-. .
May in Europe seems to have been as a-a
pleasant as it has been in America. Snow had
fallen in seme parts of France. , Madrid was
similarly ylsited bn the fourth. '. .... . : .
.... ' 1 -
; A vocalist says bo could sing, "Way dowa
on the old -Tar River If ha eonli only get
tho fitch:
1!
I!