—Farquhar.
COURTESY
The mayor of a French town had, in accordance with the regulations, to make out a passport for a rich and highly respectable lady of his acquaintance, who, in spite of a slight disfigurement, was very vain of her personal appearance. His native politeness prompted him to gloss over the defect, and, after a moment's reflection, he wrote among the items of personal description: "Eyes dark, beautiful, tender, expressive, but one of them missing."
Mrs. Taft, at a diplomatic dinner, had for a neighbor a distinguished French traveler who boasted a little unduly of his nation's politeness.
"We French," the traveler declared, "are the politest people in the world. Every one acknowledges it. You Americans are a remarkable nation, but the French excel you in politeness. You admit it yourself, don't you?"
Mrs. Taft smiled delicately.
"Yes," she said. "That is our politeness."