ure the joy, when there is a consciousness of growth in
this higher department of mental power?

Will the teacher, who reads these paragraphs, consider the matter? Are
you, as a teacher, growing? or are you working on in dull content in the
same old routine? On your answer to these questions depend very largely,
not only the welfare of your scholars and the amount of good you will
achieve, but your own happiness and satisfaction in your work. The
artist, who produces some great work of genius, has his reward not
merely in the dollars which it may bring to his coffer, but in the
inward satisfaction which successful achievement produces. The true
artist is always struggling towards some unattainable ideal, and his joy
is proportioned to the nearness of his approach to the imagined
perfection. So in proportion as we approach in skill the great Teacher,
will be our joy in the work itself, apart from our joy in the results.

To be a growing teacher requires a distinct aim to this end, and a
resolute and persistent effort. It does not come by chance. It is not a
weed that springs up spontaneously, and matures without culture. It is
not the fruit of mere wishing. There must be _will_, A DETERMINED AND
RESOLUTE WILL. Rules and theories will not accomplish it. There are
books and essays in abundance on the art and practice of teaching. But
back of means we must have, first of all, the propelling power. Have you
made up your mind to be stationary, or have you resolved to go forward?
Will you remain in the wilderness, or will you advance into the promised
land and take possession? Are you a deliberate, predetermined, contented
dwarf, or will you resolutely grow? You may never become a giant, but do
not remain an infant.

If there is any one duty of the teacher more imperative than another, it
is that of continued, persistent self-improvement. No element of
progress is so efficient as a wholesome discontent. "I count not myself
to _have_ attained," says the great apostle of progress. To sit down
self-satisfied with present attainments is in itself a sign that you
have not yet risen much. It is to belong to the owls and the bats of the
lower valleys. One must already have ascended to lofty heights before he
can even see the higher Alps towering beyond.

The teacher who would improve must, in a good sense, be restless. He
must bestir himself. He must study and read and experiment, attend
teachers' meetings and conventions, and tak