"Born, not made," is true of the great teacher as of the great man of every sort. But it is not with the great schoolmaster that we have to do. A man may be real without being great, and it can do no harm to fix the attention of the teacher of average gifts on the ideal of genuineness. Every man and woman is to be accounted a real teacher who establishes a vital relation between himself and the developing pupil; who is, to a greater or less extent, a living force in the formation of character and the enlargement of mind. In this class the mere hearer of recitations and keeper of grade marks has no place whatever.

Real teachers are of various magnitudes, and the humblest mis. tress of a country school, who manages to inspire her pupils with a thirst for knowledge and an aspiration for veracity in character is in the class of real teachers as truly as Socrates, the first great professor of the divine art of molding youthful character and pushing the human mind in the direction of truth. Blessed be the humble teacher who, without any chance for the great rewards of fame or money, renders noble service and leaves the impress of a genuine and generous character in one little corner of the world. No cyclopædia or dictionary of notables ever mentions that wonderful old Pennsylvania Dutchman, Christopher Dock. But, in the obscurity of the Pennsylvania back country in the last century, he did some of the noblest and most enlightened teaching the world has ever seen. He was a schoolmaster, indeed, not a master of the school in any merely outward sense, but master of the very souls of his rustic pupils.

Wanted-A Song Book.

Of all Cranks, the Musical Crank is the most hopeless. He would not be so bad, if he did not write School Musical Readers, and these would be endurable, if they were not adopted by misguided Boards of Education. Then the innocent schoolma'am takes these adopted children into her school room and tries to make something out of them. She tries to believe their do-sols are needed; that their horrible practices upon the scales are useful and that to murder a tune is not a criminal offence.

The truth is we should give very little time to music in our country schools. We have other and more important work to do. Ten minutes a day is all we can spare to music. All the school should be able to join in most of this ten minutes work. One book should be

sufficient for all the grades. This book should contain not more than one hundred tunes. These should all be standard pieces, which eve

one would like to know.

The book should contain twenty patriotic songs such as Ameria The Star Spangled Banner, Hail Columbia, The Red White and Be Yankee Doodle, The Battle Hymn of the Republic, Battle Cry of Fre dom, The Sword of Bunker Hill, etc.-songs which every patrot American is supposed to know. There are about fifteen patrit songs of other nations, which should be known to our pupils. The Watch on the Rhine, The Marseillaise Hymn, The Blue Bells of Sect land, Tara's Harp, Rule Brittannia, Sons of Norway, Scots Wha Ha and others are known to all the world.

We have about ten songs of Home and Mother which deserve . place in our song-book. Sweet Home, Old Folks at Home, Home Again, Do They Miss Me at Home, Old Kentucky Home, Be Kind Thy Brother, and others we could name will always be sung.

But few songs, not religious, with a plainly moral aim, have kept a place in our hearts. As popular as Temperance songs are, the Drinking songs outnumber them five to one. So if we put in, Th Old Oaken Bucket, Where is My Wandering Boy To-night, Kind Word Can Never Die, Touch not the Cup, Mrs. Lofty and I, The Watcher, If Had but a Thousand a Year, and two or three others, we will have th: most of those which have permanent popularity.

Of Ballads and Folk songs, we have a wide range to choose from It is curious that even quite young children like sad songs such a Nellie Gray, Lilly Dale, Hazel Dell, Massa's in the Cold, Cold Ground Hard Times, Carry me 'long, Under the Willow, etc. Besides thei: beauty, some of these songs have value as pictures of the times they describe. Gayly the Troubadour, Nicodemus, Blue Juniata, Babylon is Fallen, Old Hunter, are songs of this kind. Bonnie Doon, Roy's Wife, The Laird o'Cockpen, She's Far from the Land, The Minstre Boy, are all good songs of Auld Lang Syne.

About 25 of those Standard Hymn tunes like Martyn, Greenville, Bethany, Toplady, Boylston, St. Thomas, Dennis, Hamburg and Nettleton are excellent for part singing. In the place of the hymns, other words or the syllables do-re-mi could be used. A book of the above kind could be sold for $1.50 a dozen, and would contain all the music we need for the first eight grades.

If the songs were memorized, one each month, the children would soon be able to do what they do not now do-take a real delight in

singing.

The Music Readers now in use are utter failures in our common district schools, and they are so costly that few districts like to buy them. Let us have a good song-book. C. M. DRAKE.

WE may pin leaves on a tree, but they will not grow; there is no vital connection between the leaf and the living, growing organism, the tree. So we may pin words on the memory of the child.-Indiana School Journal.

Little Daughter Goldie.

[Translated from the German of Richard Von Volkmann Leander ]

BY MRS. ELMER E. BROWN.

