Here I would speak against the impropriety of discussing a teacher’s faults in the presence of pupils, who will discover them soon enough. Many a teacher starts disadvantageously because of some idle tale, which may or may not be true, but which, borne on the wings of gossip, reaches its place of destination, and is there thoughtlessly canvassed in the hearing of children, who thus become prejudiced against a person they have never seen, and whom they otherwise might have liked. In my case, the fault was _my age_, which had evidently been discussed in the neighborhood; for, on opening my desk, I found inscribed upon the lid, in a bold schoolboy style, “Rosa Lee, aged 13,” to which was appended, in a more delicate hand, “Ancient—very!” Taking my India-rubber, I erased it while my scholars were settling the matter of seats, which, strange to say they did without disputing. Then there ensued a perfect silence, and the eyes of all present turned inquiringly upon me, while, with sundry flourishes with my silver pencil, I proceeded to take down upon a big sheet of foolscap the names, ages, and “what studies do you intend to pursue?” of my pupils. After much talking and arranging, the school was organized; but the first morning dragged heavily, and when 12 o’clock came, and I drew from my sachel the nice ginger snaps which mother had made, the sight of them, or the taste, or something else, choked me so much that I was obliged to wink hard, and count the rows of trees in the orchard opposite twice, ere I could answer the question addressed to me by one of the little girls. In the rear of the house was a long strip of dense woods, and wishing to be alone and out of sight of the sports in which I felt I must not join, I took my bonnet and wandered thither. Seating myself upon a mossy log, I tried to fancy that I was at home beneath the dear old grape-vine, the faintest rustle of whose broad green leaves would, at that moment, have been to me like the sweetest music. But it could not be. I was a schoolmistress—_Miss Lee_, they called me, and on my brow the shadows of life were thus early making their impress. Slowly to me dragged the hour which always before had been so short, and when at last I took my way back to school, it seemed that in that short space I had lived an age. Often since, when I have looked upon young teachers hastening to their task, I’ve pitied them, for I knew full well how long and wearisome would be their first day’s labor.