KINDNESS
A WORD of kindness is a seed which, when dropped, by chance springs up a flower. A kind word and pleasant voice are gifts easy to give; be liberal with them; they are worth more than money. “If a word or two will render a man happy,” said a Frenchman, “he must be a wretch indeed, who will not give it. It is like lighting another man’s candle with your own, which loses none of its brilliancy by what the other gains.” If all men acted upon that principle the world would be much happier than it is.
Kindness makes sunshine wherever it goes; it finds its way into hidden chambers of the heart, and brings forth golden treasures harshness, on the contrary, seals them up forever. Kindness makes the mother’s lullaby sweeter than the song of the lark, the care-laden brow of the father and man of business less severe in their expression Kindness is the real law of life, the link that connects earth with heaven, the true philosopher’s stone, for all it touches it turns to virgin gold—the true gold wherewith we purchase contentment, peace and love. Write your name by kindness, love and mercy on the hearts of the people you come in contact with year by year, and you will never be forgotten.
How sweet are the affections of kindness. 11 balmy the influence of that regard which dwells around the fireside, where virtue lives for its own sake, and fidelity regulates and restrains the thirst for admiration, often a more potent foe to virtue than the fiercest lust. Where distrust and doubt dims not the luster of purity, and where so licitude, except for the preservation of an unshaken confidence, has no place, and the gleam of suspicion or jealousy never disturb the harmony and tranquility of the scene. Where paternal kindness and freshness and filial affection blossom in all the freshness of eternal spring. It matters not if the world is cold, if we can turn to our own dear circle for the enjoyment of which the heart yearns.
There is nothing like kindness in the world. It is the very principle of love—an emanation of the heart which softens and gladdens, and should be inculcated and encouraged in all our intercourse with our fellow beings. It is impossible to resist continued kindness. We may in a moment of petulance or passion manifest coldness to the exhibition of good will on the part of a new acquaintance; but let him persist, let him continue to prove himself really benevolent of heart, generously and kindly disposed, and we will find our stubborn nature giving way, even unconsciously to ourselves. If this be the result of kindness among comparative strangers, how much more certain and delightful will be the exercise of the feelings at home, within the charmed circle of friends and relatives? Home enjoyments, home affections, home courtesies, can not be too carefully or steadily cultivated. They form the sunshine of the heart. They bless and sanctify our private circle. They become a source of calm delight to the man of business after a day of toil, they teach the merchant, the trader, the working man, that there is something purer, more precious even, than the gains of industry. They twine them round the heart, call forth its best and purest emotions and resources, enable us to be more virtuous, more upright, and more Christian, in all our relations of life. We see in the little beings around us the elements of gentleness, of truth, and the beauty of fidelity and religion. A day of toil is robbed of many of its cares, by the thought that in the evening we may return home, and mingle with the family household. There, at least, our experience teaches us, we may find confiding and loving bosoms, those who look up to and lean upon us, and those also to whom we may look for counsel and encouragement.
We say to our friends, one and all, cultivate the home virtues; tile household beauties of existence. Endeavor to make the little circle of domestic life a cheerful, an intelligent, a kindly, and a happy one. Whatever may go wrong in the world of business and trade, however arduous may be the struggle for fortune or fame, let nothing mar the purity of reciprocal love, or throw into its harmonious existence the apple of discord.
The house will be kept in turmoil where there is no toleration of each other’s lenity shown to failings, no meek submission to injuries, no soft answer to turn away wrath. If you lay a single stick of wood in the grate and apply fire to it, it will go out; put on another stick, and they will burn; and half a dozen, and you will have an effective blaze. There are other fires subject to the same condition. If one member of a family gets into a passion, and is left alone, he will cool down, and possibly be ashamed and repent. But oppose temper to temper, let one harsh answer be followed by another, and there will soon be a blaze which will enwrap them all in its burning heat.
The moment a friend, or even a mere acquaintance, is dead, how surely there start up before us each instance of unkindness of which we have been guilty towards him. In fact, many and many an act or word which while he was in life did not seem to us to be unkind at all, now “bites back” as if it were a serpent, and shows us what it really was. Alas! ‘twas thus we caused to suffer him who now is dust, and yet then we did not pity him nor reproach ourselves.
There is always bitterness beyond that of death in the dying of a fellow creature to whom we have been unjust or unkind. Some do not yet know this, having never lost any companion by death; but there are few indeed who will not, if they live long, find it out.
Give no pain. Breathe not a sentiment, say not a word, give not the expression of the countenance that will offend another, or send a thrill of pain to his bosom. We are surrounded by sensitive hearts, which a word or look even, might fill to the brim with sorrow. If you are careless of the opinions of others, remember that they are differently constituted from yourself, and never, by word or sign, cast a shadow on a happy heart, or throw aside the smiles of joy that anger on a pleasant countenance.
