THREE HUMAN STORIES OF A DAY.
[Twice-a-Week World, July 21, 1902.] On one day last week three humble life stories, each making its appeal to our finest sympathies, graced the news with a touch of human tenderness. One was a story of a child's filial devotion; a New York newsboy, eight years old only, was its central figure. He was found exhausted, probably dying, and carried to a hospital. The physician who examined him said his condition was due to insufficient food and excessive work. Inquiry developed the fact that, this little lad's father having disappeared, he had devoted himself to the support of his mother and her two children. “I'll take care of you all,” he said, and went into the street to sell papers and keep his word. He literally offered his life on the altar of love and duty. No battle-field has ever shown bravery or devotion greater than that of this eight-year-old newsboy. Another was a story of self-sacrifice in which a white-haired grandmother gave her life unhesitatingly to save the lives of her two grandchildren. The old lady was walking with the children along the railroad tracks near Hicksville, L. I., when a heavy storm came on. Hurrying along in the rain the approach of a fast train was not noticed until it was almost upon them. Instantly the grandmother resolved to save the children, regardless of herself. She had just time and strength enough to push them both clear off the tracks, and was herself instantly killed. No sublimer act of heroism has ever adorned the annals of war. The third was a story of a Chinaman, type of a race declared by our statutes to be inferior and unfit for admission to our country. He lived in Cambridge, Md., and, of course, kept a laundry. He had been tormented and abused also, of course by the boys of the superior race around him. But one white man, whiter than the rest, interfered and defended him, so that his troubles ceased. Last week this truly white man died, and the Chinaman went down into his pockets for money enough to pay for thirty carriages to attend his benefactor's funeral and carry those who wished to pay him respect. The Chinaman himself walked beside the hearse to the grave; when the coffin was lowered, he covered it deep with flowers; then he went back to his laundry with tears streaming from his almond eyes. Thus surely does man's humanity to man awaken responsive gratitude and affection, regardless of the color of the skin. Perhaps the greatest loss to the world's fund of wholesome and inspiring moral sentiment is caused by our neglect to note the high courage, the faithfulness to duty, the devotion, the tenderness that are every day manifested in the humblest walks of life. Yet it is certain that in the every-day experiences of obscure lives on which the flashlight of fame never falls, more sufferings are bravely endured and more sacrifices nobly made than anywhere else. Oliver Wendell Holmes felt this when he wrote:— “If singing breath or echoing chord
To every hidden pang were given,
What endless melodies were poured,
As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven!”