Compassion for others in Christian preaching emphasizes empathetic love that moves beyond mere sympathy to active, selfless care reflecting Christ’s heart (Romans 12:15). Illustrations often use images of bearing burdens, offering small gifts, bridging divides, and serving the needy as serving Christ Himself (Matthew 25:40). This compassion calls believers to tangible kindness that heals, comforts, and unites.
True compassion acts for others even when they are not personally connected to us.
A team was running away with a small child, when a mother, seeing its danger, cried in agony, "Stop that wagon, and save the child!" as loud as she could. A heartless man said, "Silly woman, don't fret yourself: it isn't your child." The woman replied, "I know it; but it is somebody's child."
Sharing joy doubles it and sharing sorrow halves it, showing the power of sympathy.
Every man rejoices twice when he has a partner of his joy. A friend shares my sorrow, and makes it but a moiety; but he swells my joy, and makes it double. For so two channels divide the river, and lessen it into rivulets, and make it fordable, and apt to be drunk up by the first revels of the Syrian star; but two torches do not divide, but increase, the flame. And though my tears are the sooner dried up when they run on my friend's cheeks in the furrows of compassion, yet, when my flame hath kindled his lamp, we unite the glories, and make them radiant, like the golden candlesticks that burn before the throne of God, because they shine by numbers, by light, and joy.
Only humans truly sympathize by sharing others’ sorrows and joys, unlike animals.
Though the lower animals have feeling, they have no fellow-feeling. Have not I seen the horse enjoy his feed of corn when his yoke-fellow lay a-lying in the neighboring stall, and never turn an eye of pity on the sufferer? They have strong passions, but no sympathy. It is said that the wounded deer sheds tears; but it belongs to man only to "weep with them that weep," and by sympathy to divide another's sorrows, and double another's joys. When thunder, following the dazzling flash, has burst among our hills, when the horn of the Switzer has rung in his glorious valleys, when the boatman has shouted from the bosom of a rock-girt loch, wonderful were the echoes I have heard them make; but there is no echo so fine or wonderful as that, which, in the sympathy of human hearts, repeats the cry of another's sorrow, and makes me feel his pain almost as if it were my own. They say, that, if a piano is struck in a room where another stands unopened and untouched, who lays his ear to that will hear a string within, as if touched by the hand of a shadowy spirit, sound the same note; but more strange how the strings of one heart vibrate to those of another; how woe wakes woe; how your grief infects me with sadness; how the shadow of a passing funeral and nodding hearse casts a cloud on the mirth of a marriage-party; how sympathy may be so delicate and acute as to become a pain. There is, for example, the well-authenticated case of a lady who could not even hear the description of a severe surgical operation, but she felt all the agonies of the patient, grew paler and paler, and shrieked and fainted under the horrible imagination.
— Dr. Guthrie
Sympathy and grace can transform even lifelong prisoners toward repentance and peace.
Rev. H. C. Trumbull, preaching to the inmates of a prison, said, that the only difference between himself and them was owing to the grace of God. Afterwards, one of the prisoners sent for him, and asked, "Did you mean what you said about sympathizing with us, and that only the help of God made you differ from us?" Being answered in the affirmative, the prisoner said, "I am here for life; but I can stay here more contentedly now that I know I have a brother out in the world." That prisoner behaved so well, that he was pardoned. He died in the last war, thanking God to the last for the preacher's words of sympathy.
Like nerves or musical instruments, human members share in each other’s suffering.
As in the electric shock, every one feels the same shock who holds the same chain; or as in the singular acoustic law by which several instruments have a sympathetic vibration, so that, if one note be struck violently on one, there will be a faint vibration on the other; or like the still more delicate and mysterious tracery of nerves which run throughout the whole human body, the meanest member cannot suffer without all the members feeling with it.
A heart full of sympathy and hope blesses others more than material gifts can.
