in reading
and spelling, for example, in the most comprehensive meaning of those
terms--in the sound and power of letters, in the composition and use of
words, and in the natural construction of sentences. This, of course,
includes a knowledge of grammar, not as a dry, philological study, but
as a science; not as composed of arbitrary rules, merely, but as the
common and best judgment of men concerning the use and power of
language, of which rules and definitions are but an imperfect
expression.

Nor do we herein assign the teacher to neglect or obscurity. He, as well
as others, must have faith in the future. His reward may be distant, but
it is certain.

It is, however, likely that the labors of a faithful elementary teacher
will be appreciated immediately, and upon the scene of his toil. But, if
they are not, his pupils, advancing in age and increasing in knowledge,
will remember with gratitude and in words the self-sacrificing labors of
their master.

We are not so constituted as to labor without motive. With some the
motive is high, with others it is low and grovelling. The teacher must
be himself elevated, or he cannot elevate others. The pupil may,
indeed, advance to a higher sphere than that occupied by the teacher;
but it is only because he draws from a higher fountain elsewhere. In
such cases the success of the pupil is not the success of the master. He
who labors as a teacher for mere money, or for temporary fame, which is
even less valuable, cannot choose a calling more ignoble, nor can he
ever rise to a higher; for his sordid motives bring all pursuits to the
low level of his own nature.

Yet it is not to be assumed that the teacher, more than the clergyman,
is to labor without pecuniary compensation; for, while money should not
be the sole object of any man's life, it is, under the influence of our
civilization, essential to the happiness of us all. Wealth, properly
acquired and properly used, may become a means of self-education. It
purchases relief from the harassing toil of uninterrupted manual labor.
It is the only introduction we can have to the thoroughfares of travel
by which we are made acquainted personally with the globe that we
inhabit. It brings to our firesides books, paintings, and statuary, by
which we learn something of the world as it is and as it was. It gives
us the telescope and the microscope, by whose agency we are able to
appreciate, even though but imperfectly, the immensity of