$!$!$$$$^ V : :v^<^^i^i$i$i^i^;^i<'i \rank, a man whose preeminence above his con- temporaries makes him historically illustrious, sheds part of his lustre, and transmits his well- won position to his descendants ; and they hold this position, often for centuries, through the right of inherited possession, through the cul- ture acquired by association from birth with V the more privileged and refined, and at times PRELUSIVE. 11 through the exhibition of some of the qualities, which elevated the founder, high mental qual- ities, as well as low, being transmissible through the blood. But now conies into play the law of com pensation, that law so terrible and so just; and the inheritors, exposed in addition to the ordinary fallibilities of human nature, to the temptations peculiar to all advan- tages that have not been self-earned, be- come often the victims of good fortune, and lapse languidly back into the undistinguished crowd out of which their original creative pro- genitor had by native energy lifted himself;, so that a Duke of Norfolk who, towards the end of the last century, wished to celebrate with a great family-gathering the third centen- nial anniversary of the date of his Dukedom, finding not only that he had several thousand poor relations, but that some of them had to be picked out of ditches, and from even lower places, gave up his proud purpose, disgusted at the degeneracy and the numerousness of his kin. 12 THE GENTLEMAN. Taking up again the passage from Spenser, the next link we find to be, " And therefore scorneth to worke or use any harde laboure, which he saith is the life of a peasant or churle." Partly from the freedom implied in /the non-necessity of work, dispensing, as that freedom does, leisure for mental husbandry ; partly from the fact, that daily agricultural and mechanical labor, as commonly practised, starves the larger faculties, monopolizing for the smaller the brain's activity, and thus tends to keep the mind ignorant and the habits coarse ; the notion that gentlemanhood and work are antagonistic is so deeply rooted, that even at the present day, and in our own country, you will hear men talk of leav- ing off work and turning gentlemen. In Con- tinental Europe, only such work as is required in the higher offices of State and Church is deemed consistent with the dignity of a gen- tleman; and even in industrious, commercial England, a merchant is not admitted at Court. In Europe, from the over-worked, stinted, still semi-servile peasantry, up to the sover- PRELUSIVE. 13 eign, there is a graduated ascent. The peas- ant is looked down upon by the journeyman- - mechanic ; the latter stands similarly lowered _. in the eyes of a tradesman, who throws an up- ward regard on the merchant from whom he . buys. But we need not wander to Europe ; we have the same gradation, notwithstanding that through the priceless possession of politi- cal equality we are all lifted to one high com- mon level of manhood. Observe that the principle of this gradation is the compara- tively higher intellectuality and the wider com- prehensiveness compassed on each ascended step. The field-laborer's work is simple and monotonous and feebly intellectual, and is done under direction. To buy and sell by the yard needs less thought and reach of combination than to buy and sell by the cargo. Some me- chanic processes are more subtile than others. What we term the "liberal professions," are sa termed on account of the amount and kind of acquirement, the variety of knowledge, and the intellectual discipline that are pre-requisites to entrance into them. The scorn, therefore, of 14 THE GENTLEMAN. Spenser's Irish loafer, in addition to the lazi- ness characteristic of a loafer, may be regard- ed as representing a mingled feeling of dis- taste to brutalizing servile labor, and of aspi- ration for the freedom which other conditions promise. .. But not only he scorneth to work, "but thenceforth becometh either an horseboy or a stocah (attendant) to some kerne, (Irish foot- soldier,) inuring himself to his weapon, and to the gentlemanly trade of stealing, as they count it." In those contentious sword-and- buckler days, when roads were few and bad, and constables inadequate, an Irish horseboy had privileges and perquisites not enjoyed by his successors ; and that foot-soldiers had at- tendants seems to imply a light, marauding life, where opportunities were good for dining without earning a dinner. You observe that this gentleman founds his vocation upon his blood ; for it was only when he, by a fanciful amplification of finest filaments into tough cords, could bind himself to an old family, that he felt entitled to scorn work and be- PRELUSIVE. 15 take him " to the gentlemanly trade of steal- ing." Nor should we be too hard upon this ter- raqueous buccaneer, this ancient Hibernian Bedouin, who imagined himself a gentleman. The civilized nineteenth century engenders im- aginations not less bewrayed. Nor need we cross the Atlantic to find his present counter- part in higher strata of the social crust, in individuals who, within the pale of the statute and without violent infraction of the usages of trade, do virtually steal, or suck and grind the poor, or blow attainting breath on female pu- rity, or, under the aegis of legal forms, defraud justice of her dues ; and who, nevertheless, are met in the circles of fashion, and pass there for gentlemen. Since Spenser's day, many forward and upward steps have been made ; but still palpable in the social as in other provinces of life is the usurpation of form over substance, of appearance over re- ality, of sight over insight, of seem over be. In our endeavor to thrust aside some of the veils that obscure our subject, to cleanse it of 16 THE GENTLEMAN. the cheap varnish that defaces a solid, brilliant ground, let us go back for a few moments more to the learned, invaluable Richardson, who, with his searching exhaustive industry, under the head of gent and its derivatives, gives more than eighty citations out of English au- thors, from Robert of Glocester and Piers Plowman to Gray and Gibbon. Roger As- cham, a generation further from us than Spen- ser, noted for his acquirements, the valued tu- tor of Queen Elizabeth, says in his ScJiole Master, "Some in France, which will needs be jentlemen, whether men will or no, and have more jentleshippe in their hat than their head, be at deadlie feude with both learning and honestie." Haberdashery and patent- leather, in and out of France, are formidable adjuncts to much of modern "jentleshippe;" and a fair relation of the part played by vel- vet and satin in the social history of Christen- dom were a sprightly satire. Clothes have ever striven to symbolize gentlemanhood ; and how well they have succeeded and continue to succeed, we have a gross example in the tri- PRELUSIVE. 17 umphant hypocrisy of the costly, super-fash- ionable dressing of the managers and decoys of luxurious gambling-halls, and of the better class of pickpockets. The chief tailor of Antwerp, a man zealous and accomplished in his craft, once said to me, complaining of a wealthy customer, and he spoke with ear- nestness and sympathy, " Mr. does not do himself justice ; that last froc I made him is threadbare ; and you know, sir, a gentleman is known by his clothes." A somewhat hyper- professional magnification of tailorship. But the shrewd, lively man perhaps felt, that the " jentleshippe " of many of his well-born cus- tomers did not lie so subterrenely deep, but that it might be largely aided by the virtue there was in the laying on of his proficient hands ; and in his pride of calling was ready to de- clare, with a wider application than Polonius, " The apparel oft proclaims the man." One more citation from Richardson, drawn out of still deeper recesses of the past, from the very well-head of English poetry, a brief sentence, fraught with that homely wisdom 18 THE GENTLEMAN. which has so much helped to keep the name of Chaucer fresh for five centuries. It is from The Persone's (Parson's) Tale: "Also to have pride of gentrie is right gret folie ; for ofttime the gentrie of the bodie benimeth (tak- eth away) the gentrie of the soule ; and also we ben all of one fader and one moder." I am tempted to add other four lines of Chau- cer, from The Clerke's Tale, not quoted by Richardson : " For God it wot, that children often ben Unlike hir worthy eldres hem before : Bountee cometh al of God, not of the stren Of which they ben ygendred and ybore." n. BAYARD SIDNEY MORAL FREEDOM ESTHETIC ELEMENT. "DUT now, leaving sententious judgments and the abstract brevities of definition, let us, in our endeavor to comprehend gen- tlemanhood, confront it concretely, and bring before our minds the two foremost gentle- men of Christendom, the Chevalier Bay- ard and Sir Philip Sidney. The lives and characters of these two, even briefly sketch- ed as they must be here, by presenting in fullest actuality the moving, speaking gentle- man, will help us to deduce what is his in- terior, essential nature. And first, as coming first in time, the " Good / Knight, without fear and without reproach." ( Born in the South of France, towards the end of the fifteenth century, when Chivalry still survived in its forms and usages, from which had died out the Christian spirit, when gross 20 living and rapaciousness and perfidy were char- acteristics of knights and nobles and sover- eigns, the Chevalier Bayard, by the splendor and the uninfected purity of his nature, shone amid the corruptions and affectations of de- cay, an example of loyalty, of self-sacrifice, of generosity, of unclouded honor, of roman- tic courage, that in the healthiest days of Chivalry would have made him, amid the no- blest and most chivalrous, a model of knight- hood. So uniquely towering was his fame, that high-spirited adversaries, who in their ex- tremity would have died rather than yield them, were proud to drop the point of their swords, as from behind the opponent's closed vizor they heard the name of Bayard. When the French had taken Brescia, in Lombardy, and he lay for several weeks wounded in the house of a wealthy citizen, who had fled, he refused the large custom- ary ransom which the wife brought him, as he was about to depart, and, sending for her two daughters, divided the sum between them. On another occasion, after sternly rebuking a BAYARD. 