Happy is the man who has that in his soul which acts upon the dejected as April airs upon violet roots. Gifts from the hand are silver and gold; but the heart gives that which neither silver nor gold can buy. To be full of goodness, full of cheerfulness, full of sympathy, full of helpful hope, causes a man to carry blessings of which he is himself as unconscious as a lamp of its own shining. Such a one moves on human life as stars move on dark seas to bewildered mariners; as the sun wheels, bringing all the seasons with him from the south. Beecher.
A woman's love is marked by deep sympathy, joy in others, and faithful kindness.
There is one in the world who feels for him who is sad a keener pang than he feels for himself; there is one to whom reflected joy is better than that which comes direct: there is one who rejoices in another's honor more than in any which is one's own; there is one on whom another's transcendent excellence sheds no beam but that of delight; there is one who hides another's infirmities more faithfully than one's own; there is one who loses all sense of self in the sentiment of kindness, tenderness, and devotion to another, — that one is WOMAN.
— Washington Irving
A poor widow shares her last food with a stranger, trusting God's provision.
Some years ago, a pious widow in America, who was reduced to great poverty, had just placed the last smoked herring on her table, to supply her hunger and that of her children, when a rap was heard at the door, and a stranger solicited a lodging and a morsel of food, saying, that he had not tasted bread for twenty-four hours. The widow did not hesitate, but offered a share to the stranger, saying, "We shall not be forsaken, or suffer deeper for an act of charity."
The traveller drew near to the table; but when he saw the scanty fare, filled with astonishment, he said, "And is this all your store? And do you offer a share to one you do not know? Then I never saw charity before! But, madam, do you not wrong your children, by giving a part of your last morsel to a stranger?" "Ah," said the widow, weeping, "I have a boy, a darling son, somewhere on the face of the wide world, unless Heaven has taken him away; and I only act towards you as I would that others should act towards him. God, who sent manna from heaven, can provide for us as he did for Israel; and how should I this night offend him, if my son should be a wanderer, destitute as you, and he should have provided for him a home, even as poor as this, were I to turn you unrelieved away!"
The widow stopped, and the stranger, springing from his seat, clasped her in his arms; "God, indeed, has provided just such a home for your wandering son, and has given him wealth to reward the goodness of his benefactress. My mother! O my mother!"
It was indeed her long lost son, returned from India. He had chosen this way to surprise his family, and certainly not very wisely; but never was surprise more complete, or more joyful. He was able to make the family comfortable, which he immediately did; the mother living for some years longer, in the enjoyment of plenty.
# 9. Affection, Filial—Rewarded.
A kind boy helps an old woman, showing reverence and kindness learned in Sunday school.
A gentleman was once passing through a village, and happened to see a poor, feeble old woman let her stick fall, and stand a moment in perplexity, not knowing whether she dared to stoop to pick it up or attempt to reach her home without it. Just by the spot where the accident happened, a group of boys were playing at marbles; some of them took no notice, others rudely marked the poor old woman's distress; but one kind-hearted lad threw down his marbles, ran to her assistance, and helped her into her house. She thanked him, and said, "God Almighty's blessing be upon you, for your kindness to a poor old woman!" The gentleman saw and heard the whole, and made inquiry after the lad, in whom he felt deeply interested. He found that he was already in the Sunday school, and, in all probability, had there learnt the Scriptures, that inculcate reverence to the aged. From that time he had him instructed in writing and accounts at an evening school; when old enough, he assisted in apprenticing him, and in course of time had the satisfaction of seeing him a respectable and flourishing tradesman.
A princess honors an old man, demonstrating respect and kindness to the aged.
A Russian princess of great beauty, in company with her father, and a young French marquis, visited a celebrated Swiss doctor of the eighteenth century, Michael Scuppack; when the marquis began to pass one of his jokes upon the long white beard of one of the doctor's neighbors who was present. He offered to bet twelve louis d'ors that no lady present would dare to kiss the dirty old fellow! The Russian princess ordered her attendant to bring a plate, and deposited twelve louis d'ors, and sent it to the marquis, who was too polite to decline his stake.
The fair Russian then approached the peasant, saying, "Permit me, venerable father, to salute you after the manner of my country," and embracing, gave him a kiss. She then presented him the gold which was on the plate, saying, "Take this as a remembrance of me, and as a sign that the Russian girls think it their duty to honor old age."
