This word seldom begins an article in a newspaper, but “cruelty” or “murder” more often instead. It is a pleasure to record an act of kindness; painful that we have not frequent opportunities. Yet such an act made our heart glad, filled it with a new love for our kind, only a day or two since. A school-girl, about ten years of age, was passing, with a smaller school-girl in her arms, whom she carried with much difficulty; for the weather was sultry. Other children were in company, with books in their hands. The whole party stopped to rest under the shade of a tree. Just then, a gentleman observed the group. His attention was particularly attracted by the child, still supported by the arm of her friend. “What’s the matter, my little Miss?” he inquired, in his kind, soft tone. “She’s sick, sir,” replied the friend. “And are you taking her home?” “I’m trying, sir.” “How far off does she live?” “Down by the Long Bridge.” “A mile or more! and you would carry her through the hot sun! no shade on the way either!” “I must try, sir,” answered the school-girl. “No, you must not,” said the kind gentleman, “it would kill both of you.” A carriage passed at this moment. A word and a waving arm caused it to draw up to the pavement. All the party entered it, and all right merry, except the sick one; but even she looked up with a faint smile, fixing her large, tender eyes on the face of the stranger. The driver had been instructed fully as to his destination, had been paid too, and now drove away. “Poor little girl!” said the gentleman to himself, in a low voice. “Good bye, sir!” said all the children, in a high tone.
An interesting little boy, who could not swim, whilst skating on our river on New Year’s Day, ran into a large air-hole. He kept himself for a time above water: the little boys, all gathered round the opening, tried to hand him poles; but the ice continued breaking, and he was still floating out of reach. Despair at last seized his heart, and was visible in every face around. At this moment, when, exhausted, the poor little fellow was about to sink, a brave and generous-hearted boy exclaimed, “I cannot stand it, boys!” He wheeled round, made a run, and dashed in at the risk of his own life, and seized the little boy and swam to the edge of the ice with him: after breaking his way to the more solid ice, he succeeded in handing him out to his companions, who then assisted him out. In Rome, this act of heroism would have insured this brave youth a civic crown. His name is Albert Hershbergar.
—Charleston (Va.) Republican.
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I know a little girl who has committed this to memory. Let all little girls and boys who read it do the same, and they will have music worth listening to in their own hearts.