21 base, impoverished mother, who would have sold him her child, he gave the daughter a portion that enabled her to espouse her lover. Having, by a shrewd, bold movement, cap- tured from the enemy fifteen thousand gold ducats, he bestowed one half of them on his \ Lieutenant, thereby enriching him, and divided the other half among his followers. Nor was this an isolated act of munificence. It . was his habit, not only to share his purse with his friends, but to give away the many sums that came to him in presents and prizes. And while he was as affable as he was brave, he ^ was as just as he was liberal. Gifted in rare measure with the sterling qualities for com- mand, he was cheerful in obedience to su- periors. Never subject to the ignoble gnaw- ings of envy, he enjoyed as he did his own the triumphs of companions. Many contem- porary knights were sans peur ; he alone was sans reproche. So true and great was the soul of Bayard, that the noblest and purest grow nobler and purer in the glow of its per- petual light. 22 THE GENTLEMAN. About eighty years later than Bayard, was born his English competitor, Sir Philip Sidney, one of the glories of the resplendent reign of Queen Elizabeth, a power, although so short* lived, among the potencies that bear the immor- tal names of Shakspeare, of Bacon, of Raleigh, of Spenser, of Howard, of Drake, of Ben Jon- son. Precocious, like Bayard, who, dying on the field of battle at forty-eight, was thirty-four years a soldier, Sidney, born in an epoch of general and deep intellectual ferment, at the age when Bayard donned armor, entered, the classmate of Raleigh and Spenser, the Uni- versity of Oxford, where his young mind, at once quick and capacious, fed on every kind \ of knowledge, and sought preeminence in whatever is attainable by genius and labor. On quitting Oxford, at eighteen, he set out in a brilliant company on a tour of travel, going first to Paris, where his bearing and conversa- tion fascinated the King, Charles IX., and the young King of Navarre, afterwards Henry IV. From France he journeyed through Germany to Italy, consorting with the most learned and SIDNEY. 23 accomplished of those countries. At Padua he made acquaintance with the renowned poet, V^ Tasso ; and Scipio Gentilis, a famous scholar of Italy, inscribed to him a Latin transla- tion of Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered. Later, Hakluyt and the learned Lipsius dedicated works to him in terms of cordial eulogium. On his return to England, he became the de- light of the English Court, to which, says Fuller, " He was so essential, that it seemed maimed without his company, being a com- plete master of matter and language." Queen Elizabeth called him her Philip. The follow- ing year, although only twenty-two, he went ambassador to Germany and Poland, acquit- ting himself so well as to draw high praise even from the severe, exacting Burleigh. Among his friends and admirers was the great Prince of Orange ; and Don John of Aus- tria, though hating all heretics, was won by his manners and attainments. For a time he rep- resented his native county in Parliament ; and, finally, in 1586, he joined his uncle, the Earl of Leicester, in a campaign in the Netherlands 24 THE GENTLEMAN, as General of Horse ; and here, at the battle of Zutphen, when only thirty-two, he fell, mor- tally wounded. For so brief a career, one externally more brilliant was never run by a candidate for fame. When in years not much more than a boy, he had given evidence of the thought- , fulness and address of a statesman ; his writ- A ings prove him to have been not only a scholar V, of rare and varied culture, but a poet of gen- ius ; and the field of Zutphen showed the bud- ding of a brilliant military renown. At his death, lamentation went up over Europe, as for the loss of one who was among the leaders and ornaments of the world. The accomplishments and acquirements of Sidney, his manners and conversation, his gen- ius and his personal beauty, are still not suf- ficient to account for the universal fascination, as well of the purest as of the most accom- plished, and for the general so cordial grief at his death. To justify the love and the hom- age he inspired, he must have been even richer in qualities of heart than in intellectual pow- SIDNEY. 25 ers and attainments, richer, in graces than in / gifts. And that he was so, his last act on the day he received his death-wound testifies, re- vealing the deep beauty of his nature, and throwing round his whole being a saintly halo. And that renowned act was worthily ushered in by another, which represents the buoyant pulse and generous courage of youthful life, as the final one does the holy loveliness of self-denial while life was fast ebbing. For, as he came upon the field, seeing the veteran Lord Mar- shal, Sir William Pelham, lightly armed, with a chivalrous shame that he, a young knight, should be so much better protected, he threw off his cuishes ; and it was to this, what we \ may term, generous deference to age, and no- ble self-regardlessness, that he owed his wound ; for, fighting with a gallantry that drew plaudits from the foe, he was hit in the thigh by a musket-ball. As he was borne from the field, he asked for water, to quench the raging thirst caused by such a wound ; but, as he lifted the cup to his lips, observing by the road-side a dying soldier, who threw up at it a ghastly, 26 THE GENTLEMAN. wishful look, he handed the cup back to his at- tendant to give it to the soldier, saying, " This man's necessity is even greater than mine." These two renowned knights illuminate his- tory, as the representatives of gentlemanhood, the most approved gentlemen of Christen- dom ; and that high station they hold, through strength and purity of soul and gentleness of bearing. Only from an ever-lively, inward fount of generous ascendant feeling could have flowed in both such simple grandeur of con- duct married to such radiance of demeanor. The power that raised them to preeminence, that gave a daily beauty to their lives, a beauty that made itself felt, was, and could be nought other than unselfishness. In both there was an active, despotic self- forgetfulness. In them so large and manly was the soul, that it gave to their keen en- ergies a beneficent drift. Without effort, al- most without purpose, they were generous, compassionate, magnanimous, true, and out- wardly affable. Such high qualities, so richly mingled, imply obliteration of the me, and im- MORAL FREEDOM. 27 port that clear moral freedom whose robust at- mosphere is the very breath of the highest type of gentlemanhood, a freedom -which, imparting spiritual self-possession, imparts a force greater even than virtuous self-control; for this constrains and sometimes stiffens, while ^ that, conferring easy, buoyant dominion, holds the whole being so in poise that all acts have the grace and dignity of unconscious excel- lence, a high-born excellence that cannot be counterfeited, and must issue from a deep, cen- tral motion, which has an impetus as resistless as that of the subterranean feeders of a copi- ous, transparent spring. Such men justify, while they illustrate, ideal embodiments. Had they and the like of them never lived, the narrative that is now a vera- cious biography would to most men seem an unnatural fiction. They are mirrors of hu- /. inanity, which show man, not as he is daily encountered, but magnified, beautified, trans- figured. And yet, being flesh-and-blood mor- tals, they are practical exemplars, breathing proofs, of what moral and mannerly heights men can attain to. 28 THE GENTLEMAN. It may seem that I am overstating the moral element, and that the gentleman is rather an -s. aesthetic than an ethic personage. It is this moral element which, in my conception of the gentleman, is pivotal. Dealing now with the highest type, I conceive, that in that type not 'tmly are morals primary, but that manners re- v suit from them ; so that, where there is not a solid substratum of pure, elevated feeling, there will not, there cannot be a clean, high, unaf- fected demeanor. Had Bayard, with the fif- teen thousand captured ducats, bought for him- self a chateau and estate, reserving the ran- som offered by the Brescian matron as a where- with to furnish it, Fame would not have bla- zoned to the latest time a French soldier with the unique eulogium, "The Good Knight, without fear and without reproach." The heart that was so large and gracious as to command his acts of sublime disinterestedness, shaped, with ks profuse, inexhaustible warmth, his out- ward bearing into kindliness and sympathetic tenderness, as surely as the healthful play of sound, internal organs sends to the skin and to AESTHETIC ELEMENT. 