"
I was riding up-town in a cable car not long ago late at night. The
moon was at its full and all the ugliness of the city was shrouded,
like a homely woman in a bridal veil of shimmering lace. We skimmed
along on a smooth and unobstructed track, like a sloop with every sail
set, heading for the open sea. There were no idle chatterers aboard,
and from the stalwart gripman at his post of duty, to the shrinking
little girl passenger, who was half afraid and half delighted to be
abroad so late alone, everybody and everything was in harmony with the
hour and scene. Suddenly there fluttered into the car a snowy moth,
astray from some flower garden in the country and quite bewildered and
lost in the barren city. The beautiful creature fluttered into a
lady's face and she screamed and struggled as though attacked by a
rabid beast. "Oh, kill it! kill the horrid thing," she cried, while
her attendant beat the air with his cane and sought to drive the
dangerous interloper away. It rested for a moment upon the gripman's
cap, where it looked like a feather dropped from a wandering bird. At
last it settled upon the breast of a little child sleeping in its
mother's arms. The mother brushed it away with her handkerchief as
though its presence brought defilement. A gentleman who was seated
near me caught the bewildered thing and with a very tender touch held
it for a block or so until we came to one of the pretty parks that make
our city so attractive.
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