IX

Clara Barton taught the rich to be unselfish and the strong to be gentle.Charles E. Townsend, U. S. Senate.

Her voice was soft,Gentle and low; an excellent thing in woman.Shakespeare.

Her voice was soft,

Gentle and low; an excellent thing in woman.

Shakespeare.

Miss Barton was a soft-voiced, retiring little woman, yet she had a way of approaching her work in a most telling manner.

Buffalo (N. Y.)Express.

Miss Barton followed her own light with steadfast steps.

Springfield (Mass.)Republican.

Clara Barton—a model of the beautiful simplicity of a life given to others. Bridgeport (Conn.)Standard.

The severest test of discipline is its absence.Clara Barton.

Social, friendly and human, Clara Barton joined with the children in the playgrounds;—instead of being locked out as the previous teachers had been she “locked” herself “in” the hearts of every boy and girl.The Life of Clara Barton, by Epler.

Show me a child well disciplined, perfectly governed at home, and I will show you a child that never breaks a rule at school.

Clara Barton.

Whenever corporal punishment is inflicted on a pupil it is a sign of negligence and indolence on the part of the teacher, says Seneca.

Ancient School Systems.

In refinement of taste and beauty of action, or purity of thought and delicacy of expression, nature’s own best teacher is woman.

The Modern School System.

CHILD LOVE—JOE AND CHARLIE—APPRECIATION

To the child nothing is small; nor does the child forget. Whatever kindness comes to the child is stored in one of the cells of the brain for future years. As an heirloom, the longer it is possessed the more it is cherished.

Referring to her teacher of long ago, Dr. Eleanor Burnside recently related this incident in her school life: “I recall when a little girl in her school Clara Barton’s friendly interest in the progress of her pupils; unvarying patience, no matter what the circumstances might be. I do not think she knew how to scold, nor were scoldings and other manifestations of ill temper necessary. Her quiet, firm word, pleasantly expressed, seemed sufficient always.”

Speak gently; it is better farTo rule by love than fear—Speak gently; ’tis a little thingDropped in the heart’s deep well;The good, the joy, which it may bring,Eternity shall tell.

Speak gently; it is better farTo rule by love than fear—

Speak gently; it is better far

To rule by love than fear—

Speak gently; ’tis a little thingDropped in the heart’s deep well;The good, the joy, which it may bring,Eternity shall tell.

Speak gently; ’tis a little thing

Dropped in the heart’s deep well;

The good, the joy, which it may bring,

Eternity shall tell.

Not easily disturbed, Miss Barton did not notice little misdemeanors by the children at all. She seemed not to observe one day when some fun was started by a boy sitting back of Joe Davis. The mischievous boy was putting his finger in Joe’s red hair and pretending his finger was burnt. Of course it amused the children, but only for a moment. To govern too much is worse than to govern too little. This was an incident merely of a child’s humor, requiring no reprimand. “But nomatter what happened, Clara Barton did not scold. Her pupils loved her and that made what she did, and what she said too, right.”

The old desk used by Clara Barton recently has been found in possession of one of the old families at Bordentown, New Jersey. By tracing back the ownership it has been proved conclusively to be the original desk used by Miss Barton. The desk refuted the libel that she was a disciplinarian, and not a humanitarian. The libel referred to was that she had a particularly unruly boy; that she seized him by the nape of the neck, lifted the lid of the desk and dropped him inside. Now that the desk has been discovered, her admirers point to the interesting fact that it doesn’t have a top lid; it has a small drawer.

Childhood is ever of the living present. Up the stream of time the eye keeps fixed on memory’s treasures of youth. In one of the battles of the Civil War, Clara Barton stooped down to place the empty sleeve, then useless to the bullet-shattered right arm, over the shoulder of a soldier boy. Recognizing the face of his former teacher the fair-haired lad dropped his face into the folds of her dress, then threw his left arm around her neck, in deepest grief, crying: “Why, Miss Barton, don’t you know me? I am Charlie Hamilton who used to carry your satchel to school.”

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