ed with the work of education. I sometimes think that one of
the advantages of a practice school lies in the fact that the teachers
who have direct charge of the pupils--whatever may be their
limitations--have at least the virtue of youth, the virtue of being
young. If they could only learn from my hero the art of keeping young,
of keeping the mind fresh and vigorous and open to whatever is good and
true, no matter how novel a form it may take, they might, like him,
preserve their youth indefinitely. And I think that his life gives us
one clew to the secret,--to keep as close as we can to nature, for
nature is always young; to sing and to whistle when we would rather
weep; to cheer and comfort when we would rather crush and dishearten;
often to dare something just for the sake of daring, for to be young is
to dare; and always to wonder, for that is the prime symptom of youth,
and when a man ceases to wonder, age and decrepitude are waiting for him
around the next corner.

It is the privilege of the teaching craft to represent more adequately
than any other calling the conditions for remaining young. There is time
for living out-of-doors, which some of us, alas! do not do. And youth,
with its high hope and lofty ambition, with its resolute daring and its
naive wonder, surrounds us on every side. And yet how rapidly some of us
age! How quickly life seems to lose its zest! How completely are we
blind to the opportunities that are on every hand!

And closely related to this virtue of being always young, in fact
growing out of it, the ideal teacher will have, as my hero had, the gift
of gladness,--that joy of living which takes life for granted and
proposes to make the most of every moment of consciousness that it
brings.

And finally, to balance these qualities, to keep them in leash, the
ideal teacher should possess that spirit of service, that conviction
that the life of service is the only life worth while--that conviction
for which my hero struggled so long and against such tremendous odds.
The spirit of service must always be the cornerstone of the teaching
craft. To know that any life which does not provide the opportunities
for service is not worth the living, and that any life, however humble,
that does provide these opportunities is rich beyond the reach of
earthly rewards,--this is the first lesson that the tyro in schoolcraft
must learn, be he sixteen or sixty-five.

And just as youth and hope and the gift of