Several passengers on a hot day in June entered the train on
the Columbia and Augusta Railroad. Among them were several
young college boys who were on the way home from their summer
vacation. They were stylish, well-drest lads, and were gay and
happy, as boys usually are who have put books aside.
A party of merry girls already occupied the car, and in a little
time the train seemed flooded with youth and sunshine. A very
lean woman, with an ample lunch-basket, divided her time between
eating chicken and boiled eggs and fanning vigorously with a
turkey-tail fan, while a stout man in the corner mopped his face
with a red bandanna, and remarked, by way of emphasis, “Hot,
very hot!”
The girls and boys took in every incident, laughing and
tittering all the while. Just across the aisle, opposite the
boy, sat a woman holding a baby. A pale, tired, despairing look
was on her face, and her eyes were full of suffering. The little
one was fretful and cried piteously, but the young mother was
too exhausted to try to quiet the baby.
“Oh, just listen to that young one. I think crying babies ought
to be put out of the cars,” one of the girls said pertly.
“Yes, my head begins to ache,” said another, while the boys
laughed; and the louder the child cried, the more merriment it
caused among the young people; while the lean woman and the fat
man scowled and complained.
“I do not see any cause for ridicule,” said Fred Weston, as he
arose; and to the amazement of all the passengers, he crossed
to where the woman sat, and with a courteous bow, extended his
arms. “Please let me hold your baby a while,” he said; “I have a
little sister just her age and she loves me dearly. You look so
tired, ma’am.”
The child opened wide her big brown eyes and gazed into the
handsome, bright face of the boy, as without hesitation she
sprang forward into the outstretched arms. She ceased crying,
and her lips puckered into a plaintive sob.
(1718)
* * * * *
A poor boy was taken from the poorhouse into the home of a
farmer, a just man, who dealt justly by the boy; but, somehow,
he never gave him any help, and the boy moped along hopelessly.
One day a visitor came to that farmer, and as the orphan boy
brought around his horse the visitor said a kind word that made
the boy open his heart a little. “I see,” said the stranger, as
he was mounting to go, “you have a pretty hard time; but keep
a good heart and you will come out all right. I have noticed
that a boy that has a great shock of red hair and a large nose
and a freckled face, if he keeps a good heart, always comes
out right.” It was the first kind word, but it made the boy
and the man he grew to be, who told the story. The law can not
put a man in the right way when he finds himself wrong, but
sometimes a kind word can.--FRANKLIN NOBLE, “Sermons in
Illustration.”
(1719)
* * * * *
Henry Clay was at one time considerably distrest by a large debt
due to the bank. Some of his friends heard of it, and quietly
raised the money and paid off the entire indebtedness, without
notifying Mr. Clay. In utter ignorance of what had been going
on, he went to the bank one day, and addressing the cashier,
said, “I have called to see you in reference to that debt of
mine to the bank.”
“You don’t owe us anything,” was the reply.
Mr. Clay looked inquiringly, and said: “You don’t understand me.
I came to see you about that debt which I am owing the bank.”
“You don’t owe us anything.”
“Why! how am I to understand you?”
“A number of your friends have contributed and paid off that
debt, and you do not owe this bank one dollar.”
Tears rushed to Mr. Clay’s eyes, and, unable to speak, he turned
and walked out of the bank.
(1720)
* * * * *
In my journal of Friday evening, July 3, 1863, I made the
following note, “At eight o’clock this morning hundreds of
rebels were seen standing on their fortifications. Both armies
laid down their arms. About noon I went with part of my company
(H. 33d Wis.) near the enemy’s fort, which was hardly more than
200 yards from our line, and there the blue and the gray chatted
pleasantly for a full hour. The meeting was so unrestrained
and amicable as to make the scene exceedingly interesting and
touching as well. My boys gave the contents of their haversacks
to the rebels whom they had been fighting for nearly forty days
and nights, and the defenders of the city deeply appreciated the
kindness.”--NICHOLAS SMITH, “Grant, the Man of Mystery.”
(1721)
See FRIEND, A TRUE; PRESERVATION; TRAINING CHILDREN.