A Lesson Which the Wires Teach to Teachers

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Mar 7, 1907

A Lesson Which the Wires Teach to Teachers

Repair of Wires

The head of a great electrical company said recently, “The chief difficulty we encounter is that of keeping our wires in repair and in good working order. The motive force at the terminus is easily controlled; it is the defects in communication which impair our work.”

To how many relations of life would the same words apply! A man at the head of a great business has capital, intelligence, a thorough knowledge of his trade, and a kindly feeling to his operatives. But he fails to reach or influence them. His manner is harsh, brusk, dogmatic, or timid and cold. His men dislike and distrust him. The wires between them are not in working order.

In how many homes are there coldness and jealousy and alienation between parent and child, or brother and sister, whose hearts are yet full of affection for each other. The love is there deep and warm, but hidden out of sight. No spark passes from one heart to the other, to give out cheer and life.

Wires That Were Down

Mr. Newell, the president of the Lake Shore Railroad, was very undemonstrative and stern, a man who worked tremendously hard, and seemed to expect the same of all who were connected with him. When C. P. Leland, the auditor of the road, was stricken with his last illness, Mr. Newell was solicitous about him, and visited him often. One morning the sick man is reported to have said to Mr. Newell: “Mr. Newell, I know that the end of my life is very near. The doctors have known it for some time, but they told me of it only to-day. If my work is ended here, I am ready to go, but before I go, may I ask you just one question? I have held an important position under you for many years. It was a work to which my life has been given, into which my whole heart entered. What I want to ask you is this: In all that work, in those long years of service, has there ever been one thing of which you approve?”

“Leland,” answered Mr. Newell, “you know that your work was well done, and that it always met my approval.”

“Then why did you not tell me so?” Mr. Newell took the hand of the dying man, and with tears in his eyes, said: “I have tried to do these things, but I can not. They will not out. That is the only excuse I have. I thought you knew how your work had always seemed to me. I ought to have told you so. Is it too late that I tell you now?”

Wires That Were Up

In the winter of 1864, an old Quaker lady visited Lincoln at the White House, and took the long-suffering giant’s down-stretched hand. She had to rise on tip-toe, and as she did it, her sweet voice uttered some words difficult to catch. It is not possible to give the words of

either exactly, but this is their purport:— “Yes, friend Abraham, thee need not think thee stands alone. We are all praying for thee. The hearts of all the people are behind thee, and thee can not fall. The Lord hath appointed thee, the Lord will sustain thee, and the people love thee. Yea, as no man was ever loved before, doth this people love thee. Take comfort, friend Abraham. God is with thee. The people are behind thee.”

The effect of the words was easy to see. As when the lights suddenly blaze behind a cathedral window, so the radiance illumined those rugged features and poured from the wonderful eyes. The gaunt form straightened. The mouth became beautiful in its sweetness, as it said to her: “You have given a cup of cold water to a very thirsty and grateful man. You have done me a great kindness.”

Say It Now

There is a world of meaning in James Whitcomb Riley’s verse—

“Afterwhile—and one intends To be gentler to his friends.”

“You know,” George Eliot says, “I not only like to be loved, but I like to be told that I am loved—the realm of silence is deep enough beyond the grave!”

—Selected.