humane, charitable. Oh, yes! the Creator has implanted
within him every generous instinct--and, unless he be a monstrous
exception, he never does evil willingly. Here is what I saw just now. I
will not wait for the evening to write it down, for my heart would, as it
were, have time to cool. I had gone to carry home some work that was
wanted in a hurry. I was passing the Place du Temple. A few steps from me
I saw a child, about twelve years old at most, with bare head, and feet,
in spite of the severe weather, dressed in a shabby, ragged smock frock
and trousers, leading by the bridle a large cart-horse, with his harness
still on. From time to time the horse stopped short, and refused to
advance. The child, who had no whip, tugged in vain at the bridle. The
horse remained motionless. Then the poor little fellow cried out: 'O
dear, O dear!' and began to weep bitterly, looking round him as if to
implore the assistance of the passers-by. His dear little face was
impressed with so heart piercing a sorrow, that, without reflecting, I
made an attempt at which I can now only smile, I must have presented so
grotesque a figure. I am horribly afraid of horses, and I am still more
afraid of exposing myself to public gaze. Nevertheless, I took courage,
and, having an umbrella in my hand, I approached the horse, and with the
impetuosity of an ant that strives to move a large stone with a little
piece of straw, I struck with all my strength on the croup of the
rebellious animal. 'Oh, thanks, my good lady!' exclaimed the child,
drying his eyes: 'hit him again, if you please. Perhaps he will get up.'

"I began again, heroically; but, alas! either from obstinacy or laziness,
the horse bent his knees, and stretched himself out upon the ground;
then, getting entangled with his harness, he tore it, and broke his great
wooden collar. I had drawn back quickly, for fear of receiving a kick.
Upon this new disaster, the child could only throw himself on his knees
in the middle of the street, clasping his hands and sobbing, and
exclaiming in a voice of despair: 'Help! help!'

"The call was heard; several of the passers-by gathered round, and a more
efficacious correction than mine was administered to the restive horse,
who rose in a vile state, and without harness.

"'My master will beat me,' cried the poor child, as his tears redoubled;
'I am already two hours after time, for the horse would not go, and now
he has broken his harness. My master