drops from view, and he lives in and for his pupils. The young teacher's
tendency is always to ask himself, "Do my pupils like me?" Let me say
that this is beside the question. It is not, from his standpoint, a
matter of the pupils liking their teacher, but of the teacher liking his
pupils. That, I take it, must be constantly the point of view. If you
ask the other question first, you will be tempted to gain your end by
means that are almost certain to prove fatal,--to bribe and pet and
cajole and flatter, to resort to the dangerous expedient of playing to
the gallery; but the liking that you get in this way is not worth the
price that you pay for it. I should caution young teachers against the
short-sighted educational theories that are in the air to-day, and that
definitely recommend this attitude. They may sound sweet, but they are
soft and sticky in practice. Better be guided by instinct than by
"half-baked" theory. I have no disposition to criticize the attempts
that have been made to rationalize educational practice, but a great
deal of contemporary theory starts at the wrong end. It has failed to go
to the sources of actual experience for its data. I know a father and
mother who have brought up ten children successfully, and I may say that
you could learn more about managing boys and girls from observing their
methods than from a half-dozen prominent books on educational theory
that I could name.

And so I repeat that the true test of the teacher's fidelity to this vow
of service is the degree in which he loses himself in his pupils,--the
degree in which he lives and toils and sacrifices for them just for the
pure joy that it brings him. Once you have tasted this joy, no carping
sneer of the cynic can cause you to lose faith in your calling. Material
rewards sink into insignificance. You no longer work with your eyes upon
the clock. The hours are all too short for the work that you would do.
You are as light-hearted and as happy as a child,--for you have lost