29 the cheek its glistening glow, its captivating bloom. But the aesthetic element, if not primary in / the gentleman of the highest type, is essential to him, and is of such significance in gentle- manhood, that in that of any type below the highest it becomes predominant, as will here- after be seen. We learn from their record that both Bayard and Sidney were imbued with its spirit. Sidney was a poet with his pen, and Bayard, had his education been liber- al, might have been one, too ; for the lives of 1 li both were poetry in action. History would not I have gloried in them as she does, we should not be busied with them now, had they not carried in their breasts that eager, insatiate longing for the better, which, being a flame that heats the feelings into their widest swing, /lifts purity into grandeur, goodness into mag- T / nanimity, truth into heroism, faith into martyr- dom. Through a scrutiny of these two protago- nists of gentlemanhood, we get an insight which justifies already certain positions, positive and 30 THE GENTLEMAN. negative. The gentleman is built from within outward: for the thorough building there must lie ready stores of largeness and bounteous- [ ness : a man of small soul can only be a gen- tleman in a superficial sense : whatever station he may inherit, with whatever varnish of man- ; ners he may glisten, against one intensely sel- ) fish, gentlemanhood is closed : the genuine gen- tleman must possess a good degree of moral freedom ; for only this can furnish the illumi- nation to lead the footsteps up from the dark ways of the petty self: the gentleman robes manliness in courtesy. Sidney and Bayard, standing emblazoned on high, historic pedestals, are enlarged by the dusk of distance. Champions of an age which the imagination has permanently colored with beauties and grandeurs and marvels, they wear an ideal magnificence, and assume to our eyes heroic stature. For the gold-grasping, steam- driven nineteenth century they may seem not to be available exemplars. But the best there is in life looks always impracticable until per-, formed ; and even then its proportions are not ESTHETIC ELEMENT. 31 completely appropriated by witnessing con- temporaries ; and only when time has removed it, do later generations acknowledge its dues, investing it at last with entire glory, and some- times with lineaments mythological. In the great acts that issue freshly out of what is noblest in our nature, there is an infiniteness of good, a boundlessness of power, which need the imaginative vision fully to compass and even to behold. Nor can the imagination, creative as it is, forerun or anticipate them. A moment before the act of handing the cup to the dying soldier, not a by-stander could have predicted it, it was as yet a latent ideal. The moment after, it was a lesson to humanity for all time, a sudden flame blazing forth from the divine there is in man, and destined forever to attest and to warm that indwelling divinity. in. CHARLES LAMB GEORGE IV. PRINCES. T ET us not be too diffident to believe that, -^ wearing other costumes, wielding other weapons, there are still Bayards and Sidneys around us. To nourish this belief, we will re- call the living days of one, who, if not quite of our generation, is, through his contempo- raneous biographers, as minutely known as our familiar companions, whose life, in its daily, superficial struggles and labors, was as com- monplace and homely as that of the dullest of his plodding neighbors ; and in whom there was such rare capacity of heroism and tender- x l_ness and beauty, that his character, still more than even his exquisite writings, is an abiding joy and fortification to all, whose souls have any affinity with self-devotion, any susceptivity to refinement. Charles Lamb, born in London in 1775, was CHARLES LAMB. 33 the son of a servant, who, during an almost lifelong service, so won the esteem and af- j fection of his employer, Mr. Salt, a bencher of the Inner Temple, that this gentleman ob- tained for his son Charles a presentation to Christ's Hospital, a high, richly-endowed Charity -School, founded by Edward VI. Here, the associate of Coleridge, Lamb re- mained from his eighth to his fifteenth year. At seventeen he obtained a subordinate clerk- ship, with slender salary, in the East India House, where he continued, rising in rank and pay, until his fiftieth year, when he was allowed to retire on a liberal pension, which he enjoyed for ten years, and of which, by another act of liberality on the part of the Directors of the East India Company, his sister had the bene- fit, they according to her after his death the portion that would have been due to a wife. Literature was the delight of Lamb, and his solace. Reading the best old books and con- sorting with great new poets, his delicate sen-\ sibility and subtle intellect were so cultivated, that, notwithstanding his six daily hours of en- 3 34 THE GENTLEMAN. chainment to the " dead desk," he made an enduring addition to English Literature in the celebrated Essays of Mia. The comrade and correspondent of many of the choice spirits that gave renown, and will give its best im- mortality, to the brilliant era ushered into Eng- land by the nineteenth century, his " Wednes- day Evenings " were frequented by Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, Godwin, Charles Kemble, Hazlitt, Wordsworth, De Quincey, Liston, Proctor, Tal- fourd. Among his intimate personal friends were Wordsworth and Coleridge, Hazlitt and Talfourd. We have thus two aspects of Lamb's life: the prosaic and the poetic ; his daily neces- sary, what the Germans would call bread- work, and his luxurious, intellectual, crea- tive work. The third and deeper life-current, the domestic and moral, in Lamb's case not only mingled with, modifying and modified by, the others, but by its purity and momentum, gave to his being its marked and lofty individ- uality. From the time of leaving Christ's Hospital he lived with his parents and sister CHARLES LAMB. 35 in lodgings near Holborn. When he was twen- ty-one there fell on him and his a fearful ca- lamity, on which " revolved the wheels of his after-life." I will let the words of De Quin- cey relate it : " In the spring of 1796, Miss Lamb, (hav- ing previously shown signs of lunacy,) in a sud- den paroxysm of her disease, seized a knife from the dinner-table and stabbed her mother, who died upon the spot. A coroner's inquest easily ascertained the nature of a case which was transparent in all its circumstances, and never for a moment indecisive as regarded the medical symptoms. The poor young lady was transferred to the establishment for lunatics at Hoxton. She soon recovered, we believe ; but her relapses were as sudden as her recoveries, and she continued through life to revisit, for periods of uncertain seclusion, this house of woe. This calamity of his fireside, followed soon after by the death of his father, who had for some time been in a state of imbecility, de- termined the future destiny of Lamb. Ap- prehending, with the perfect grief of perfect 36 THE GENTLEMAN. love, that his sister's fate was sealed for life, viewing her as his own greatest benefac- tress, which she really had heen through her advantage of ten years of age, yielding with impassioned readiness to the depth of his fraternal affection, what, at any rate, he would have yielded to the sanctities of duty as in- terpreted by his own conscience, he re- solved forever to resign all thoughts of mar- riage with a young lady whom he loved, for- ever to abandon all ambitious projects that might have tempted him into uncertainties, humbly to content himself with the certainties of his Indian clerkship, to dedicate himself for the future to the care of his desolate and pros- trate sister, and to leave the rest to God. These sacrifices he made in no hurry or tu- mult, but deliberately and in religious tran- quillity. These sacrifices were accepted in heaven, and even on this earth they had their reward. She, for whom he gave up all, in turn gave up all for him. She devoted her- self to his comfort. Many times she returned to the lunatic asylum, but many times she waa CHARLES LAMB. 37 restored to illuminate the household hearth for him ; and of the happiness which for forty years or more he had, no hour seemed true that was not derived from her." The wealth of man's heart consists in its power of giving. He who can make the most and greatest sacrifices is the richest. And his wealth does not support and enrich others only ; even more than them it enriches him- self; it makes him opulent with spiritual power. Or rather, the spiritual power within him braces him for the sacrifice, nay, by its easy might, draws out of the deed all sacrificial quality, so that, while witnesses are admiring it, to the doer himself it is an act facile and unstrained. This early one of dutifulness deepened and modulated Lamb's otherwise rich nature. The