Wakefield

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  “In some old magazine or newspaper I recollect a story, told as truth, of a man—let us call him Wakefield—who absented himself for a long time from his wife. The fact, thus abstractedly stated, is not very uncommon, nor, without a proper distinction of circumstances, to be condemned either as naughty or nonsensical. Howbeit, this, though far from the most aggravated, is perhaps the strangest instance on record of marital delinquency, and, moreover, as remarkable a freak as may be found in the whole list of human oddities. The wedded couple lived in London. The man, under pretense of going a journey, took lodgings in the next street to his own house, and there, unheard of by his wife or friends and without the shadow of a reason for such self-banishment, dwelt upward of twenty years. During that period he beheld his home every day, and frequently the forlorn Mrs. Wakefield. And after so great a gap in his matrimonial felicity—when his death was reckoned certain, his estate settled...

Ingratitude

A boat was wrecked in a storm on Lake Michigan at Evanston. Northwestern students formed themselves into rescue teams. One student, Edward Spencer, saved 17 people from that sinking ship. When he was carried exhausted to his room, he asked, "Did I do my best? Do you think I did my best?"

Dr. R.A. Torrey related this incident many years later in a meeting in Los Angeles, California. A man in the audience called out that Edwards Spencer was present, in the room. Dr. Torrey invited Spencer the platform. An old man with white hair slowly climbed the steps as the applause rang out.

Dr. Torrey asked him if anything in particular stood out in his memory about that shipwreck. "Only this, sir," he replied, "of the 17 people I saved, not one of them thanked me."

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