Car No. 14, Fifth Street line, Philadelphia, was crowded.  Travelling bags, shawls, and dusters marked that people were making for the 11 A.M.  New York train, Kensington depot.  One pleasant-looking old gentleman whose face shone under a broad brim, and whose cleanly drabs were brought into distasteful proximity with the garments of a drunken coal-heaver, after a vain effort to edge away, relieved his mind by turning to his neighbor with the statement, “Consistency is a jewel.”

“Undoubtedly true, Mr. Greenleaf,” answered the neighbor, “but what caused the remark?”

“That,”—­looking with mild disgust at the dirty and ragged leg sitting by his own.  “Here’s this filthy fellow, a nuisance to everybody near him, can ride in these cars, and a nice, respectable colored person can’t.  So I couldn’t help thinking, and saying, that consistency is a jewel.”

“Well, it’s a shame,—­that’s a fact; but of course nobody can interfere if the companies don’t choose to let them ride; it’s their concern, not ours.”

“There’s a fine specimen now, out there on the sidewalk.”  The fine specimen was a large, powerfully made man, black as ebony, dressed in army blouse and trousers, one leg gone,—­evidently very tired, for he leaned heavily on his crutches.  The conductor, a kindly-faced young fellow, pulled the strap, and helped him on to the platform with a peremptory “Move up front, there!” to the people standing inside.

“Why!” exclaimed the old Friend,—­“do my eyes deceive me?” Then getting up, and taking the man by the arm, he seated him in his own place:  “Thou art less able to stand than I.”

Tears rushed to his eyes as he said, “Thank you, sir! you are too kind.”  Evidently he was weak, and as evidently unaccustomed to find any one “too kind.”

“Thee has on the army blue; has thee been fighting any?”

“Yes, sir!” he answered, promptly.

“I didn’t know black men were in the army; yet thee has lost a leg.  Where did that go?”

“At Newbern, sir.”

“At Newbern,—­ah! long ago? and how did it happen?”

“Fourteenth of March, sir.  There was a land fight, and the gunboats came up to the rescue.  Some of us black men were upon board a little schooner that carried one gun.  ’Twasn’t a great deal we could do with that, but we did the best we could; and got well peppered in return.  This is what it did for me,”—­looking down at the stump.

“I guess thee is sorry now that thee didn’t keep out of it, isn’t thee?”

“No, sir; no indeed, sir.  If I had five hundred legs and fifty lives, I’d be glad to give them all in such a war as this.”

Here somebody got out; the old Friend sat down; and the coal-heaver, roused by the stir, lifted himself from his drunken sleep, and, looking round, saw who was beside him.

A vile oath, an angry stare from his bloodshot eyes.

“Ye ——­, what are ye doin’ here? out wid ye, quick!”