Power of Kindness
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"Tom! Come here!" said a father to his boy, speaking in tones of authority.
The lad was at play. He looked towards his father, but did not leave his companions.
"Do you hear me, sir?" spoke the father, more sternly than at first.
With an unhappy face and reluctant step, the boy left his play and approached his father.
"Why do you creep along at a snail's pace?" said the father, angrily. "Come quickly, I need you; when I speak, I like to be obeyed instantly. Here, take this note to Mr. Smith, and see that you don't go to sleep by the way. Now run as fast as you can go."
The boy took the note; there was a cloud upon his brow. He moved onward, but at a slow pace.
"You, Tom! is that doing as I ordered? Is that going quickly?" called the father, when he saw the boy creeping away. "If you are not back in half an hour, I will punish you!"
But the words had little effect. The boy's feelings were hurt by the unkindness of the parent; he experienced a sense of injustice, a consciousness that wrong had been done him. By nature, he was like his father — proud and stubborn; and these qualities of his mind were aroused, and he indulged in them, fearless of consequences.
"I never saw such a boy!" said the father, speaking to a friend who had observed the occurrence. "My words scarcely made an impression on him."
"Kind words often prove most powerful," said the friend. The father looked surprised.
"Kind words," continued the friend, "are like the gentle rain and the refreshing dews; but harsh words bend and break like the angry tempest. Kind words develop and strengthen good affections, while harsh words sweep over the heart in devastation, and mar and deform all that they touch. Try him with kind words; they will prove a hundred-fold more powerful."
The latter seemed hurt by the reproof, but it left him thoughtful. An hour passed away before his boy returned. At times, during his absence, he was angry at the delay; but the words of remonstrance were in his ears, and he resolved to obey them.
At last, the lad came slowly back with a cloudy countenance, and reported the result of his errand. Having stayed far beyond his time, he looked for punishment, and was prepared to receive it with an angry defiance.
To his surprise, after delivering the message he had brought, his father, instead of angry reproof and punishment, said kindly, "Very well, my son, you can go out to play again."
The boy went out, but was not happy. He had disobeyed and disobliged his father, and the thought of his troubled him. Harsh words had not clouded his mind, nor aroused a spirit of reckless anger. Instead of joining his companions, he went and sat down by himself, grieving over his act of disobedience. While he thus sat, he heard his name called.
"Thomas, my son!" said his father, kindly.
The boy sprang to his feet, and was soon beside his father.
"Did you call, father?"
"I did, my son. Will you please take this package to Mr. Long for me?"
There was no hesitation in the boy's manner; he looked pleased at the thought of doing his father a service, and reached out his hand for the package. On receiving it, he bounded away with a light step.
"There is power in kindness," said the father, as he sat musing, after the lad's departure. And even while he sat musing over the incident, the boy came back with a cheerful, happy face, and said, "Can I do anything else for you, father?"
Yes, there is the power of kindness. The tempest of anger can only subdue, constrain, and break; but in love and gentleness there is the power of the summer rain, the dew, and the sunshine.
Playing Mother
Timothy Shay Arthur, 1851
"It's just as you raise them," said Mr. Warner, in his dogmatic way. "I don't believe in a boy's taking to a hammer, and a girl to a doll, from an instinct of nature. Girls are different, because they are educated differently; there is no other law in the matter."
"My experience," said a lady, who made one of a little company numbering about half a dozen, and she spoke in a quiet way, "leads me to a different conclusion. Each gender has a use in society peculiarly its own; and from the earliest childhood, impulses pointing thitherward may be seen. Gentle, tender, and loving are the uses of woman — and for these she is fitted by God. Hardier, rougher, bolder is man — because he is designed by God for a different sphere of life. The boy takes the hammer, the whip, or any other plaything that is noisy, or calls for the exercise of strength and action; while the girl as naturally busies herself with her doll, or her cups and saucers."
"Simply," replied Mr. Warner, "because you provide a hammer and whip for the one — and a doll for the other."
"No," returned the lady, "the cause lies deeper than this. It is radical. How is it with your own little Anna? She is here today."
"She never had a doll in her life; I will not permit such a thing to come into my house. I wish to develop the strength — not the weakness of her character." And, as Mr. Warner spoke, he threw a glance upon his wife, which said, plainly enough, "This wouldn't be so, if you had your way."
"Oh!" remarked the lady, "then you are trying to warp her character to suit your own theory. You are not willing to let it develop naturally, and, as I would say, healthfully."
"I wish to give it a strong and healthy development."
"Then it must grow from inward elements. If you warp it, as you are certainly doing — you will weaken and deform — instead of producing beauty, health, and strength."
"So you think," said Mr. Warner, a little rudely. Opinionated men are very often rude to ladies.
"Yes, I think so," replied the lady, not seeming to notice the man's rude manner.
"Where is your dear little girl?" asked one of the company, a little while after, addressing Mrs. Warner.
"She's playing about the garden. I saw her from the window a few minutes ago."
"It would be a pleasant experiment," said the lady with whom the child's father had held the controversy, "just to take a look after Anna, and see what she is doing. I'll warrant that the girl's instincts are predominant in her acts. You'll not find her dragging up the flowers, nor throwing stones at the birds, nor even digging in the dirt."
"You'll probably find her racing about with the boys," said the father.
"We'll see; come!" and the lady started for the door. The company followed her out. Anna was not in the garden among the flowers, nor romping with the boys.
"Anna!" called the mother. They listened, and her sweet, young voice was heard faintly answering. Guided by the sound, she was soon discovered by those in search of her.
"What is she doing?" asked Mr. Warner, who did not at first see her distinctly.
"Playing mother," replied the lady with whom he had held the controversy; and she spoke in a tone of triumph.
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Warner.
"See for yourself."
"The little rascal!" exclaimed the father, affected with pleasure, in spite of himself, by what he saw.
Anna had found a cap belonging to the lady at whose house they were visiting, and, with this drawn upon her head, was nursing a rabbit with the earnest fondness of a mother.
The ladies caught the happy child in their arms, and almost devoured her with kisses, while Mr. Warner escaped back into the house to re-arrange his forces for a new battle on his favorite hobby-horse.
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