warmth of an overflowing sympathy it tem- pered ; the colors thrown by a sportful imagi- nation it sobered ; to the conceptions of a sub- tle intellect it gave breadth and substantiality. The large, lively spring whence it flowed fed a stream that, never stagnating, upbore a freight of friendships such as perhaps no other man 38 THE GENTLEMAN. .ever enjoyed. ' And this was the effect of re- action. Lamb gave himself with a cordiality and fulness that were unexampled. His ge- nial gentleness drew to him companions, whom then his sympathetic homogeneity held in the bonds of admiration and love. Lamb's courtesy was of the uncourtly, un- studied sort, the fruit of an ever-welling kind- liness and fellow-feeling. All who approached felt that they could trust him, his bearing was so frankly modest, his politeness, which knew no distinction of persons, so transparent. I will let De Quincey finish his portrait, in a passage which, if the reader has not seen it, he will thank me for opening to him, and if he has, for bringing again to his view. " He was a man, in a sense more eminent than would be conceivable by many people, princely, nothing short of that in his benefi- cence. Many liberal people I have known in this world, many who were charitable in the widest sense, many munificent people, but never any one upon whom, for bounty, indul- gence, and forgiveness, for charitable construe- CHARLES LAMB, 39 tion of doubtful or mixed actions, and for regal munificence, you might have thrown yourself with so absolute a reliance as upon this com- paratively poor Charles Lamb. Considered as a man of genius, he was not in the very first rank, simply because his range was a con- tracted one ; within that range he was per- fect. Of the peculiar powers which he pos- sessed, he has left to the world as exquisite a specimen as this planet is likely to exhibit. But, as a moral being, in the total compass of his relations to this world's duties, in .the large- ness and diffuseness of his charity, in the gra- ciousness of his condescension to inferior in- tellects, I am disposed, after a deliberate re- view of my own entire experience, to pro- nounce him the best man, the nearest in his approaches to an ideal standard of excellence, that I have known or read of. In the mingled purity, a childlike purity, and the benig- nity of his nature, I again express my own deep feeling of the truth, when I say that he recalled to my mind the image and character of St. John the Evangelist, of him who was 40 THE GENTLEMAN. at once the beloved apostle, and also, more peculiarly, the apostle of love. Well and truly, therefore, did Wordsworth say, in his beautiful lines upon this man's grave and memory, ' Oh, he was good, if e'er a good man lived.' " Such, from the testimony of -weightiest wit- nesses, was Charles Lamb. When England, ever rich in gentlemen, calls the long roll of the strong, glowing men that make her life so illustrious in the first quarter of the present century, not among the titled and the high- born, nor beneath stars and ribbons, even those the most worthily earned, nor under plumes and epaulets, nor amid the less as- piring ranks of refined inherited culture, not among these conspicuous, practised class- es, abounding in high examples, will she find her best model of the Christian gentleman ; him she must seek among the clerks of the India House. It happened, that a short time before his last illness Lamb had borrowed of the trans- lator of Dante, the Kev. Henry F. Gary, CHARLES LAMB. 41 another of his admiring friends, the The- atrum Poetarum Anglicanorum of Philips. The volume was not returned until after his death, when, finding the leaf folded at the ac- count of Sir Philip Sidney, Mr. Gary wrote the following lines : " So should it be, my gentle friend; Thy leaf last closed at Sidney's end. Thou too, like Sidney, wouldst have given The water, thirsting and near heaven ; Nay, were it wine, filled to the brim, Thou hadst looked hard, but given, like him. And art thou mingled then among Those famous sons of ancient song? And do they gather round, and praise Thy relish of their nobler lays ? Waxing in mirth to hear thee tell With what strange mortals thou didst dwell; At thy quaint sallies more delighted, Than any's long among them lighted ! ^Tis done: and thou hast joined a crew, To whom thy soul was justly due; And yet I think, where'er thou be, They'll scarcely love thee more than we." In contrast to Charles Lamb was his highest contemporary. But here I must first disarm a remark of Lamb's, which may look like a re- proof of what I am about to do. In an epis- 42 THE GENTLEMAN. tolaiy criticism on a volume of poems, sent him by his friend, Bernard Barton, the Qua- ker poet, he says, "I do not quite like whipping the Greek Drama upon the back of Genesis. I do not like praise handed in by disparagement; as I objected to a side cen- sure on Byron in your lines on Bloomfield." The objection, while it declares a sound canon of criticism, is otherwise sweetly characteristic of Lamb ; and were my main object here the drawing of his portrait, it would be good against me, and should stay my hand. To aim at heightening the Vatican Apollo or the Titian Venus by putting them in juxtaposition with a hunchback or a hag, were surely not more offensive than futile. But as the sketch- es of Lamb and others are secondary, are in- troduced as purely auxiliary to the delineation of the Gentleman, I am entirely justified in that beside positive illustrations of gentleman- hood I place others that are negative. To do so is indispensable to the accomplishment of the assumed task. By some of his subjects George IV. has GEORGE IV. 48 been called a " Brummagem gentleman." The epithet is not the exaggerated utterance of re- action in a later, healthier period against the fulsomeness and perverseness of that fevered, earlier one, so vulgarized as to term him the " first gentleman of Europe." It is faithful and discriminative. As Prince of Wales, as Prince Regent, as King, he showed himself to be the commonest metal glaringly plated, gor- geously gilt. He lacked earnestness and moral inwardness. There were no depths in him of evil or of good. Had he not been a Prince, he would not have been the most selfish and the most frivolous man of his day. He was all outside, a daily renewed product of tailors and barbers and perfumers and haberdashers, elaborately " gotten up," to perform the chief part at balls and receptions and dinners, to disport in the shoals of life, to shine in cere- monials and gairish parade and superficialities and wine-foamed word-passages. While Eng- land was straining her mighty muscles for self- preservation, and her Nelsons and Wellingtons were wreathing their names with immortality 44 THE GENTLEMAN. by rescuing the civilized world from the bloody grasp of the Corsican monster, he, an occiden- tal Sardanapalus, was the leader of Fashion in his capital, the competitor of dandies, the rival of Brummels. While his great country was reeling under the weight of her immense outlay, feeding the leagued armies of Europe, he was wasting millions on frippery and per- ishable nothings, on gaudy ostentations and senile sensualities, his annual tailor's bill amounting to a sum that were a generous portion for a baronet's daughter. And yet, so servile to rank and power, so dimmed in moral and aesthetic vision, was the titled crowd whereof he was the centre and summit, and so strong the glare that this crowd threw on its subordinate thousands, the liveried lieges of Fashion, that by his gen- eration of Anglo-Saxons the Prince Regent was admired as a model gentleman. The dy- nasty of Chesterfield had not yet been sup- planted. The Prince Regent was indeed a regal realization of the Chesterfieldian ideal, according to which, hypocrisy was the law of PRINCES. 45 manners, and worldliness a duty, and the shal- low flatteries of courtly speech, factitious con- ventionalities, fraudulent phrases, were culti- vated, not as the permissible and profitable externals of a man of fashion, but were of- fered and accepted as the credentials of a gentleman. But while thus unsparing towards the false gentleman, let us be charitable towards the man. Kingship is not favorable to manly virtues. King's sons are so sequestered, that the airs most needful to mental health visit them but faintly. The high walls of preroga- tive shut off the north winds of bracing op- pugnancy, the east winds of enkindling de- rision. Oaks cannot be raised under glass. Their gnarled grandeur they can only gain by tussling with wintry tempests. The qual- ities, whose activity moulds the character into strength and beauty, prefer a fair field and no favor. They prosper even on buffets. The sons of a king are denied the youthful super- lative privilege of being buffeted. A Prince, especially a Crown-Prince, lacks 46 THE GENTLEMAN. fulcrums whereon to adjust the lever of his abilities, from which adjustment comes the enlivening power wherewith men, not artifi- cially exalted, swing themselves aloft. Instead of the solid indispensable fulcrum, the Prince meets yielding cushions; so that his move- ments are more like falls than self-achieved ascensions; until, unless he be stiffened by rare rugged energy, or winged by genius, he ceases to make efforts ; and forces, that were designed to be toughened by conflict, grow flaccid from the obsequious capitulation of those who to others offer a determined, but at the same time auxiliary, because stimulat- ing, opposition. Self-help is the law of all successful life. Soul and body must earn health, or else not have it.