TEACHERS' ASSOCIATIONS.

Men of other professions and pursuits, have long been accustomed to associate themselves together, in some form, for the purpose of mutual improvement. Every minister has his association. Every enterprising farmer is connected with one. And who will undertake to say that either of these classes could well dispense with the advantages which his association affords him?

The increased industry which characterizes our farmers, and the new zeal and impetus which the annual display of their best efforts in the various departments of their pursuits, has infused into them, are proofs incontrovertible, that such associations are beneficial. Indeed, no one now attempts to deny this fact; and all, except it be the bigoted and selfish, give them their hearty support. Now, the question arises-Is there not the same need to the teacher as to the farmer or mechanic, of frequently meeting with his brother teacher, for the purpose of conferring with him about the interests of their profession?

Surely, if there is any man that has need of the encouragement and sympathy which such a meeting can give, it is the teacher. Shut out, as it were, from communion with other men, while engaged in his daily routine of duties, he is, of all men, the most liable to despondent feelings, whenever some difficulty, real or imaginary, comes up before him. What a relief, at such a time, to meet with one who has met and overcome like difficulties, to open to him your heart, and to counsel with him as with a brother!

The fact is, that, where associations do not exist, teachers remain ●lmost strangers to each other. They know little of each other's schools, and less of the improved methods of discipline, or of instruction, which experience may have furnished to those who have been long and successfully engaged in the profession.

Let these faithful, teachers be brought out from their isolated situations, and gathered into associations, together with their younger, less experienced, and less successful fellow-teachers, and be permitted the opportunity to impart of their experience for the

benefit of the whole. Let their various experiences be carefully compared, examined, and discussed, by all of the teachers, with the same freedom and ease with which they are accustomed to treat the subjects that come up before their own classes.

Do this, and a new zeal and enthusiasm will be infused into these teachers' hearts, just as certainly as heat will result from rubbing two sound and well seasoned sticks of wood together.

Each will go back to his school, made stronger by the contact. The sense of loneliness that had weighed so heavily upon his spirits, will have passed away. While in the daily discharge of his laborious duties, he will be cheered on, and encouraged to faithful efforts to succeed, by the feeling that he is not alone, that other teachers, as faithful, are laboring at the same time, to accomplish the same ends,-even the training of mind and the development of intellect.

And, what is of no small importance, he will be induced to test in the school-room, the value of the suggestions of his more experienced co-laborers. Thus, unawares to himself, will he be lifted out of that plodding way which he had been pursuing, and the result will be the making of another live teacher.

L.

The mind is like a garden. Labor and care, not a little, but a great deal, are necessary, to make it bring forth fruit and flowers: but the disgusting and noxious weed will spring up of itself, and, if not rooted out, will soon overspread the whole ground.

So is it with the young. Toil and care will form a character, good, beautiful, and useful; while idleness will develop all the vicious propensities of our nature, and make one worse than a eipher in society.

G.

"There is no excellence without great labor." It is in vain to dream of good scholarship without close application. As the squirrel is repaid by the sweetness of the nut, for his trouble in removing the outer shell, so is the student richly repaid for his hard labor, by the sweetness and value of the truths he makes his own.

G.

From the Independent.

THE FIRST KIND WORD.

"Was your lesson difficult?" kindly inquired a young teacher of a ragged and uncouth-looking lad of about ten years, who was one of a class which had just finished a recitation,-"Was your lesson difficult, my boy?" The boy, thus addressed, raised his large gray eyes with an inquiring look, as if to satisfy himself that words, breathed in so sweet a tone, were intended for him; but, as he met his teacher's gentle gaze, they fell, and, dropping his head, he forbore to reply. His teacher, perceiving that he felt the rebuke, and deeming it sufficient, said no more, and dismissed the class. This lad, Johnny by name, was the son of poor parents, both of whom were habituated to the use of ardent spirits, and, of course, grossly neglected their children, beating and abusing them, as their excited passions prompted; seldom, and perhaps never, letting fall from their lips a word of kindly interest even, much less of love. Johnny, being of a mischievous temperament, was the recipient of unbounded harshness; but to this disposition he owed the privilege of attendance at the village school, whither he was sent to "be out of the way." This was the first day he had been under the care of the present teacher, whom I will call Miss Almer. Johnny possessed a quick and retentive mind, and, when he chose to apply himself, could stand at the head of his class.

