ously at the bright flowers in the yard. There was a quick, sharp voice, a jerk, and the boy's mother set him harshly down upon the hard floor of the hall, and bade him stay there, and not go out upon the steps again. She went in doors, and we looked back to see the child. There he sat perfectly quiet, not a tear visible-yet so sad and sorrowful. There is no grief like a child's grief. The little mournful face haunted us all day. Many times afterwards we saw the mother playing with and caressing the child. But we could not forget the thoughtless cruelty which deprived him of so much pleasure, and embittered his young heart. People seem to forget the keen anguish which an unkind word brings to a child. It rankles deeply, and in after years leaves a bitter fruit which has poisoned the happiness of many homes. Dear friends, be kind to children.-Cayuga Chief.

Habit. "I trust every thing, under God," said Lord Brougham, "to babit, on which, in all ages, the law-giver, as well as the schoolmaster, has mainly placed his reliance; habit, which makes everything easy, and casts all difficulties upon the deviation from a wonted course. Make sobriety a habit, and intemperance will be hateful; make prudence a habit, and reckless profligacy will be as contrary to the nature of the child, grown or adult, as the most atrocious crimes are to any of your lordships. Give a child the habit of sacredly regarding the truth, of carefully respecting the property of others, of scrupulously abstaining from all acts of improvidence which can involve him in distress, and he will just as likely think of rushing into an element in which he cannot breathe, as of lying, or cheating, or stealing."

The fireside is a seminary of infinite importance: it is important because it is universal, and because the education it bestows, being woven in with the woof of childhood, gives form and color to the texture of life.

At a meeting in Boston, Hon. Edward Everett uttered the following: My education began at the free schools of my native village of Dorchester, and of this the beloved city of my adoption; and if my tongue is ever silent when it ought to speak the praises of the common schools of Massachusetts, may it never be heard with favor in any other

cause.

If we would not fall into things unlawful, we must sometimes deny ourselves in those that are lawful.

"One thing at a time, and that well done." 'Nothing is to be passed over till well understood."-How familiar these maxims; how familiar among Teachers, and yet, where do we find them in practice? Rarely indeed; but why is this? Take the subject of reading, for instance. The young teacher anticipates the teaching of this branch, with the resolution, that no word shall be passed over till its bearing is appreciated. But one day's practice brings to light unforeseen difficulties. The school, perchance, is large. The text-books are generally much in advance of the scholars' attainments. The classes come in succession to the recitation seat, and the reading proceeds. But shall we call it reading? The pupils can not spell, or enunciate from the book a large number of the words. The drawling tones, the imperfect articulations, the ludicrous blunders,--oh! to what excruciation is this teacher doomed. Yet the class must read. But how much? At least twice round. No, reflects the teacher; once round; one verse each, well read, is better than two, imperfectly read; and the lesson in future shall be studied. But here again practical difficulties arise. As we said before, most likely the book is in advance of the scholars' capacity. The teacher covets the friendly aid of a definer for his class, if they have it not; if they have, experiment proves that it is no specific. The definitions and bearings of so many new words are unwelcome to the mind of the child, and he turns from the reading lesson in disgust.

If this state of things continue, the teacher meets the class with reluctance and dismisses it with dissatisfaction, feeling that time and mental effort are here wasting. What shall be done? Those least advanced may be placed in a lower class, and the class furnished with simpler reading books; but still the "one verse each” once round, can not be calculated upon: no, not even a period. Assign no more than the child can master, and then insist upon perfection. Never be under the necessity of telling a child a word when he is reading. This is the work of previous preparation, if he is old enough to study; if not, the teacher should teach the orthography, enunciation, and meaning of each word, before the sentence is read. The lesson should be continually cut down till this can be accomplished.

And now the teacher finds time to prepare the lesson properly; time to dwell upon the meaning of this word; time to look up the little

anecdote which will so aptly illustrate that point; and time to consider how much it is best to expatiate upon tone, emphasis, etc. And when a class moves to the recitation seat, he feels that he can, without injustice, demand a perfect recitation. And the class are eager to recite. It may be but one verse, perhaps but one line, but they know what is required.

And now, before you call upon any one to read the paragraph, just contrive some way to ascertain whether those two or three long words can be pronounced aright, and if the class understand your plan, they will be enunciated fully and exultingly. They are spelled to your satisfaction, and defined, too; for the pupils have consulted father, sister, teacher, or dictionary, as was most convenient, and they can remember three or four definitions. And now the class are prepared to read. Will there be wandering, listless eyes during that recitation? Will Helen lose her place, Susan turn round to whisper to the little girl behind her, or John drop his book? More likely, as you become animated in illustrating, or labor to make an idea palpable to the minds of the class, an unwonted stillness pervades the room, and, as you turn to the school, a score or two of intelligent eyes beam upon you from beyond the limits of the class. You glance at the clock. Your twenty minutes have expired. Is the lesson too short? Not for pleasure, at least.