# VOLENT SOCIETIES.
acter, and especially on its lavish expenditure; noticing, in a marked way, the needless and extravagant travelling expenses of its vaunted secretaries, as well as their enormous salaries. No one, from Mr. Hughes's countenance and manner, could have conjectured that he was a party concerned. "But what," he mildly expostulated, "would be your conclusion, were you informed that their services were gratuitous; and that, with a view of curtailing as much as possible the expense of travelling, they usually, even in very inclement seasons, fix on the outside, as," he added, "one of them is now doing before your eyes?" Need it be added, that both the fact and the tone in which it was announced, with the friendly conversation that ensued, converted an enemy into a friend?
True happiness comes from remembering the benefits and kindnesses given to others.
When Cato was drawing near the close of his life, he declared to his friends, that the greatest comfort of his old age, and that which gave him the highest satisfaction, was the pleasing remembrance of the many benefits and friendly offices he had done to others. To see them easy and happy by his means made him truly so.
Julius Caesar found joy in hearing requests for help from friends and those in need.
EXAMPLE OF JULIUS CÆSAR.—It was a common saying of Julius Cæsar, that no music was so charming to his ear as the requests of his friends and the supplications of those in want of his assistance.
Giving all one has to help another brings great personal joy and pleasure.
One of Bishop Burnet's parishioners, being in great distress, applied to him for assistance. The prelate requested to know what would serve him, and reinstate him in his trade. The man named the sum, and Burnet told the servant to give it to him. "Sir," said the servant, "it is all that we have in the house." "Well, give it to this poor man; you do not know the pleasure there is in making a man glad."
Serving others is a continual privilege, not waiting for one’s own turn.
During the days of the commonwealth, the Rev. John Howe, one of Cromwell's chaplains, was frequently applied to by men of all parties for protection, nor did he refuse his influence to any on account of difference in religious opinions. One day, the Protector said to him, "Mr. Howe, you have asked favors for every body besides yourself; pray, when does your turn come?" He replied, "My turn, my Lord Protector, is always come when I can serve another."
Persistent compassion and effort can bring life and joy even in hopeless situations.
Alexander, the late Emperor of Russia, in one of his journeys, came to a spot where they had just dragged out of the water a peasant, who appeared lifeless. He instantly alighted, had the man laid on the side of the bank, and immediately proceeded to strip him, and to rub his temples, wrists, &c. Dr. Wyllie, his majesty's physician, attempted to bleed the patient, but in vain; and after three hours' fruitless attempts to recover him, the doctor declared that it was useless to proceed any farther. The emperor entreated Dr. Wyllie to persevere, and make another attempt to bleed him. The doctor, though he had not the slightest hope of success, proceeded to obey the injunctions of his majesty, who, with some of his attendants, made a last effort at rubbing. At length the emperor had the inexpressible satisfaction of seeing the blood make its appearance, while the poor peasant uttered a feeble groan. His majesty, in a transport of joy, exclaimed that this was the brightest day of his life, while tears stole involuntarily down his cheek. Their exertions were now redoubled: the emperor tore his handkerchief, and bound the arm of the patient, nor did he leave him till he was quite recovered.
Faithful compassion leads to self-sacrifice and spiritual witness amid suffering.
The typhus fever, in its alarming and contagious form, spread in a certain village. The neighborhood was in consternation, and none but the medical men were willing to venture near the patients. Who then could nurse them? There was one poor woman who was very often ridiculed for her strict religious notions, and for being so very particular in her ways, and for walking in all weathers to attend Divine worship, at a considerable distance. This poor woman alone attended the sufferers, leaving her own children in the care of her eldest son. She nursed and soothed the sick, attended their dying beds, and performed the last decent offices for those who expired. At this time she desired to attend the Lord's table, and her minister heard from her this simple statement, made with much modesty. She wished to be informed whether the principle on which she acted was quite right, as many had blamed her, and she added, "Sir, I cannot be happy to do otherwise; besides, I can speak to them a little about their souls." Her own views and feelings were those of a sinner humbled before the cross, subdued to the world, and yielding herself and all she loved into the hands of a gracious Savior.