But his half-learned lessons came oftener than his perfect ones, and always brought him a severe reprimand, and often a chastisement, which seemed to have no other effect than to harden and debase him. Growing up under such adverse influences at home and at school, he became a morose and ill-tempered boy, disliked and shunned by his school-mates, on whom he sought to revenge himself by all the petty annoyances his fertile brain could devise. Such was the lad when he became a pupil of Miss Almer. She had rebuked him for his first error gently, as was her wont, and, trusting to the potency of such reproof, had dismissed him from her

mind; but not so easily were the kind words forgotten by the poor boy, to whom so gentle a tone was so rare as to awaken astonishment. It fell among the rude thoughts and feelings of his heart, as a flower among thorns. It was to his ear, that was wont to catch only the harsh tone of unkindness, as a strain of sweet melody after a jarring discord. Oh! why do we so often withhold that which it costs so little to give, and yet may prove such a treasure to the receiver? But to the story. Miss Almer lingered at the school-room till all the pupils had left, and was walking along homeward, alone, when this, to her trifling event of the day, was brought to her mind, by observing Johnny sitting by the roadside, apparently waiting for her. When she came to him, he rose, and, offering her a nosegay of violets, said, "Please ma'am, will you take these?"

"Certainly, Johnny, they are very sweet, and the finest I have seen this season; I love them dearly, and you, too, for bringing them to me."

She had taken the boy's hand in hers, despite its disgusting appearance, and, as she finished speaking, his eyes were lifted to hers with the same expression as in the morning, and a tear was making a furrow through the dirt that begrimed his face. "Johnny, what is the matter?" asked his teacher in surprise. "What you said," falteringly uttered the boy. "Do you love me?"

"Indeed I do," was Miss Almer's reply;-" but something must trouble you. Can I do anything for you?"

"Oh! you have done more for me than anybody else, for nobody ever loved me before; but I thought you did when you didn't scold me for not getting my lesson. But I am a dreadful boy; you don't know it all."

"Well, tell me all," answered his teacher, touched by the earnestness of his manner. So saying, she led him to a large stone, and bade him sit by her there, and, as he unfolded his tale of wrongs done as well as received, she mingled her tears with his, which flowed so freely. They sat long, and, ere they parted,

she had given rest to his eager heart, by promising ever to be his friend.

The next morning, Johnny was missed from his place at school, and, at the close of school, Miss Almer called at the rude hut that had been his home, to learn the cause of his absence, and, to her surprise, found it vacated. Whither the people had gone, no one knew.

Many years after this, (fifteen I think) Miss Almer was visiting far away from this scene of her early labors, and, during her visit, attended a meeting for teachers. Remarks were offered, and experiences related, by many laborers in the good work of instructing youth, and, at length, a gentlemanly teacher rose and expressed a wish to say a word to the band of teachers, on the pow er of kindness, and, in the course of his remarks, related the story I have given above, closing with these, or nearly these, words: “I am that lad, and those were the first words of kindness I remember ever to have had addressed to me. They have been my talisman, my guiding star, through life. They have made me what I am, and, God helping me, it shall be the aim of my life to reward the friend of my youth, in the only way in my power, namely, by living so as to spread, by example and precept, the influence of the divine principle of love which actuated her.”

Miss Almer listened to this recital with an agitated heart, for she recognized in the speaker the little Johnny whom she had never forgotten. She sought an interview, and learned his history. How, after leaving his early home, the love of virtue, which she had roused in his bosom, was ever leading him away from his evil courses, and urging him to a higher life.

Need we say to any teacher who may read this, "Go and do thou likewise?" All may not meet with so speedy a reward as did Miss Almer ;-but let us remember that the time of retribution is not yet; and, if we labor faithfully, we may hope that the guerdon shall yet be ours to find that some poor soul has been rescued from degradation by our endeavors, to shine forever, a star in the Savior's Coronet !

A harsh word will kill where a gentle one will make alive.