work into shape and practise on in private. That practice ought to
include conscious thought as to one's general manner in the schoolroom,
and intelligent effort to understand and improve one's own voice. I hope
I shall not seem to assume the dignity of an authority which no personal
taste can claim, if I beg a hearing for the following elements of manner
and voice, which appeal to me as essential. They will, probably, appear
self-evident to my readers, yet they are often found wanting in the
public school teacher; it is _so_ much easier to say "what were good to
do" than to do it!

Three elements of manner seem to me an essential adjunct to the
personality of a teacher of little children: courtesy, repose, vitality.
Repose and vitality explain themselves; by courtesy I specifically do
_not_ mean the habit of mind which contents itself with drilling the
children in "Good-mornings" and in hat-liftings. I mean the attitude of
mind which recognises in the youngest, commonest child the potential
dignity, majesty, and mystery of the developed human soul. Genuine
reverence for the humanity of the "other fellow" marks a definite degree
of courtesy in the intercourse of adults, does it not? And the same
quality of respect, tempered by the demands of a wise control, is
exactly what is needed among children. Again and again, in dealing with
young minds, the teacher who respects personality as sacred, no matter
how embryonic it be, wins the victories which count for true education.
Yet, all too often, we forget the claims of this reverence, in the
presence of the annoyances and the needed corrections.

As for voice: work in schoolrooms brings two opposing mistakes
constantly before me: one is the repressed voice, and the other, the
forced. The best way to avoid either extreme, is to keep in mind that
the ideal is development of one's own natural voice, along its own