She persevered in her work and labor of love; she caught the infection, suffered severely, and but just escaped with her life: the effects of the disease remained, and her once comely person was much altered. Yet with joy of heart she spoke to her pastor afterwards of her sufferings, and her only sorrow appeared to arise from the sad thought that some of her patients had expired without any apparent change of heart! God mercifully preserved her husband and all her family from the infection. This humble creature did not display these things as a proof that she had faith, but even those who blamed her were constrained to notice its fruits. The grace of God evidently spread its influence in that village, especially among the young; and even those who despised her holy life and conversation, which they called her peculiarities, were constrained to say that she had shown her faith by her works.
Kindness and faithfulness to others can bring unexpected protection and deliverance.
Dr. Dwight, in his travels in New England, states, that soon after the county of Litchfield began to be settled by the English, a strange Indian arrived at an inn, and asked the hostess, as the evening was advancing, to provide him some refreshment; at the same time observing, that from failure in hunting he had nothing to pay, but promising compensation whenever he succeeded.
The plea was, however, in vain: the hostess loaded him with opprobrious epithets, and declared that it was not to throw away her earnings on such creatures as himself, that she worked so hard. But as the Indian was about to retire, with a countenance expressive of severe suffering, a man who sat by directed the hostess to supply his wants, and promised her full remuneration.
As soon as the Indian had finished his supper, he thanked his benefactor, assured him that he should remember his kindness, and engaged that it should be faithfully recompensed whenever it was in his power. The friend of the Indian had occasion, some years after, to go into the wilderness between Litchfield and Albany, where he was taken prisoner by an Indian scout, and carried to Canada. On his arrival at the principal settlement of the tribe, it was proposed by some of the captors that he should be put to death; but, during the consultation, an old woman demanded that he should be given up to her, that she might adopt him for a son who had been lost in the war. Accordingly he was given up to her, and he passed the succeeding winter in her family, amidst the usual circumstances of savage hospitality.
While, in the course of the following summer, he was at work alone in the forest, an unknown Indian came and asked him to go to a place he pointed out, on a given day; and to this he agreed, though not without some apprehension that mischief was contemplated. His fears increased, his promise was broken. The same person repeated his visit, and after excusing himself in the best way he could, he made another engagement, and kept his word. On reaching the appointed spot, he found the Indian provided with ammunition, two muskets, and two knapsacks; he was ordered to take one of each, and he followed his conductor, under the persuasion that, had he intended him injury he might have despatched him at once. In the day-time they shot the game that came in their way, and at night they slept by the fire they had kindled; but the silence of the Indian, as to the object of their expedition, was mysterious and profound. After many days had thus passed, they came one morning to the top of an eminence, from whence they observed a number of houses rising in the midst of a cultivated country. The Indian asked his companion if he knew the ground, and he eagerly said, "It is Litchfield." His guide then recalled the scene at the inn some years before, and bidding him farewell, exclaimed, "I am that Indian! Now I pray you go home."
A father unknowingly saves his own daughter's life in a moment of compassion.
As the Rev. Joseph Davis, an excellent Baptist minister in London, was walking along one of the crowded streets of that city, his attention was arrested by the circumstance that a carriage with several horses was just about to pass over a little girl, who was slowly crossing the road. He strongly felt the danger of the child, and forgetting his own, he ran, snatched her up in his arms, and hastened with her to the side path, when the thought struck him—how would the parents of this dear child have felt, had she been killed!—At this moment he looked in the face of the little girl, which had been concealed from his view by her bonnet, and imagine, if you can, what his feelings were when he discovered that it was his daughter!
An Indian showed kindness to a hostile Englishman, exemplifying mercy and hospitality.
A short time before the war between the English and the Indians in Pennsylvania broke out, an English gentleman, who lived on the borders of the province, was standing one evening at his door, when an Indian came and desired a little food. He answered, he had none for him; he then asked for a little beer, and received the same answer. Not yet discouraged, he begged for a little water; but the gentleman only answered, "Get ye gone for an Indian dog." The Indian fixed his eye for a little time on the Englishman, and then went away.
