f more or fewer
pieces of money made between human beings otherwise equal. He had a
democratic philosophy which is sometimes that of Mr. Micawber,
"Celui-la est riche qui recoit plus qu'il ne consume; celui-la est
pauvre dont la depense excede la recette," But he is seldom so prosy
as this. Let us think of him as one who wished to turn his talent as a
painter of still life to the benefit of his nation, and who succeeded
in a degree far beyond his own modest hopes.

VAUVENARGUES

If we had been in Paris on a summer's day in 1744 we might have seen
emerge from a modest house in the ungenteel rue du Paon (Peacock
Street) a young man of less than twenty-nine years of age. It is
improbable that we should have been attracted to him without warning,
for though his expression was very pleasant, he was not
distinguished-looking, and though he was uncomplaining, his evident air
of suffering was painful to witness. He had the gallant bearing of a
soldier and a certain noble elegance, but a shade across his forehead
testified to the failure of his eyesight, and he shambled along with
difficulty on two lame legs. If we followed him he would probably take
us slowly to the Garden of the Luxembourg, where it was very unlikely
that any one would greet him.

He would presently turn out of the fashionable promenade, to
contemplate the poor and the unfortunate. Sometimes he would stop
those who seemed most wretched, and would try to share their sorrows,
but sympathy on the part of a gentleman was strange, or else there was
something in himself which failed to express his tenderness, for he
complained that the unfortunate always turned away from him. If, at
the moment of such a repulse, we had addressed him, and had
respectfully offered him our sympathy, he would have struggled with
his painful shyness, and would have told us that he felt no resentment
against those who rejected his help. Nothing hardened his heart, and
the lack of response merely doubled his pity. He would assure us, with
the pale smile which was the charm of his anaemic countenance, that
those who were vicious were so by their misfortune, not their fault,
and that of the worst criminals he was persuaded that, if they could,
they would "end their days in innocence." With an exquisite and simple
politeness he would leave us wondering a little who this pathetic
young man, with all the stigmata upon him of poverty and sickness
bravely