[NOTE: Teachers who think the crowded course of study does not leave time for story-telling will find it worth while to try some story like the following, and draw from it material for use in other branches of study while the narrative is fresh in the children's minds. Children who have got well started in the reading of script will take eagerly to the making out of sentences from the story when the teacher has written them on the blackboard. It will do them no hurt to guess a little at the new words, if they are intent on the thought and are made to know the difference between knowing and guessing. The fifteen ducklings offer convenient material for number exercises, if the story is used at a point in the course when the pupils are ready for numbers so large. Did the old duck's brood sail across the pond in three rows of five each, or five rows of three each, or in some other way? And how would they look if a straight mark stands for the old duck and an O for the leaf with Goldie on it and dots for all of the little ducks? There is material for language lessons in the story, too. When it is remembered that in the earlier grades it is more important that the children should talk well than that they should write their sentences without mistake in punctuation, it will appear that something they are interested in talking about is a first requisite for the language hour. And when they do write, the chances are that they will write better when they are interested in the things they say with their pencils than when these have no interest for them. Moreover, little daughter Goldie, without knowing at all that she is so useful, teaches some pretty good lessons in politeness. The main thing in all this is, that if the children are given something really interesting to think about and remember, they will work with all the better will on their drill-work, for the sake of using their skill on the interesting concepts they have acquired. The technical studies must undoubtedly be mastered and that thoroughly, but let them be mastered for actual use. Whatever real dangers there may be in the use of fairy tales and the like for such purposes, can in large measure be counteracted by having natural history study run along parallel with the literature study. The children will then know the difference between real ducks and story ducks and will love both. And the natural history study will give as much material for use in the other branches as its companion. study of interesting stories.] E. E. B.

Before the city gate, close to the meadow, stands a house where two people live with their only child, a very little girl. They call her Daughter Goldie; she is a happy hearted, loving little thing, quick as a weasel.

One morning when her mother went to bring the milk into th kitchen, little Goldie stepped out of bed, and, clad in her night-gowi stood in the doorway.

Now, it was a glorious summer morning, so, standing in the doorway, she thought to herself, "Perhaps it will rain tomorrow; little Goldie had better go walking today." No sooner had she thought this than she started. She ran lightly to the meadow, and from thence to the thicket.

As she came to the grove, the hazel bushes rustled their twigs excitedly, and called to her:

"Pollywog in nightgown,

Why now running up and down?
Not a sign of dress or shoe,
Stocking one, instead of two!
If you lose that one, my dear,

You will freeze your legs, I fear.
Scamper home, my little one,

Fast as rosy feet can run."

But she did not hear, only ran on into the bushes, and so found herself on the edge of a pond. There stood a duck with fifteen young ones, yellow as the yolk of an egg. These began to quack wildly, and ran toward Daughter Goldie with their beaks wide open as if to eat her. She was not in the least afraid, but came quite close and said, "Duck, you noisy, quacking Bess,

Shut your bill and chatter less."

"Oh," said the duck, is it you, Daughter Goldie? I didn't recognize you; do not be vexed! No, you will not harm us. How do you do? And how are your father and mother? How fine to have you visit us! We are greatly honored. You must have got up early.

now you can see our pond-fine scenery isn't it?"

When she had quacked all this, Daughter Goldie said, "Tell me, duck, where did you get so many small Canary birds?"

"Canary birds," repeated the duck, "I beg pardon, they are only my own little ones."

"But they sing so finely, and have no feathers, only hair! What do they eat."

"They drink clear water, and eat fine sand.”

"That can't make them grow much."

“Oh, indeed,” said the duck, "the good Lord blesses it to their good, and sometimes they find little roots in the sand, and in the water a tiny worm or snake."

"Haven't you any bridge?" asked little Daughter Goldie.

"No," said the duck, "unfortunately we haven't any bridge. If you wish to cross the pond though, I will gladly take you over."

Thereupon the duck went into the water and broke off a large pond lily leaf, whereon she set Daughter Goldie. Then taking the long stem in her beak, she guided the little one away across the pond, and all the little ducks swam bravely after.

"Thank you, duck," said little Goldie when they reached the other side.

"Not at all," said the duck. "When you need me again I am at your service. Remember me to your father and mother. Good bye."

On the other side of the pond is another large, green meadow. Over this went Daughter Goldie, farther and, farther. Before long she saw a stork. Running gaily nearer she said, "Good morning, stork, what are you eating that looks so green and seems so crisp." "Salad," replied the stork, "salad, Daughter Goldie."

"Give me some, too, I am very hungry."

"Salad is not good for you," said the stork, and stepped into the brook close by. He reached deep under the water with his long beak, and brought up a gold cup, full of milk, and a wheaten roll. Then he lifted a wing and down fell a cornicopia of sugar-plums. Daughter Goldie needed no bidding to sit down and eat and drink. When she had finished, she said to the stork "Thank you, dear stork, good health and best wishes."

Then she ran on until she saw a tiny blue butterfly.

"Stop, you little blue thing," she cried, "and let us play together."

"With pleasure," answered the butterfly, "but you must not handle me, for fear of spoiling my pretty wings."

So they chased each other about the meadow until dusk, then Daughter Goldie threw herself on the grass to rest before going home. Sitting amid the field flowers, she noticed that they were too drowsy or anything but sleep. The daisy was not quite sound asleep, but her head fell first this way, then that, and every little while she would straighten up and look about her with heavy eyes, then once more fall a-nodding.

Close by was a white aster (surely she must have been the mother) who said

"Daisy, little angel sweet,
Fall not off your dainty seat,

Go to bed, dear child."

Then the daisy curled together, and fell into deep dreaming, aft first pulling her white cap so that the points fell over her face. So the aster, too, slumbered.