Some time after, this gentleman, who was fond of shooting, pursued his game till he was lost in the woods. After wandering a while, he saw an Indian hut, and went to it to inquire his way to some plantation. The Indian said, "It is a great way off, and the sun is near going down; you cannot reach it to-night, and if you stay in the woods the wolves will eat you up; but if you have a mind to lodge with me, you may." The gentleman gladly accepted the invitation, and went in. The Indian boiled a little venison for him, gave him some rum and water, and then spread some deer skins for him to lie upon; having done this, himself and another Indian went and lay at the other side of the hut.
He called the gentleman in the morning, telling him that the sun was up, and that he had a great way to go to the plantation, but that he would show him the way. Taking their guns, the two Indians went forward, and he followed. When they had gone several miles, the Indian told him he was within two miles of the plantation he wanted: he then stepped before him, and said, "Do you know me?" In great confusion, the gentleman answered, "I have seen you." The Indian replied, "Yes, you have seen me at your own door; and I will give you a piece of advice: when a poor Indian, that is hungry, and dry, and faint, again asks you for a little meat, or drink, do not bid him get him gone for an Indian dog." So he turned and went away.
Which of these two was to be commended, or which acted most agreeably to the Saivor's golden rule in Matt. vii. 12?
A stranger heroically saves a child from being trampled by horses, showing selfless compassion.
An English gentleman relates the following affecting fact:
I was once going in my gig up the hill in the village of Frankford, near Philadelphia, when a little girl, about two years old, who had travelled away from a small house, was lying basking in the sun in the middle of the road. About two hundred yards before I got to the child, the teams, five big horses in each, of three wagons, the drivers of which had stopped to drink at a tavern at the brow of the hill, started off, and came nearly abreast, galloping down the road. I got my gig off the road as speedily as I could, but expected to see the poor child crushed to pieces. A young man, a journeyman carpenter, who was shingling the shed by the roadside, seeing the child, and aware of the danger, though a stranger to the parents, jumped from the top of the shed, ran into the road, and snatched up the child when scarcely an inch before the hoof of the leading horse. The horse's leg knocked him down, but he, catching the child by its clothes, flung it out of the way of the other horses, and saved himself by rolling back with surprising agility. The mother of the child, who had apparently been washing, seeing teams coming, and knowing the situation of the child, rushed out, and catching it up just as the carpenter had flung it back, hugged it in her arms, and uttered a shriek such as I never heard before. Then she dropped down as if entirely dead. By the application of the usual means, she was restored, however, in a little while; and I, being about to depart, asked the carpenter if he was a married man, and whether he was a relation of the parents of the child. He said he was neither. "Well then," said I, "you merit the gratitude of every father and mother in the world; and I will show you mine by giving you what I have," pulling out the nine or ten dollars which I had in my pocket. "No, I thank you, sir," said he; "I have only done what it was my duty to do."
A mule-driver carries a heavy load himself and is encouraged to persevere, illustrating kindness and endurance.
A poor Macedonian sol dier was one day leading before Alexander a mule laden with gold for the king's use; the beast being so tired that he was not able either to go or sustain the load, the mule-driver took it off, and carried it himself with great difficulty a considerable way. Alexander seeing him just sinking under the burthen, and about to throw it on the ground, cried out, "Friend, do not be weary yet; try and carry it quite through to thy tent, for it is all thy own."
The Archduke prioritizes saving wounded soldiers over artillery, showing valuing human life above possessions.
When the Archduke Charles was on his way from Bohemia, to take the command of his army, as he drew near the scene of action, he met a number of wounded men abandoned by their comrades on the road, for want of horses to draw the carriages in their retreat. The prince immediately ordered the horses to be taken from several pieces of cannon that were already retreating, saying that these brave men were better worth saving than a few cannon. When General Moreau, into whose hands the cannon of course fell, heard of this benevolent trait, he ordered them to be restored to the Austrian army, observing that he would take no cannon that were abandoned from such humane motives.
