irred
A nation's heart; as calm and strong
As angels ever heard!

Gazing on the modest, unassuming countenance shown in the illustration
which accompanies this sketch, one can imagine the surprised question to
which the King answers in the last day: "Inasmuch as ye have done it
unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

* * * * *

XXVII.

SHY PEOPLE

HAWTHORNE-WASHINGTON, IRVING, AND OTHERS--MADAME RECAMIER.

Sympathy is the most delicate tendril of the mind, and the most
fascinating gift which nature can give us. The most precious
associations of the human heart cluster around the word, and we love to
remember those who have sorrowed with us in sorrow, and rejoiced with us
when we were glad. But for the awkward and the shy the sympathetic are
the very worst company. They do not wish to be sympathized with--they
wish to be with people who are cold and indifferent; they like shy
people like themselves. Put two shy people in a room together, and they
begin to talk with unaccustomed glibness. A shy woman always attracts a
shy man. But women who are gifted with that rapid, gay impressionability
which puts them _en rapport_ with their surroundings, who have fancy and
an excitable disposition, a quick susceptibility to the influences
around them, are very charming in general society, but they are terrible
to the awkward and the shy. They sympathize too much, they are too aware
of that burning shame which the sufferer desires to conceal.

The moment a shy person sees before him a perfectly unsympathetic
person, one who is neither thinking nor caring for him, his shyness
begins to flee; the moment that he recognizes a fellow-sufferer he
begins to feel a re-enforcement of energy. If he be a lover, especially,
the almost certain embarrassment of the lady inspires him with hope and
renewed courage. A woman who has a bashful lover, even if she is
afflicted with shyness, has been known to find a way to help the poor
fellow out of his dilemma more than once.

HAWTHORNE.

Who has left us the most complete and most tragic history of shyness
which belongs to "that long rosary on which the blushes of a life are
strung," found a woman (the most perfect character, apparently, who ever
married and made happy a great genius) who, fortunately for him, was shy
naturally, although without that morbid shyness which accompanied him
through life. Those who