Few people possess the kindly sense of the French abbe mentioned in the memoirs of Madame Vig’ee de Brun, the celebrated portrait-painter of the last century. This gentleman was, unfortunately, extremely deformed, and, playing at cards with him, Madame de Brun was so struck by his strange figure that she inadvertently hummed a few bars of a tune called “The Hunchback.” Immediately recollecting herself, she stopt in confusion, whereupon the abbe turned to her with a kindly smile, “My dear madame, continue your tune. I assure you it does not offend me in the least; the association is so natural a one, that I believe it would have occurred to me in your place.”—London Evening Standard.
(1717)
KINDNESS
Several passengers on a hot day in June entered the train on the Columbia and Augusta Railroad. Among them were several young college boys who were on the way home from their summer vacation. They were stylish, well-drest lads, and were gay and happy, as boys usually are who have put books aside.
A party of merry girls already occupied the car, and in a little time the train seemed flooded with youth and sunshine. A very lean woman, with an ample lunch-basket, divided her time between eating chicken and boiled eggs and fanning vigorously with a turkey-tail fan, while a stout man in the corner mopped his face with a red bandanna, and remarked, by way of emphasis, “Hot, very hot!”
The girls and boys took in every incident, laughing and tittering all the while. Just across the aisle, opposite the boy, sat a woman holding a baby. A pale, tired, despairing look was on her face, and her eyes were full of suffering. The little one was fretful and cried piteously, but the young mother was too exhausted to try to quiet the baby.
“Oh, just listen to that young one. I think crying babies ought to be put out of the cars,” one of the girls said pertly.
“Yes, my head begins to ache,” said another, while the boys laughed; and the louder the child cried, the more merriment it caused among the young people; while the lean woman and the fat man scowled and complained.
“I do not see any cause for ridicule,” said Fred Weston, as he arose; and to the amazement of all the passengers, he crossed to where the woman sat, and with a courteous bow, extended his arms. “Please let me hold your baby a while,” he said; “I have a little sister just her age and she loves me dearly. You look so tired, ma’am.”
The child opened wide her big brown eyes and gazed into the handsome, bright face of the boy, as without hesitation she sprang forward into the outstretched arms. She ceased crying, and her lips puckered into a plaintive sob.