Gentle kindness can soften even the hardest hearts and resolve conflict.
Dr. P—, a Quaker of Philadelphia, was very kind to the poor. In times of sickness, produced by whatever cause, he was always ready and willing to assist them. His benevolence in such cases extended farther than his gratuitous services as a physician. Of course he was beloved.
The streets were frequently somewhat crowded with building materials so much so as often, at particular places to prevent two vehicles from passing each other, if the driver of either is disposed to be obstinate.
As the doctor was one day proceeding to visit a patient, his progress was impeded by a dray—the driver of which had stopped his horses in one of those narrow passages. After waiting several minutes, the doctor requested the drayman to allow him to pass. The latter, who had heard of, but did not know the former, poured forth a volley of the vilest abuse upon the "straight coat," and swore he would not move till he thought proper.
"Well, friend," said the doctor, "all I have to observe is this: if thee should get sick, or if thy family should ever be in distress, send for Dr. P., and he will do all he can to assist thee." The heart of the drayman was subdued by the kindness of the man he had abused. He was ashamed of his conduct—stammered an apology, and removed the obstruction as speedily as possible.
How true it is, that "a soft tongue breaketh the bone." If the doctor had cursed the drayman till midnight, he would have received nothing but cursing and blows in return. This may be thought a small matter, but it furnishes a useful lesson.
Kindness can protect and disarm even those bent on harm.
A gentleman in Philadelphia, who constantly felt and looked kindly, going out one morning, met a wretched looking man walking hastily with a musket in his hand.
"Good morning, sir," said the gentleman with a smile.
"Good morning," muttered the other; and passed on. Presently the gentleman heard the report of a musket, and soon the cry of murder. It turned out that the man with the musket was insane, and had run out with a musket to kill the first man he should meet, that he might be hanged himself, and thus get rid of this world; but he was asked why he did not kill the first gentleman. "Why he looked so good natured," said he, "that I thought I would not shoot him."
Helping others without waiting for a request shows true neighborly kindness.
Two neighbors were getting hay from adjoining lots of marsh land. One had the misfortune to mire his team and load so as to require aid from the other. He called to him for assistance with his oxen and men. But his neighbor felt churlish, and loading him with reproaches for his imprudent management, told him to help himself at his leisure. With considerable difficulty he extricated his load from the mire and pursued his business. A day or two after, his churlish neighbor met with a similar mishap. Whereupon the other, without waiting for a request, volun-
# 243. LABOR,
A child's simple plea moves a soldier to spare his life, showing mercy over violence.
At the close of a battle, a soldier of the victorious army, more ferocious and reckless from the bloody work of the day, chanced to find a small boy on the field, and, very much from the habit of assailing whatever came in his way, lifted his sword to cleave him down, when the little fellow, looking up in his face, exclaimed, "O sir, don't kill ME, I'm so little." That simple appeal went to the warrior's heart; and returning his sword into its scabbard, he galloped away without harming the child. Some men there possibly may be who would have killed him; but scarce one man in a million would so outrage his own nature.
A new slave spares a friend's punishment, illustrating compassion amid cruelty and suffering.
