Eneas at the tomb of Anchises.

thereby secure the approval of Him, whose will it is our life and light to obey. For upon the faithful servant, who used the talents with unceasing diligence, were bestowed the cheering words of praise; while he who hid his talent in a napkin, was sent away in disgrace with merited reproach.

If what has been said be true, we must conclude that the profession, whose business it is to train the faculties and energies of mind,-to have under control the spirits of childhood, fresh from the Creator's hand, to impart knowledge which shall be the basis and key to other knowledge,—to lay burdens that will make strong the mental sinews,-to draw out and set in operation all the latent faculties,-to unfold those laws immutable which exist in the physical, the mental, and the moral,—to plan conquests and execute designs where the agencies are immaterial and spiritual,—and to be the instrument of developing character that shall outlive the years of mortal life, such a profession can not be excelled in dignity. In our short-sighted judgment we are likely to lose sight of the importance that should be attached to it. The spiritual is too often obscured by the material and the tangible.

When Eneas was crossing the seas, as it is given in Virgil's beautiful poetic account, he landed upon that island sacred to filial affection, and ordered games to

Comparison of the Professions.

Triumphs of the Farmer.

be performed about the tomb of his father Anchises. Among others he instituted prizes for those who would try their "skill with the swift arrow." The mark was a dove, tied high up upon the mast of the vessel. But when he came to award the prize, it was not bestowed upon him who hit the mast with his arrow, nor upon him who severed the string, nor yet upon him who pierced the dove in her upward flight; but it was given to that aged chieftain whose far ascending shaft kindled amid the clouds of heaven, and marked its track with flame.

We are apt to forget that we are created with other faculties than those which pertain to us as animals,—which minister simply to our physical necessities. Surrounded as we are by the strife of men fast to be rich and eager to lay up goods where moth corrupts and where thieves break through, we lose sight of the fact that we have hearts and an emotional nature which demand our care and culture. Digestion is not the highest order of development of which this being of ours is susceptible. Had growth been the end of our existence, we could have been created without the means of locomotion, and stood with our arms extended like the oak of the forest. Had we simply been designed to fulfill the conditions of animal life, we could have been made like the lion who devours his prey and then sleeps by his lair till

Dignity and value of Teaching.

he needs more. But how different in purpose and destiny is the creation of man! What powers of thought and action is he not capable of displaying, how generous in impulse, how lofty in purpose, how sublime in virtue is he capable of becoming! Who can fully realize the invention displayed by Homer, the analytic acuteness of Aristotle, the sublime virtue of Socrates, the intuitive perceptions of Bacon, the broad generalizations of Newton, the incomparable acquaintance with human thought and feeling displayed by Shakspeare, without entertaining a more exalted view of man's nature and man's destiny, and unceasing delight in the thought that he is himself a man, possessed of a spirit akin to these?

That we may have a just conception of the dignity and value of teaching, and the relation it sustains to the world's thinking, let us compare it with some of the other professions which are most highly esteemed among men, and are usually looked upon as the most honorable and dignified.

It is indeed a noble occupation to till the soil. What glorious triumphs has the hand of the husbandman achieved! He indeed eats the bread of labor,―he toils early and late,—and his garments at times are worn and dusty. But what shapes of beauty and magnificence does the earth take beneath his hand! He hews down the heavy forest, and lets

Remark of Cicero.

Beauties of Creation.

the warm sunlight in upon the damp, mouldy earth. He breaks the stubborn and rocky soil, and clothes it with verdure. He digs deep trenches and plants the vine,-with careful hand he prunes the too luxurious growth, and hangs beneath the broad green leaves long clusters of purple grapes. Orchards of mellow fruit glow in the autumnal sunshine, and along the hills are ridges of golden corn. In summer time the choicest varieties of stock graze in the meadow beside the cool brook, and in winter they delight in warm shelter, and pure water, and unstinted feed; and he rejoices to see them eat and thrive. It was that great lawyer and statesman, Cicero, who said, when contemplating amid the cares of state, the freedom and ease he enjoyed when surrounded by the labors of his farms, that it was his greatest delight to see his ewes eat and his lambs suck.

But beyond this limited view, to the husbandman the volume of nature is wide open. He is in the very midst of the Creator's laboratory. It is indeed ennobling to be a tiller of the soil, and to see the work of creation that is constantly going on,—to witness the changes that are taking place in the vege table, and mineral, and animal kingdoms, whereby the subtle and unseen elements take forms of beauty and magnificence—the fragrant shrub, the stately

cub, the LIBRAR UNIVERSITY

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Results of the Farmer's labor.

Life of the Teacher.

tree-the diamond, and the ruby-the graceful turns and curves in the contour of the horse, the stately bearing of the king of beasts, and the strong wing of the king of birds. And yet, what is the purpose of the husbandman's work? What the end of all his labors? Why! that when the seed time has passed and the harvest has come, he may furnish the market a few score bushels of grain,—that he may fit for the sacrifice a dozen bullocks, and half as many swine,— that he may store up in cellar and granary enough to feed himself and family till harvest shall come again.

The life of the teacher is spent in a different sphere. There are none of the elements of natural beauty about him, that light up the path of the tiller of the soil. The herds lowing for their keeper, barns filled with plenty, the fruitery groaning with the orchard's bounty, the broad, rich acres of nicely cultivated land, are not his. His home, it may be, is an up-stair tenement in some obscure court. His mornings and his evenings are spent in study, preparing for his daily task. If by chance he catch a breath of fresh air, laden with the fragrance of newmown hay and apple blossoms, or the "sound of bees' industrious murmur," it is when wafted to him as he passes the garden wall of the farmer. His days are spent in the toil of the class-room. Patient and