"I was very glad to see you do it, and many young men followed your
example. It is such men as you that we want, and I hope you will be
the means of doing a great deal of good. My office is in the exchange;
come in and see me. I shall be happy to make your acquaintance. I
have only a minute or two to spare, but I thought I would just call in
and tell you to keep up a brave heart. Good-bye, God bless you. Come
in and see me."

That was Jesse Goodrich, then a practising attorney and counselor at
law, in Worcester, now dead; but to the last of his life my true and
faithful friend. It would be impossible to describe how this little
act of kindness cheered me. With the exception of Mr. Stratton, who
was a waiter at a temperance hotel, no one had accosted me for months
in a manner which would lead me to think any one cared for me, or what
might be my fate. Now I was not altogether alone in the world; there
was a hope of my being rescued from the "slough of despond," where I
had been so long floundering. I felt that the fountain of human
kindness was not utterly sealed up, and again a green spot, an oasis,
small, indeed, but cheering, appeared in the desert of my life. I had
something to live for; a new desire for life seemed suddenly to spring
up; the universal boundary of human sympathy included even my wretched
self in its cheering circle. All these sensations were generated by a
few kind words at the right time. Yes, now I can fight; and I did
fight--six days and six nights--encouraged and helped by a few words of
sympathy. He said, "Come in and see me." I will. He said he would be
pleased to make my acquaintance. He shall. He said, "Keep up a brave
heart!" By God's help I will. And so encouraged I fought on with not
one hour of healthy sleep, not one particle of food passing my lips,
for six days and six nights.