Now suppose a page is divided into six exercises, and the class take them up successively and understandingly, and the whole be reviewed at a seventh exercise, at which they can read it easily and fluently-as well as the teacher-is not this better than to allow the same page to be read from top to bottom at four or five successive lessons, and then abandoned because teacher and scholars are tired of it?

Do not fear that your pupil will tire of the sight of that little paragraph, so long as he is making it, word by word, his own; but if you set before him, day after day, the same indigestible dish of hotch-potch, do not wonder if he loathes it. One thing at a time-literally, practically should be the teacher's motto.

SWANTON, Lucas Co.

A. A. CARTER.

Every young man should remember that the world will always honor industry. The vulgar and useless idler, whose energies of body and mind are rusting for want of occupation, may look with scorn upon laborer engaged at his toil; but his scorn is praise, his contempt honor.

the

The Bridge.

In some moods, a very trifling incident will suggest a train of reflections, which, at first sight, may seem quite irrelevant to the point from which they started. It is often found, however, on more careful reflection, that they are linked to it by some real, though perhaps remote, analogy.

It was in such a thoughtful mood I was standing on the bank of a river waiting a boat. My attention became engrossed in watching the labors of some workmen who were laying the foundations of a bridge. Little apparent progress had yet been made, though a strong and efficient corps of laborers were on the ground, all hard at work, each at his post; and all, it appeared, under the superintendence of one man, whose vigilance and thorough over-sight left nothing unobserved, and whose cheerful and encouraging tones seemed to infuse his own life and courage into his men.

So far as I could see, not a vestige of any thing like a bridge was yet to be seen. Vast blocks of hewn stone were slowly lowered by machinery, and sunk, one after another, in the bottom of the river. Heavy and unwieldy masses they were, and they followed each other at long intervals, each, it would seem, to be linked by iron bolts to its fellow at the bottom.

It began to seem to me, an idle looker-on, somewhat like labor lost, to sink so much good granite in the river's bed, and I could not restrain a slight feeling of impatience at the evident want of results. Suddenly I marked a little ripple on the surface of the water, precisely where the last block had sunk; and as soon as the agitation of the waves subsided, the edge of the last stone became distinctly visible above the surface. At the same moment, a triumphant shout from the whole gang of workmen, announced the joyful fact that the foundations were completed.

"Courage, Teachers," I exclaimed, (for an under-current of thought had been setting that way for some time); "patience must be our watchword." It is doubtless much pleasanter to work in sight, and above the surface, where labor can be appreciated and results seen and measured; but somebody must lay foundations, aye, even though they do get poor pay, small and meager commendation, and perhaps a wet jacket for their pains. It signifies little, so that the work be well done, and the great Master-Builder approve. Yes, our work is very like

yours, O builders, the most important labor is out of sight, and a flaw there must be most fatal.

But if bridges must be built, being necessary to the country's welfare, much more must citizens be educated. The country can get on without good bridges better than the state without good citizens. Let us look well to the foundations. Let not the Primary school be neglected, or fall into the hands of quacks. If inefficient, ignorant and unfaithful laborers are employed there, it will be vain to hope or expect to see a beautiful, well-proportioned structure rise upon the narrow and unsound base. 66 Principles underlie all rules." And it is in the Primary school that we should begin to engraft right principles, according to the old maxim, as true as it is homely-"One prevention is worth a dozen cures.'

These little ones are often sent to us, fresh from a mother's love-a father's watchful care-confiding and docile; yielding as clay to the mould, or wax to the seal, they take the very impress of ourselves upon them, and copy the Teacher during school hours, as they do their parents for the remainder of the day.

What Teacher has not trembled, to hear a band of little folks play school, when they thought themselves unobserved, and rehearse, word for word, all you had said during the day; every chance word preserved, even the very tones of your voice? Ah, no copy in their exercises is half so faithfully studied, no drawing so faithfully copied, as the Teacher.

66

Principles before Rules." This axiom holds as true in morals as in science. It is a mistake to suppose that very young children can not understand the difference between Right and Wrong. That period had long since passed when the child was first sent to us.

God himself has drawn that distinction, in characters of light, on the child's conscience, and our business as Teachers is, to guard it sacredly from injury, to direct, and to guide. We can not make a conscience. We might as well try to make a world, or an immortal soul; but many a quack who has not skill enough to pull out a mote from your eye, can, with a bold push, put out the organ of sight, and extinguish vision forever. Let us beware! An eye is not so delicate as the conscience of a child, and woe to that Teacher who puts out the eye of the soul. Is it asked, how a little child is to know right from wrong? We answer, just as he knows what light is, without a definition; what harmony is, without a music book; what honey is, from its sweetness; and the fact that fire will give pain, from the nerves in the tips of his