My father's brother was a genuinely philanthropic man, who founded
one beneficent institution or society after the other, had an unusual
power of inducing his well-to-do fellow-townsmen to carry his schemes
through, and in the elaboration of them showed a perception and
practical sense that almost amounted to genius; this was the more
surprising since his intelligence was not otherwise remarkable for its
keenness and his reasoning methods were confused. But what I felt was
quite different. My feelings were not so easily roused as those of the
first-mentioned; I was not so good-natured or so quick to act as he.
Neither did they resemble those of my other uncle, who merely
represented compassion for those unfortunately situated, but was without
the least vestige of rebellious feeling against the conditions or the
people responsible for the misery; my uncle was always content with life
as it was, saw the hand of a loving Providence everywhere and was fully
and firmly convinced that he himself was led and helped by this same
Providence, which specially watched over the launching of his projects
for the welfare of mankind. No, my feeling was of quite another kind.
Nothing was farther removed from me than this sometimes quite childish
optimism. It was not enough for me to advertise the sufferings of a few
individuals and, when possible, alleviate them; I sought the causes of
them in brutality and injustice.
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