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THE MASSACHUSETTS TEACHER.

5

Socrates. "Who," it has been asked, "hears the name of Caius Laelius? And yet Scipio, the conqueror of Hannibal, speaks of himself as but executing the designs of that philosopher." Is it, then, too much to say that had there been no Laelius, there would have been no immortal Scipio, and the great Carthaginian might not have found a conqueror? The greatest of Roman orators, whose fame yet sends its steady light over the abyss of ages, declares that Publius Nigidius, a name that, but for this circumstance, we should hardly have known, was the author of his noblest deeds. And if Cicero could make this confession, how many more of inferior genius could make similar acknowledgments with yet greater propriety? Indeed, however narrow our observation may have been, instances must have come to our knowledge of great power proceeding from those who dwelt in obscurity, even as the earth is heaved, and tossed and cleft asunder, by invisible forces of which we know almost nothing.

Of this hidden power of the teacher for good, — and, let it be remembered, it may be for evil likewise, we give a single illustration. We once knew a teacher who, in the judgment of those best acquainted with him, possessed the rarest intellectual powers, which he had cultivated with long and varied discipline. For him it was a pastime to read in the mother tongue of Plato and Plutarch, the deep philosophy of the one, and the lofty morality of the other. There is hardly any field of knowledge to which he was a stranger. He seemed to be at home on the classic page, among the higher mathematical studies, or while engaged in unfolding those subtle distinctions which underlie that sublimest of all sciences, the science of the human soul. And no mind truly awake could listen long to his "wide and large discourse of reason," and not feel something of that awe-inspiring reverence, which the presence of the highest forms of intellectual greatness seldom fails to awaken. And yet he was known comparatively to but few. His personal influence over the world at large was but small. The masses were alike ignorant of his worth and his greatness. With a modesty equal to his unusual attainments, he shrank from display; and having no desire of authorship, and passing away from us in the meridian of his days, but few of the results of his profound investigations will go down to posterity on the printed page. But will he have lived in vain? Far otherwise; for deep in hundreds of young and noble hearts, made yet nobler by his sublime teachings, were treasured up the living thoughts his "winged words" bore thither, and there will they be cherished in undying remembrance. Love for Truth and Honor and Duty was inspired in minds that are to influence men from high places of authority and trust; from

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ment; in its immediate results upon the pupil, or its more remote effects, ever going forth from him as a central source; in each and all these views, we find abundant evidence of its peculiar excellence and responsibility as a calling. The teacher is thus seen to be a fashioner of human souls, moulding them measurably, into his own likeness.

This character of his work indicates, at once, what that of the instructor should be. He owes it most sacredly to his noble employment, that he be no intellectual sluggard. Unrefined manners, an uncultivated mind, or an easy conscience, have no business here. They are not the fitting appointments for this most elevated work. The teacher has chosen an office most responsible and most honorable. Let him do it honor, then, by his own manly character and his faithful labors. But this he will fail to do, unless he is ever diligent in work of selfimprovement.

We have said that self-culture has reference to external habits, the mind, and the heart. Some more specific consideration of each of these will be pertinent to the subject.

If the foregoing views are correct, the external manners of the teacher are not of minor consequence. Pupils continually copy the teacher, and usually go farther than he, if he is addicted to coarseness of any kind. If they are well bred at home, they will probably disrespect him; if not, they will most likely become confirmed in their own rudeness by his example. Some regard for dress, even, is most important. We are, we confess, no great admirers of those who are careless in this respect; and still less do we respect those who affect oddity or indifference here. We do not think we could even sympathize with a modern Diogenes. While we should despise a fop, we should feel an almost equal degree of disgust with one who purposely or otherwise should play the philosopher in rags. And worse than any where else is this in the teacher. He needs to be scrupulous in regard to his person, his dress, and his manners, as well as in his pronunciation and his use of language. Fifty, a hundred, and perhaps more pupils are accustomed to see him some hours every day. They become familiar with all his habits, even the most minute. If he is careless in his dress, eccentric in his manners, coarse, low or worse in his words, some of his pupils, it is to be hoped, would appreciate such qualifications; but a greater number probably would become his copyists. We shall not be understood as advocating finical exactness; an undue preciseness which is among the worst species of affectation, and not, if our recollection serves us, entirely unknown to the profession. But we would express most decidedly the belief, that no one destitute of refinement and courtesy, whatever else he may have, is fit

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