- From this law men covet exemption, which is, to covet so much death. There is a town in England, Bedford I think it is, where, owing to the number and wealth of charitable foundations, so many mouths are gratuitously fed, that, it is stated, the mass of the laboring population has sunk into apathetic sloth. The pressure PRINCES. 47 of an irregular or extreme prosperity is as un- propitious as that of an extreme poverty. In either case nothing but exceptional individual fire bursts through the incumbent accumula- tion. IY. LEICESTER HAMPDEN WASHINGTON NAPOLEON ST. PAUL. r\N the other hand, men who do not inherit, but by active ability earn, prominent po- sitions, are apt to be coarse and greedy ; and so, the highest gentleman is by no means al- ways found in the highest place. Eminences, civil and ecclesiastical, and even military, are too often the prizes of much more self-seeking and stirring worldliness than are consistent with the best type of gentlemanhood. Bayard was to the end of his long career a subordi- nate, he who ought to have been a generalis- simo at thirty, and would, had he been more selfish (but then he had not been Bayard), and less modest ; for a great power in the world, but one incompatible with the purest gentle- manliness, is impudence, which is a compound of equal parts of self-confidence and unscru- pulousness. Sidney, although young when he NAPOLEON. 49 fell at Zutphen, was better fitted for command than he under whom he served, his uncle, the unprincipled worldling, Leicester, who, with all his birth and rank and magnificence, was as far from high gentlemanhood as the most ab- ject of his valets. Hampden was a man and a gentleman of the largest and finest mould, humane and intrepid, wise and refined, always kindly, always resolute, with a broad, far- seeing intellect at the command of feelings as warm as they were pure, as tempered as they were strong, a man full of dutifulness and heroism, with " a flowing courtesy to all men." A supreme gentleman was "Wash- ington, raised to the front of the world by the grand necessities of a sublime historical epoch. Napoleon was a sublime snob. Napoleon's mind was swollen with the virus of vulgar ambition. His moral nature, origi- nally cold and meagre, grew blotched as he advanced, festering with the lust of power and its subservient crimes. His love was ever self- love. He circled himself with dependants, not with friends. Dutifulness was unknown to 4 50 THE GENTLEMAN. him ; generosity he scorned ; tenderness he pitied. Bloated by the perpetual conscious- ness of his astounding exaltation, he had an enjoyment, that was at once gross and puerile, in the wielding of his super-regal sceptre. He had not in him purity enough to value truth- fulness and delicacy in others ; and, never letting the rights or feelings of a fellow-man stand in the way of his desires, he was at tunes as brutal in his bearing as he was sel- fish in his aims. In the treatment of women he was unmannerly and unmanly. He made his mother stand in his presence ! It was not the Caesarian conqueror, it was the Imperial parvenu that kept kings waiting in his ante- chamber ; a gentleman had been eager that their strange subordination were as little felt as might be. The man was maddened : he was possessed with a mania, a vast insatiable greed of dominion, that subdued him to a demon-darkness, and pulled the Emperor from his throne, the gentleman from his beauty and his propriety. Louis Napoleon, in intellect immeasurably inferior to his uncle, is as ma- ST. PAUL. 51 terial in his nature and as mole-eyed as he to the true grandeurs of Imperial rule ; but he is capable of generosity, and is at least a gentle- man in outward deportment. Napoleon, enwrapt in self-exhaled gloom, illustrates the suspension of moral freedom, the obscuration of the illuminating spiritual forces before pride, flanked by the blinding material forces. St. Paul illustrates the maj- esty of moral freedom, the potency of an in- _ ward might, with life enough in it to appease the animal insurgents, to calm the mutinous me, and subject the whole being to the domin- ion of feelings that, too high for malice, too clean for personalities, know nor self-seeking nor petty limitations. Within the core of Saul of Tarsus, the prized pupil of Gamaliel, " a blasphemer and persecutor and injurious," lay latent, gigantic moral energies ; else had he not been chosen to be assailed by that sun-sur- passing glare on the road to Damascus. After beholding that vision, after listening to that voice, he soared at a flight into the serene of almost transterrestrial mastership, whereby he 52 THE GENTLEMAN. was enabled to trample under foot all the pride and the rancor and the lusts and the narrow- ness of the Jew, Saul. Thenceforward the staple of his earthly life was a superiority to earthly pains and pleasures. He moved with the springiness of one who has just alighted from upper spheres, and thrids our grovelling crowds with a winged buoyancy. In Paul's nature there was rare breadth as well as vigor. In all circumstances he felt that easy com- manding self-possession which, in the ordinary conduct of life, is a characteristic of the gen- tleman. He was always equal to or above the situation. One of his highest qualifications for his great mission was his belief in an in- born human capacity for goodness and eleva- tion, a belief drawn from the depths of his own consciousness. The lofty, spiritually- minded Frederick W. Robertson, to whom clings so gracefully the too often unfitting title of Reverend, in one of those teemful, lucent passages that throng his pages as stars the transparent heaven, says of St. Paul: "And here you observe, as usual, that the Apostle ST. PAUL. 53 returns again to the great Idea of the Church of God, the invisible Church, Humanity, as it exists in the Divine Mind. This is the stand- ard he ever puts before them. He says, This you are. If you fall from this, you contradict your nature. And now consider how opposite this, St. Paul's way, is to the common way of insisting on man's depravity. He insists on man's dignity : he does not say to a man, ' You are fallen, you cannot think a good thought ; you are half beast, half devil ; sin is alone to be expected of you; it is your nature to sin.' But he says rather, ' It is your nature not to sin ; you are not the Child of the Devil, but the Child of God.' " Such faith in human nobleness yields bloom- ing fruit in daily manners, imparting to the carriage of a man towards his fellow-men, even in moments of reproof, respectfulness and gentleness, qualities so eminently exhibited by St. Paul. To this faith, rooted in intense fellow-feeling for his brother men, and thriving on the richness of his moral nature, was in him inseparably united as the blue to the 54 THE GENTLEMAN. red in the rainbow a deep, unwearied sen- sibility to the beautiful in life, a sympathy with the graceful in word and deed, a joyful recog- nition of the livelier presence of the divine in all excellence ; by which recognition and sym- pathy his own deeds were inspirited, to which his words owed much of their marrow and ringing emphasis, and without which his zeal had been maimed, and his eloquence shorn of its golden cadence, and we had not had the pithiness empowered by chasteness, the suc- cinct, elastic beauty we now have in the speeches before Agrippa and the Athenians ; nor had the fourteenth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, and the thirteenth of the first Corinthians, been the glowing models of wis- dom and terseness, the ever-fresh inexhaust- ible lessons that they are ; nor, in short, had he himself dilated to that large, symmetrical, impressive grandeur that makes him St. Paul. In the fourth chapter of the Epistle to the Ephesians are two verses, the twenty-fifth and thirty-second, which, sympathetically accepted and cordially put into action, would make him ST. PAUL. 55 who should so accept and act them a gentle- man, beside whom many who claim the title were tarnished gilt or shabby pinchbeck: " Speak every man truth with his neighbor : for we are members one of another." "And be ye kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another." In his practice, St. Paul was as thorough and exemplary as in his speech. When he was brought before the Council of the Jews at Jerusalem, the High Priest, Ananias, commanded those that stood by Paul to smite him on the mouth. " God shall smite thee, thou whited wall : for sittest thou to judge me after the law, and command- est me to be smitten contrary to the law ? " Here is the outflashing of a violated spirit against what was at once an injustice and a personal affront, the sudden wrath of a sus- ceptible gentleman, courageously asserting his rights and his dignity. But see the other, more unusual, and the more difficult side of gentle- manliness ; for high-spirited gentlemen are apt to be quicker to straighten themselves angrily against an assault than to bend for the due 56 THE GENTLEMAN. apology. But St. Paul -was as prompt to re- dress an offence committed