Deal gently with the stranger. Remember the severed cord affection, still bleeding, and beware to wound by a thoughtless act, or a careless word. The stranger! He, perchance, has lived in an atmosphere of love as warm as that we breathe. Alone and friendless now, he treasures the images of loved ones far away, and when gentle words and warm kisses are exchanged, we know not how his heart thrills and the hot tear drops start. Speak gently. The impatient word our friends may utter does not wound, so mailed are you in the impenetrable armor of love. We know that it was an inadvertent word that both will forget in a moment after, or, if not, you can bear the censure of one, when so many love you; but keenly, is an unkind re mark felt by the lone and friendless one.
Like a clinging vine torn from its support, the stranger’s heart begins to twine its tendrils around the first object which is presented to it. Is love so cheap a thing in this world, or have we already so much that we can lightly cast off the instinctive affections thus proffered? Oh, do not! To some souls an atmosphere of love is as necessary as the vital air to the physical system. A person of such a nature may clothe one in imagination with all the attributes of goodness and make his heart’s sacrifices at the shrine. Let us not ungratefully and cruelly destroy the illusion by unkindness.
Let the name of stranger be ever sacred, ‘whether it is that of an honored guest at our fireside, or the poor servant girl in our kitchen —the gray-haired or the young; and when we find ourselves far from friends, and the dear associations of home, and so lonely, may some kind, some angel-hearted being, by sympathizing words and acts, cause our hearts to thrill with unspoken gratitude, and thus we will find again the “bread” long “cast upon the waters.”
Kindness is its own reward. Good and friendly conduct may meet with an unworthy, and an ungrateful return; but the absence of gratitude on the part of the receiver can not destroy the self-approbation which recompenses the giver. And we may scatter the seeds of courtesy and kindness around us at so little expense. Some of them will inevitably fall upon good ground, and grow up into benevolence in the minds of others, and all of them will bear fruit of happiness in the bosom whence they spring. Once blest are all the virtues always; twice blessed sometimes. Every act of kindness done, whether acknowledged or not, opens a well-spring of happiness in the doer’s own breast. As there are none so weak that we may venture to injure them with impunity, so there are none so low that they may not at some time be able to repay an obligation. A person always gains more by obliging his inferior, than by disobliging him. To pluck thorns from the bosoms of others is to plant roses in your own.
When you want to manage men, says Henry Ward Beecher, do as bee-keepers do when they want to manage bees. Here are two men that have bees in a hive. One says, “I own these bees, and I am going to divide them, and move them.” He prepares a place for them, and then goes to the hive, thrusts his hands rudely in the midst of them, and very soon he has his bees all over him, and he moves himself very rapidly. That is just as I have seen men attempt to manage men. Another man gets a bowl of sugar and water, and washes his hands all over, and goes with the utmost quietness and serenity and opens the hive, and puts his hand in gently, and the bees find everything sweet, and, he can scoop them up as though they were so much flour, and put them in as many hives as he pleases—if he only takes care to put a queen-bee in each—and they will not sting him or fly away. And people say, “Wonderful! that man has real magnetic power with bees.” So he has, when he has sugar and water on his hands. Now when you want to manage men, wash your hands with sugar and water.
It is right for us to maintain a thousand courtesies that tend to give pleasure, and to avoid many rudenesses that tend to give pain. Choose things that will please men. Nutgalls are not the only things in the world. There are roses and honeysuckles. Wasps are not the only things in the world. There is honey as well. Remember, honey catches flies; vinegar never. Good nature, like a bee, collects its honey from every herb. Ill nature, like a spider, sucks poison from the sweetest flowers. It costs men a great deal of trouble to exhibit constant ill-nature, and they don’t make anything by it. Why should they be such fools as to work for nothing? “Speak not evil of one another, brethren. A soft answer turneth away wrath; but grievous words stir up anger. A wholesome tongue is a tree of life.”
He makes a good market of bad commodities, who ‘with kindness overcomes injuries. To do evil for good, is human corruption; to do good for good is civil retribution; but to do good for evil is Christian perfection.
One of the proverbs of Solomon teaches that a soft answer turneth away wrath. The contrary result of the opposite course of giving railing for railing,” has always proved that the proverb suggests the true policy, and demonstrated the verity of the corresponding doctrine that “like begets like.” And who can recall his own experience, without assenting to the correctness of this position?
