- gular in aspect and manner, who every Sunday
visited the house of a friend where the head of the family, a superior man of great position, always bade him "Good-evening," and kindly asked after his health. His simple words were so valued by this lonely man that when his friend died and he could no longer receive his kindly greeting, he left his employment and the city, dying in his turn of sorrow, in some obscure and unknown place where he had sought refuge.—Dora Melegari, "Makers of Sorrow and Makers of Joy."
(1716)
KINDLINESS, SENSE OF
Few people possess the kindly sense of the
French abbe mentioned in the memoirs of
Madame Vig'ee de Brun, the celebrated portrait-painter
of the last century. This gentleman
was, unfortunately, extremely deformed,
and, playing at cards with him,
Madame de Brun was so struck by his
strange figure that she inadvertently hummed
a few bars of a tune called "The Hunchback."
Immediately recollecting herself, she
stopt in confusion, whereupon the abbe
turned to her with a kindly smile, "My dear
madame, continue your tune. I assure you
it does not offend me in the least; the association
is so natural a one, that I believe it
would have occurred to me in your place."—London
Evening Standard.
(1717)
KINDNESS
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.