by his own heat, as to repel an attack. " And they that stood by, said, Revilest thou God's High Priest ? Then said St. Paul, I wist not, brethren, that he was the High Priest : for it is written, thou shalt not speak evil of the ruler of thy people." In that trenchant chapter " of meats offered to Idols," the eighth of first Corinthians, after explaining that idols not being gods, the meats offered to them are not thereby defiled, and therefore, " neither if we eat are we. the bet- ter; neither if we eat not, are we the worse ; " nevertheless, take heed, he adds, lest this lib- erty which you have to eat or not to eat be- come a stumbling-block to the weak ; for they, not having strength of mind and knowledge to see the matter as it is, may sin against their conscience in eating this meat ; and he ends the short chapter with the following verse, re- splendent with moral beauty, and embodying much of the very essence of Christian gen- tlemanhood : " Wherefore, if meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the ST. PAUL. 57 world standeth, lest I make my brother to of- fend." One more illustrative passage I must cite from St. Paul, the conclusion of his speech before Agrippa. " Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian. And Paul said, I would to God, that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost and altogether such as I am." Here was a fitting close to the most beautiful, the most memorable speech on record. To all orators of whom we know, it had here been finished, and well finished ; not so to St. Paul. To him three words were yet want- ing to it, words which could only have been spoken by the tongue of one, a gentleman of ripest sensibility, of the most tender regardful- ness towards others, and of a high-bred grace, the like of which the king had surely hi his many audiences not witnessed before. Figure his great countenance, aglow with the sublime fulness of the occasion, as slightly bending forward and lifting up his manacled hands, he adds, " except these bonds." This ex- 58 THE GENTLEMAN. temporaneous utterance of exquisite yet sim- ple feeling, of subtlest consideration for his hearers, an instantaneous feeling-full thought- fulness, as far exceeds all famous strokes of oratory as the play of lightning does a pyro- technic ostentation. Two titles there are, \vhich, as the duplicate elaborate crowns of culture and of conduct, can neither be earned lightly nor arbitrarily bestowed, and must from their very peerless- ness be worn modestly, titles, to which be- long a costlier import, a more gleaming brill- iancy, that they were won by St. Paul. They who are so choicely entitled will wear them with proud humility, when they think, that by his nature and his discipline, by his aspira- tions and his knowledge, by his humanity and his refinement, the great Apostle of the Gen- tiles was preeminently a Scholar and a Gen- tleman. V. THE ANCIENTS CHRISTIAN INFLUENCE ROMAS SENATE THS DUEL BANQUET OF PLATO POSITION OF WOMEN AMONG THB ANCIENTS. TTTERE the Gentile contemporaries and pre- decessors of St. Paul, the high men among the Greeks and the Romans, the men from whose words and deeds we remote mod- erns have not yet done learning, who were the salt of the Pagan earth, and whose saltness has not yet lost all its savor, were the Brutuses and Caesar and Cicero and the Scipios and Sylla and the Catos and Pompey and Paulus JEmilius, were Pericles and Epaminondas and Miltiades and Plato and Dion and Timo- leon and Socrates and Xenophon and Phocion and Alcibiades. men whose greatness still feeds our thought, were they gentlemen ? It is a fine question, the brief consideration of which will bring us still further into the depths of our theme. 60 THE GENTLEMAN. Historically we find man elevated and en- larged under Christianity. He has become gradually imbued with certain great prolific ideas and sentiments : the Oneness and Pa ternity of God ; the innateness of high, un- selfish feelings, with a presentiment of their destined predominance in humanity; the sen- timent of universal brotherhood ; the exalta- tion of womanhood ; the spirituality of man as an eternally living soul; ideas and sentiments not only not prevalent among the Greeks and Romans, but not all of them apprehended by their highest minds, by Socrates and Plato, by Cicero * and Aurelius. Especially is belief in the spirituality and immortality of man incal- culably ennobling. So grand, indeed, is the conception of an endless, ever-brightening life, that no earthly mind has the grasp and inno- cence to compass it in its entireness. Could any one attain to an absolute, perpetual reali- * What a grand spiritual flash shot through the brain of Cicero, when he had such a sublime insight as to write, "Your father, Paulus, and others whom we speak of as dead, are still alive, while our present life, as compared to theirs, is death." CHRISTIAN INFLUENCE. 61 zation of his own personal everlastingness, he would be as surely purged of all stain as a body that floated on the confines of the Sun's periphery would be of darkness. What the difference is between intellectual impression, or even conviction, and the practical verification, the daily incarnation, of a great idea like this, we may form some notion, by contrasting with a warm, working Pauline faith, the traditional, conventional Sunday Christianity of the lis- teners in the highestrpriced pews in any of the churches of New York or Philadelphia. More by imperceptible diffusion and infiltra- tion, by slow almost unconscious permeation, than by intensity of action, have these generic feelings and principles, especially that of im- mortality, wrought upon the modern mind ; and a primary effect of them being a recog- nition of man as man (above his mere citizen- ship or productive utility), and a consequent respect for and sympathy with mere manhocd, they have gradually modified human inter- course and manners. It would be too much to say, that among the Greeks and the Ho- 62 THE GENTLEMAN. mans there were no gentlemen, although perhaps, bating a few very exceptional indi- viduals, even that position might be main- tained, but we are justified in affirming that the personal association even of their highest was not controlled by what at this day per- vades in some degree all Christendom, namely, the gentlemanly, a calmness and sweetness of spirit, fostered by independent manliness and the dignity of self-respect, made pliable and gracious by respect for others, a gen- tle considerate bearing on all sides, that, giving security and tranquillity to each one, generates an atmosphere which, though breathed in its purest condition only by those who are fa- vored both by education and temperament, tints the valleys and plains, as well as the heights of the social world with its delicate hue, and gives to the intercourse of Christen- dom a tone of more or less kindliness. In support of the position as to the absence of gentlemanly tone among the Ancients, I will cite two examples, taken from the very top of Pagan society. The first is a scene in ROMAN SENATE. 63 the Roman Senate, thus related by Plutarch: " While Cato was warmly contesting his point with Csesar, and the eyes of the whole Senate were upon the disputants, it is said that a bil- let was brought in and delivered to Caesar. Cato immediately suspected him of some traitorous design; and it was moved in the Senate that the billet should be read aloud. Caesar delivered it to Cato, who stood near him ; and the latter had no sooner cast his eye upon it, than he perceived it to be in the handwriting of his own sister, Servilia, who was passionately in love with Caesar, and by him had been seduced. He therefore threw it back to Caesar, saying, ' Take it, you sot, and went on with his discourse." Now, scenes of rudeness to match this though not exactly of the same character occur hi Parliaments, Congresses, Cortezes, Chambers ; but they pass not unnoticed. Within the walls where gather these assem- blages, reigns a paramount law of decency and propriety, the violator of which is called to order, is obliged to apologize to the House, 64 THE GENTLEMAN. and also to the object of his grossness, or suf- fer a loss of general esteem, besides having possibly to answer with his life for his lan- guage. But the Roman Senate did not feel its dignity offended by the scene ; nor had Caesar any thought of calling Cato to per- sonal account for such coarse, insulting words ; nor did it enter into the mind of any witness that, on the adjournment of the Senate, Csesar would despatch his young friend Anthony with a brief note, which Cato would answer through his friend Hortensius, (the same to whom Cato obligingly lent his wife,) and that the following dawn would find the four, with attendant sur- geons, issuing mysteriously out of the Cape- nian gate to interchange cuts and thrusts, (mankind had not yet the benefit of pistols,) possibly under cover of the Egerian grove. Had such a proceeding been foreshadowed on the brain of Csesar, it would doubtless al- though he of course was " as brave as Julius Csesar" have modified his action; so that, instead of indelicately thrusting such a billet, in open Senate, under Cato's nose, he would THE DUEL. 65 have privately shown it to a friend of Cato, who would then have whispered in the latter's ear, " Nothing to