There is an anecdote of the great American philosopher, Benjamin Franklin, beautifully and instructively in point: in 1736, he was chosen clerk of the General Assembly of Pennsylvania. It was his first appointment to office. Although as free from vain ambition no the most favored of mere mortals, he was evidently proud of the position and desirous of retaining it. When the next election for clerk came round, a certain wealthy as well as intelligent and therefore influential member, made a long speech in opposition to his re-election. As he himself tells us, in his narrative of the events, he did not resent this opposition, however unjust he may have deemed the ground and temper of it. Not he. But he determined on a very different sort of answer—one which, while it should avoid all appearances of servility or a cringing spirit, would, he felt sure, disarm an opposition whose continuance he feared. He had heard that the member referred to had, in his library, a very rare and curious volume. He wrote him a respectful and kindly note asking the favor of its perusal. The book was promptly sent. In about a week, the philosopher returned it with a second note, in which he strongly expressed his sense of obligation for the loan of it. Thereupon his opponent assumed a kindly bearing. His opposition soon ceased, and he became Franklin’s warmest friend. So he remained throughout life, and he was always ready to promote him.
Many years since there lived in one of the central counties of New Jersey, a poor mechanic, eminent for his pious zeal and consistency. He was very much tried by the conduct of a neighbor, who was in the habit of cutting his wood for the week on the Lord’s Day and the sound of whose ax continually disturbed the old Christian’s meditations. Father H., as he was called, often remonstrated earnestly and kindly with his neighbor, but without any effect. At length he adopted a different course, On Saturday afternoon his neighbor found the old man very busy at his wood pile, and inquired in astonishment, what he was doing. “Why,” replied father H, “you will persist in cutting your wood on God’s holy day, and it grieves me so much that I mean to do it for you this afternoon, so that you will have no temptation to do it to-morrow.” The man was at once overcome, and exclaimed, “No, you shall not, I will do it myself. Nor will you ever after this have reason to complain for chopping wood on the Lord’s Day.” And he was as good as his word. The old man has long since gone to his reward, but this incident lives after him to enforce the divine direction, “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.”
An anecdote is told of a Quaker, whose pile of kindling wood was constantly depredated upon. He watched for the thief one night, and discovering him to be a near neighbor, carted a load of his well split unseasoned wood to the thief’s door the next day; and as he deposited it in a convenient place, quietly remarked to the conscience smitten neighbor, “Friend, thee must burn part green.” No more wood was stolen. Sir Walter Scott once had an Irishman working for him, who was a great drunkard, and who often neglected the work that Sir Walter set him to do. One morning, while engaged in his library labor, word was brought him that his man had returned after a two days’ spree. Sir Walter dashed his pen down on his desk, and in great anger ordered the son of Erin to be sent to him immediately. Pat entered, like humbleness personified, and Sir Walter poured out the vials of his wrath: “You unthankful dog,” said he, “here I have been putting up with your misdoings, and forgiving you from time to time; yet no sooner are you in my good graces than you take advantage of me. But this is the last time, sir; we must part!” “Well,” said the gentleman from Ireland, “if we must part, I’m sorry, and hope no ill will happen ye; but may I ask where are you going to?” he had another trial.
What a mighty power here is in kindness. It may be a feminine, but it is one of the regalest qualities of our nature. Woman possesses it in pre-eminence—the African traveler, Park, was wont to say that among the most savage tribes, women had never failed to treat him kindly.
The traveler Ledyard bears testimony to the kindness and tenderness of women as follows: “I have observed,” he says, “that women in all countries are civil, tender, obliging, and humane. I never addressed myself to them, in the language of decency and friendship, without receiving a decent and friendly answer. With man it has often been otherwise. In wandering over the barren plains of inhospitable Denmark; through honest Sweden and frozen Lapland; rude and churlish Finland; unprincipled Russia, and the wide-spread regions of the wandering Tartar; if hungry, dry, cold, wet, or sick, the women have ever been friendly to me, and uniformly so: and to add to this virtue, (so worthy the appellation of benevolence,) these actions have been performed in so free and kind a manner, that if I was dry, I drank the sweetest draught—and if hungry, ate the coarsest morsel with a double relish.”
Kindness is stored away in the heart like rose-leaves in a drawer, to sweeten every object around them. Little drops of rain brighten the meadows, and little acts of kindness brighten the world. I can conceive of nothing more attractive than the heart when filled with the spirit of kindness. Certainly nothing so embellishes human nature as the practice of this virtue; a sentiment so genial and so excellent ought to be emblazoned upon every thought and act of our life. The principle underlies the whole theory of Christianity, and in no other person do we find it more happily exemplified than in the life of our Savior, who, while on earth, went about doing good. And how true it is that
“A little word in kindness spoken,
A motion, or a tear,
Has often healed the heart that’s broken,
And made a friend sincere!”
The benefits resulting from its practice are twofold: it begets while it bestows blessings. This law of compensation we see every day illustrated in the physical as well as in the moral world. When the spring returns to unbind the frozen streams, they leap downward to the sea, imparting life and beauty in their course, and the ocean, ever prompt to duty, sends greeting back to earth the grateful shower. May our lives thus ever flow forth in deeds of love, and under heaven prove a blessing to our race!
Dr. Young says more hearts pine away in secret anguish, for the want of kindness from those who should be their comforters, than for any other calamity in life.