"After a long absence, I found myself sailing up the Mississippi River, bound for home. One morning, as I left my state-room, I saw the passengers gathered on the forward deck. Inquiring the cause, I was told that a man had just died who had left, without protection, two children, a boy of seven years and a girl of five. The wife of the man, I was also told, had recently died, and the children were now orphans, and friendless and destitute. My informant had scarcely ceased speaking, when I observed a gentleman of herculean mould and dignified air, who possessed great personal beauty, pass by where I was sitting, having on his arm the little daughter of the deceased, who was sobbing bitterly, her little face nestled close to his breast. The boy, who was also sobbing, the stranger led by the hand, and, while his lips quivered and tears stood in his eyes, he was soothing the little mourners with words of hope and kindness, his full, rich voice being modulated to the tender tones of a woman. Much moved by the scene, I followed them and a large number of passengers into the cabin, where I found the two orphans standing in the centre of the group, their arms around each other's necks, mingling their tears and sobs.
"'Come, come, be a little man,' said the stranger to the boy; 'don't cry. I will take care of you,—I will be your father.' And he drew the little girl to him and wiped the tears from her eyes, regardless that his own were also overflowing, while the members of the group around showed no less feeling than he.
"One of the number called the assembly to order by nominating a chairman, a Mr. Jones, a planter, whose estate was about thirty miles farther up the river. He accepted the office, and said that, with the assent of the company, he would take charge of the orphans and rear and educate them. This proposition was well received by all the passengers except the stranger, who, during these proceedings, had been sitting apart in conversation with the little waifs that the act of God had cast upon the stream of charity. Hastily loosening the arms of the little girl from about his neck, he stepped forward and addressed the group.
"'I have been forestalled,' said he, 'by the gentleman who has made the proposal to which you have just listened. He has children,—I have none. I will take one of these children, and here pledge my honor to rear it with the same tenderness that I would exercise if it were my own. Let me divide with your chairman these gifts of Providence, and I will give him the privilege of electing which to take.'
"The silence which followed these remarks was broken by the voice of the little boy, who was old enough to comprehend the nature of what was passing, and who had been an eager listener to the words of the stranger, and whose hand he now seized in both his own. 'Oh, don't take me from my sister!' said he. 'When father died, he told me I must never leave her. Let us both go with you; she loves me very much, and father said that in a little while I should be strong enough to work for her. Don't take her away from me!' And the little fellow's voice trembled, and he looked imploringly into the stranger's face, who was melted to tears by this appeal.
"'You shall not be separated, my little hero,' replied the stranger, 'but shall remain together.' Then, turning to the group, he said,—
"'I will relinquish my claim to your chairman; but it must be on two conditions. The first is, that he shall draw on me annually for one-half of all the expenses which may be incurred in the rearing and educating of these orphans; and here is the first instalment of one hundred dollars.'
"'I cheerfully assent to that,' replied Mr. Jones. 'What is the other?'
"'That if you should die, or circumstances should prevent your continuing their protector, they shall be sent to me.'
"'I also agree to that.'