do with public affairs : of a very private nature ; " and so the matter had ended. And this, the gentlemanly course, Caesar would have pursued, not for the direct purpose of avoiding a duel, but cordially to conform to the requirements made by personal susceptibility and the reciprocal demand of re- spectfulness, feelings', the existence of which would have been proved by the very fact of their being guarded by a penalty so mortal and semi-judicial. But owing to the causes just now adverted to, and which are closely connected with the fact, that in ancient Paganism, the State was all in all, the indi- vidual citizen nothing, Man being, as it were, first consecrated by Christianity, there scarcely existed, even in the highest class, the sense of individual sanctity, with its bloody symbol, the Duel. The duel has undoubtedly had, in ruder times, a salutary influence on manners, albeit its growing infrequency in the most cultivated 5 66 THE GENTLEMAN. portions of Christendom proves that in the more advanced stages of social development it is not essential to the protection of those per- sonal rights and sensibilities that are un- guarded by the law. In acknowledgment of its social services it has been called the cheap- est and most effective police-measure ever con- trived, protecting, by the occasional sacrifice of life, thousands, especially women and the physically weak, against outrages of word or act, and insults from the brutal and overbear- ing. Its institution was a token and a fruit of a lively sense of personal honor, of a laud- able jealousy, however at tunes exaggerated, of individual dignity, of a manly readiness to hold inviolate, at peril even of life, the sacred- ness of private sensibilities. In battles and in brawls, the Greeks and the Romans were no less brave than we moderns, and surely they were not more moral or tender, or regardful of life ; and that in their higher classes they had not introduced the duel, is evidence of the absence of that susceptibility to personal out- rage, of that sense of fine responsibility which THE DUEL. 67 characterize gentlemen throughout Christen- dom, and to secure which they have found deadly weapons the best shield, which weapons are only now getting into disuse, their efficien- cy being merged in the fuller growth of in- ward refinement and outward courtesy, to which the consciousness of personal account- ability has no doubt contributed. The sanctity of the individual, the inviolable- ness of one's personality, lies at the basis of the modern duel, which in its essence means, whoever invades these does so at the risk of his life. As Christian civilization advances, this sanctity gets to be so recognized, that, to guard it, such liability is no longer needed. Infringement is so visited with general repro- bation, that the violator is rebuked as by a universal hiss, which, freighting the violation with consequences even more formidable than under the grosser penalty, checks the impulse to violation, while at the same time, through the elevating influence of moral culture, there takes place a solution of the duelling point of honor hi the predominance of general recipro- 68 THE GENTLEMAN. cal respect and reverence, personal sensitive- ness being modulated by a freer, purer atmos- phere, enfolding social intercourse in the trans- parent mail of cordial good-breeding. In the celebrated Banquet of Plato will be found another exemplification of the want of gentlemanly delicacy among the Ancients. The evidence furnished by parts of the speech- es of the guests, especially that of Alcibiades, is not less cogent, if the scene, instead of be- ing the description of a supper that actually took place at the house of Agathon, be an in- vention of Plato, to set off one of his elabo- rate discussions ; for in the latter case he would have adhered, even unconsciously, to the veri- similitudes of the occasion, and his recital, though otherwise fanciful, would be a picture of the sentiment and manners of the inter- locutors. It is true, Alcibiades, on arriving late, declares himself already drunk ; but he not only makes a clear continuous speech, but at the end of it Socrates says, " You seem to me, Alcibiades, to be sober." Indeed, what the Greeks called drunk, (Shelley in his WOMEN AMONG THE ANCIENTS. 69 translation has it " excessively drunk,") must have been very different from the mental de- thronement we thus designate, if one in that state could speak so intelligently and consecu- tively as Alcibiades in this long discourse. Most significant, well-nigh decisive, as to the non-existence of the gentlemanly among the Ancients, was the position of women. Upon constant, daily, life-long, female social interven- tion and participation, freely accepted and en- joyed, depends the culture of the finer sensi- bilities. To the formation of gentlemanly and lady-like habits of feeling, thinking, and de- meanor, a free, frequent, trustful interchange of services and sentiments, a steady interplay of powers between the sexes is indispensable. The Ancients seem hardly to have had moth- 'ers and sisters and wives and daughters, so completely are these kept in the background, so unparticipant in Greek and Eoman con- verse. There was little of that mental inter- marriage between the sexes, which is so pro- found and beneficent an element of Christian society, a union fruitful of proprieties and 70 THE GENTLEMAN. refinements, of purities and elegancies. Among the Ancients the two sexes lived almost in bar- ren, mental isolation. Their men were never inspired or encouraged by the thought of wom- an's approval. Very slight are the traces of female influence upon conduct. Of no young Grecian or Roman warrior would it have been sung as of Chaucer's Squire, " And borne him wel, as of so litel space, In hope to stonden in his ladies grace." VI. CSAB BRUTUS SOCRATES GRECIAN MYTHOLOGY HOMERIC HEROES IDEALS. the foremost man of all the Ro- mans, compels the admiration of the world by his easy superiority, by the dazzling brill- iancy of his practical genius, by his magna- nimity and by the grandeur of his bearing ; but he was withal a lofty worldling, a criminal self-seeker. And therefore, notwithstanding the splendor of his intellectual nature, not having the spiritual buoyancy to rise above the moral level of his time, he does not shine a premature impersonation of gentlemanhood. This distinction belongs, among the Romans, to Brutus. However short -sighted, politically, Brutus may have shown himself in slaying Caesar, neither that nor any other act of his life was prompted by ambition. Had he been a world- ly climber, a selfish calculator, he might prob- 72 THE GENTLEMAN. ably through Caesar's partiality for him have shared and succeeded to Caesar's power. But, as was said by the contemporary Romans, while Cassius hated the Emperor, the Imperial sway it was that Brutus hated. When ap- pointed by Caesar Governor of Cisalpine Gaul, for himself by his administration he won es- teem and love, and popularity for Caesar ; for he was just, self-denying, humane, in shame- less, ravenous times, when it was the custom of governors to be tyrannical and rapacious. A man of lofty but pure aspirations, and wide sympathies, all men trusted Brutus. Of a re- fined, impressible nature, he was not organized for the tumults, the coarse conflicts of public life, into which he was drawn by his patriotic spirit, by zeal for the general good, and by an innate, active love of justice. In the character of Brutus as drawn by Shakspeare, there is such warmth of coloring, such fulness and finish, that I have pleased myself with thinking that in it there is discern- ible what there is not in any other of his vivid delineations a personal partiality, an SOCRATES. 73 individual fondness, as though he had wrought at the portrait of Brutus with something more than the broad artistic love of the creative Master. A crowning confirmation of the claim put forward for Brutus, is his relation to Portia, which, in its confidential equality and men- tal intimacy, approaches much nearer to our modern conjugal relation than was customary among the Romans. And in confirmation of the importance claimed for female influence in the moulding of gentlemen, the first fact I cite in regard to Socrates, who, living four centuries before our era, was nevertheless an indefeasible Christian gentleman, is, that this transcendent Greek sought the society of women of talent, avowedly for the culture of his head and heart. Equally on the battle-field, at the banquet, in talk on the market-place, in philosophic dis- quisition, in political discussion, Socrates was the easy master of the situation and the com- pany. Always calm, apparently indifferent, while doing or saying better things than any 74 THE GENTLEMAN. other, he seems hardly to have been liable to anger or passionate outbreak, as though his nature were of a superhuman inexcitability, of a godlike breadth and equipoise. In his bear- ing there "was a sublime nonchalance, in his mind a majestic suppleness. The movement of his logic was that of a resistless mechanism, supplied from inexhaustible, inward fountains. His great intellect worked with as little effort as a water-fall. He suggests so much, that we think of him as of one who quitted the earth without giving forth the half that was in him. After teaching all the highest men of his day, and impregnating the mighty brain of Plato, his mind gave signs of a vast fund of unused power, as though fleshly ears were not deep enough for his wisdom, and he had to pass through the capacious portal of death into wider, wealthier spheres, to find companies that should be fit recipients of the whole beau- ty and affluence of his soul. Towards the end of his last day on earth, described in the Phcedo, that immortal trea- tise on immortality, that circumstantial report, SOCRATES. 