A planter of the West Indies, who was owner of a considerable number of slaves, treated them with the utmost cruelty, whipping and torturing them for the slightest fault. One of the unfortunate victims of his cruelty, thinking any change preferable to slavery under such a barbarian, attempted to make his escape among the mountain Indians; but, unfortunately, was taken, and brought back to his master. Poor Arthur (so he was called) was immediately ordered to receive three hundred lashes, when stripped; which were to be given him by his fellow slaves, among whom happened to be a new negro, just brought from Africa, and who had been purchased by the planter the day before. This slave, the moment he saw the unhappy wretch destined to the lashes, flew to his arms, and embraced him with the greatest tenderness; the other returned his transports, and nothing could be more moving than their mutual bemoaning each other's misfortunes. Their master was soon given to understand that they were countrymen and intimate friends; and that Arthur had formerly, in a battle with a neighboring nation, saved his friend's life at the extreme hazard of his own. The new negro, at the same time, threw himself at the planter's feet with tears, beseeching him, in the most moving manner, to spare his friend, or, at least, to suffer him to undergo the punishment in his room, protesting he would rather die ten thousand deaths, than lift his hand against him. But the wretch, looking on this as an affront to the absolute power he pretended over him, ordered Arthur to be immediately tied to a tree, and his friend to give him the lashes; telling him, too, that for every lash not well laid on, he should himself receive a score. The new negro, amazed at a barbarity so unbecoming a human creature, with a generous disdain refused to obey him, at the same time upbraiding him with his cruelty; upon which the planter, turning all his rage on him, ordered him to be immediately stripped, and commanded Arthur, to whom he promised forgiveness, to give his countryman the lashes he had been destined to receive himself. This proposal too was received with scorn, each protesting he would rather suffer the most dreadful torture than injure his friend. This generous conflict, which must have raised the strongest feelings in a breast susceptible of pity, did but the more inflame the monster, who now determined they should both be made examples of; and to satiate his revenge, was resolved to whip them himself. He was just preparing to begin with Arthur, when the new negro drew a knife from his pocket, stabbed the planter to the heart, and the following instant struck it to his own.
West India slavery was fruitful in such atrocities. And why produce such results? Because it placed arbitrary power in the master's hand, making him a despot on the small scale.
A former soldier gave his pension to help his Sunday school teacher in need.
At the annual meeting of the Sunday School Union, in 1822, the Rev. George Marsden stated, that as a gentleman, who by the providence of God had become reduced in his circumstances, was walking along the street, he was met by an old soldier, who immediately recognized him, and mentioned the pleasure he felt in having been one of his Sabbath scholars. The soldier had heard of the circumstances which had reduced his former teacher to distress, and thus addressed him: "You were my teacher; I have a pension from Government; I can work a little, and will willingly give my pension for your relief."
A wife's kindness to her persecuting husband led to his conviction and conversion.
As I was conversing, says a writer in the New-York Observer, with a pious old man, I inquired what were the means of his conversion. For a moment he paused—I perceived I had touched a tender string. Tears rushed from his eyes, while with deep emotion he replied, "My wife was brought to God some years before myself. I persecuted and abused her because of her religion. She, however, returned nothing but kindness; constantly manifesting an anxiety to promote my comfort and happiness; and it was her amiable conduct, when suffering ill-treatment from me, that first sent the arrows of conviction to my soul. "Temper," added he, "is every thing."
# SS, POWER OF.
Couthon visited the insane in succession, and questioned them himself; but he received only imprecations amidst the clanking of chains on floors disgustingly filthy from the evacuations of the miserable occupants. Fatigued with the monotony and revolting character of this spectacle, Couthon returned to Pinel, "Citizen," said he, "art thou thyself mad to desire to unchain such animals?" "Citizen," replied Pinel, "I am convinced that these lunatics are intractable only from being deprived of air and liberty, and I expect much from a different course." "Well," said Couthon, "do as thou likest; I leave them to thee; but I am afraid thou wilt fall a victim to thy presumption."
Master of his own actions, Pinel immediately commenced his undertaking, fully aware of its real difficulties; for he was going to set at liberty about fifty furious maniacs, without injurious or dangerous consequences, as he hoped, to the other peaceable inmates of the establishment. He determined to unchain no more than twelve at the first trial; and the only precaution he took, was to have an equal number of strait jackets prepared, made of strong linen with long sleeves, which could be tied behind the back of the maniac, should it become necessary to restrict him from committing acts of violence.
The first person to whom Pinel addressed himself, had been a resident for the longest period in this abode of misery. He was an English captain, whose history was unknown, but who had been chained there for forty years. He was looked upon as the most terrible of all the insane. His attendants always approached him with circumspection; for in a paroxysm of fury, he had struck one of the servants on the head with his manacles, and killed him on the spot. He was confined with more rigor than many of the others, which circumstance, combined with almost total neglect on the part of the keepers, had exasperated a disposition naturally furious. Pinel entered his cell alone, and approached him calmly. "Captain," said he, "if I were to remove your chains, and to give you liberty to walk in the court, would you promise me to be rational, and do harm to no one?" "I promise thee. But thou mockest me; they, as well as thyself, are too much afraid of me." "Assuredly not. I have no fear; for I have six men at hand to make me respected, should it be necessary. But believe my word; be confiding and docile. I will give you liberty, if you will allow me to substitute this strait waistcoat for your ponderous chains."
The captain yielded with a good grace to every thing required of him, shrugging his shoulders, but without uttering a word. In a few minutes his irons were completely removed, and Pinel withdrew, leaving the door of the cell open. Several times the maniac raised himself from his seat, but fell back again; he had kept the sitting posture so long that he had lost the use of his legs. At length, in about a quarter of an hour, and after repeated attempts, he succeeded in retaining his equilibrium, and from the depth of his dark cell advanced staggering towards the door. His first action was to look at the sky, and exclaim in ecstasy, "How beautiful!" Through the whole day he ran about, ascending and descending the stairs, and constantly repeating the exclamation, "How beautiful! how good!" In the evening he returned to his cell, slept tranquilly on a better bed, which had been provided for him; and during the two additional years which he passed in the Bicetre, he had no paroxysm of fury. He rendered himself, indeed, useful in the establishment, by exerting a certain degree of authority over the patients, whom he governed after his own fashion, and over whom he elected himself a kind of superintendent.
But the case of Chevinge, a soldier of the French guards, is looked upon as one of the most memorable feats of that interesting and eventful day. While in the army, he had but one fault—drunkenness; and when in this state he became turbulent, violent, and the more dangerous from his strength being prodigious. Owing to his repeated excesses, he was dismissed from his regiment, and soon dissipated his limited resources. Shame and misery subsequently plunged him into such a state of depression, that his intellect became disordered. In his delirium he thought he had been made a general, and beat those who did not admit his rank and quality; and, in consequence of a violent disturbance thus originating, he was taken to the Bicetre, laboring under the most furious excitement. He had been confined in chains for ten years, and with more severity than most of his fellow sufferers, as he had frequently broken asunder his irons by the sole strength of his hands. On one occasion, when he obtained momentary liberty in this manner, he set at defiance the united efforts of all his keepers to make him re-enter his cell. His strength had, indeed, become proverbial at the Bicetre.
Pinel, on several visits, had discovered in Chevinge an excellent disposition, masked under the excitement incessantly occasioned by cruel treatment. He promised the lunatic to ameliorate his condition, and this promise itself rendered him more tranquil. Pinel at length told him he should be no longer chained; "and to prove the confidence I have in thee," said he, "and that I regard thee as a man adapted for doing good, thou shalt aid me in freeing those unfortunates who have not their reason like thee; and if thou conductest thyself as I have reason to hope, I will take thee into my service, and thou shalt never quit me. Never," adds Pinel, "was there a more sudden and complete revolution. The keepers themselves were impressed with respect and astonishment at the spectacle which Chevinge afforded." Scarcely was he liberated when he was seen anticipating and following with his eye, every motion of Pinel, executing his orders with skill and promptitude, and addressing words of reason and kindness to the insane, on the level with whom he had been but a short time before. This man, whom chains had kept degraded during the past years of his life, and who would doubtless have spent the remainder of his existence in the same wretched condition, became afterwards a model of good conduct and gratitude. Often, in the difficult times of the revolution, he saved the life of Pinel, and on one occasion rescued him from a band of miscreants who were conducting him to the "Lanterne," owing to his having been an elector in 1789. During the time of famine, he left the Bicetre every morning, and returned with supplies of provisions which gold could not at that time procure. His whole life was one of perpetual devotion to his liberator.
In the course of a few days, the shackles were removed from fifty-five lunatics. An unexpected improvement followed from a course previously regarded impracticable and even fatal. The furious mad-men, who monthly destroyed hundreds of utensils, renounced their habits of violence; others, who tore their clothes, and rioted in filth and nudity, became clean and decent; tranquillity and harmony succeeded to tumult and disorder; and over the whole establishment order and good feeling reigned.
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