75 invaluable to mankind, of the final words and doings of this -wonderful Athenian, perceiv- ing that the Sun being near its setting, the hour was almost come for him to drink the hemlock, he concluded a description of the various judgments awaiting men in the next world, with these words : " You then, Simias and Cebes and the rest, will each of you de- part at some future time; but now destiny summons me, as a tragic writer would say, and it is nearly time for me to betake myself to the bath ; for it appears to me to be better to drink the poison after I have bathed myself, and not to trouble the women with washing my dead body" That which is of the inmost es- sence of gentlemanhood, kindly, anticipative thoughtfulness for others, is here, consider- ing the occasion and the moment, carried to the height of the sublime. And although Socrates says, that he would bathe in order that the women as was the Grecian cus- tom should not have the trouble of washing his dead body, there doubtless mingled with that beautiful feeling another element, still re- 76 THE GENTLEMAN. fining its beauty, namely, a virgin-like mod- esty, an incomparable manly delicacy. In this little act, which stamps Socrates a rare, chival- rous gentleman, there is a depth of moral ten- derness that would have added another circle even to the multiplex crown that glistens above the head of Paul. Saving the awful martyrdom of that youth- ful divine life on Calvary, human annals have nothing grander than the death of Socrates, who in the spirituality of his nature stands supreme and alone among the great Greeks. The poetic creations of a People being a reflex of its character and its aspirations, Ho- mer and the Grecian mythology are quick with the predominant qualities of the Greek mind. The gods of Greece, even more than the Iliad and Odyssey and the tragic Drama, are the poetic outcome, so to speak, of Greek nature. A marvellous company they are, those gods, the resplendent attestors of the generative potency there was in the Greek mind that it could beget them. From their plastic beauty, their gladsome naturalness, GRECIAN MYTHOLOGY. 77 their infinitely discriminated diversity, they challenge the admiration of cultivated Chris- tendom. But nowhere among them do we perceive a Christian spirituality like that of Socrates. They are ah 1 of the earth, in their beauty earthy, and their desires. They come down to the earth not merely to take part in its conflicts, which might be and was the mark of celestial sympathy with terrestrial troubles, but also to taste directly of its sensual joys. And they have not far to come ; for the top of Olympus was less than eight thousand feet above the level of the earth. Sensuous they all are, shaken by mundane passion, conditioned by the circumscriptions of the semi-animal self. They have not their be- ing, like the Christian angels, and even the Hindoo deities, in a plane spiritually elevated and boundless. It may sound like a profane libel on the renowned Olympians, but there was not a gentleman among them. Jupiter, their chief, beat his wife ; so his claim is bar- red at once, without looking further into his way of life, which will not bear looking into. 78 THE GENTLEMAN. Apollo, as the God of Poetry and the Arts, ought to have been a gentleman ; but he was so under the dominion of self and passion, that, when King Laomedon refused him the prom- ised reward for helping to build the walls of Troy, he raised a pestilence and destroyed the king's subjects. Moreover, the infliction of plagues was one of his functions, one surely not compatible with the feelings of a gentleman. Among the Homeric Heroes we discover but one gentleman. It is not Achilles ; for no gentleman would have tied the slain body of the enemy's General to his chariot, and then dragged it on the earth round the walls of the besieged city in sight of its wailing people. Nor is it Ulysses ; for he, a finished, fascinating man of the world, was the greatest liar of Antiquity. It is Hector, the gener- ous, just, true-hearted Hector, who, by one of those irreversible perversities that immortalize a wrong, (like the immeasurable robbery com- mitted on Columbus in the naming of our con- tinent,) has been made he among the brav- IDEALS. 79 est and most unboastful of warriors to give a name to the braggart's mouthing, and is thus perennially pursued by a calumny. From the idealizations of the Greeks we now turn to those of the moderns, for such furtherance as can be had from them hi our search of gentlemen. And let no one be alarmed or discouraged by the mention of idealizations and ideals. Nothing is so prac- tical as the ideal, which is ever at work to up- hold and to better the real. The ideal is in- deed only the real seized at a deeper layer than is yet cognizable to common discernment. It is the catching sight, by the watchers on the foretop, of a real which we have not come up to, and which the crowd on deck cannot yet make out. The obvious, actualized real, taken simply by itself, unlinked to the past, out of which it has sprung, to the future, towards which it ought to tend, were desolate and dead. Were daily life to cease to be exhila- rated by hope, which is the teemful mother of the ideal, it would grow irremediably base and dull, and the earth would become 80 THE GENTLEMAN. peopled with Calibans. Men, to be men, must be ever looking beyond the present and actual, even of the earth. If all are not large and bold enough for the building of lofty castles in the air, not one but has tried his imagina- tive hand on an unambitious mansion, or a still more modest cottage. Was there ever a moth- er who was not a poet for her child ? It is with this superior, dreamt-of, hoped-for exist- ence, with this subtle promise, with these at- tainable possibilities, that the highest, the cre- ative minds, have ever been busied. The great books of the world are records of striv- ings after, of partial realizations of, a better than there was when they were conceived. None others survive but those whose authors have intuition and strength to go deeper and higher than present actualities. A French writer has said, " The masses have the sense of the ideal." If they had it not, humanity had never emerged out of savage crudeness. Through this sense it is that improvements and reformations are practicable : to this prophets and poets appeal. IDEALS. 81 The Poet goes, and must go, he is no poet if he cannot, below the surface, and there be able to appreciate and appropriate more or less of the essence that has not manifested it- self in phenomena or appearances to the gen- eral gaze. He first makes them manifest. Nay more, no one can even depict actual ap- pearances, the visible outward, which is effect, without insight into, and sympathy with, the invisible inward, which is cause. To him who would correctly represent the real, the ideal must be vividly present, and according to the depth and truth of the ideal conception will be the fidelity of the representation of the real. But for the presence of ideals, draw- ing our regards into the undivulged deeps of human potentialities, far beneath the froth and scum whipped up by endless eddies of selfish- ness, common life would be, to the finer organ- izations, unendurable, and many of the best spirits would be driven, like the anchorites of old, to segregate themselves from the daily haunts of men, and shun the din and discords of traffic and ignoble aspiration, to save them 82 THE GENTLEMAN. selves from an ever-freshened sadness and a never-respited despair. Turning from the Ancients to the Moderns, from Homer we pass easily to Shakspeare. But before leaving the Ancients, let me add a mitigating word. The highest forces in man, the moral, are slow to unfold and ripen. The Greeks and the Romans and the Hebrews, although to us an- cient, lived in the youth, were the youth, of hu- manity. How gradual is the growth of the moral power, we learn from our present selves, who, so incalculably beholden to it, show yet such partial allegiance to the exalting rule of char- ity, justice, and spiritual freedom. Never- theless there having been, under Christian in- fluences, a steady moral growth, the modern conscience is a finer, stancher thing than the ancient. Saving Socrates and a few excep- tionally upstretching natures, no ancient had the depth and stability of moral conviction, the breadth of principles, which millions of moderns have and live by. Only with a Chris- tian development comes a general conscious- IDEALS. 83 ness of divine help in all good work. To the Heathen the superhuman was counterhuman. He did not feel to the full, that a high con- science has ever an unfailing friend in God. VII. SHAKSFEARE'S HISTORICAL PLATS PROSPERO ORLANDO ANTONIO THE HEAL MARRIED TO THE IDEAL SIR ROGER DE COVERLET Mr UNCLE TOBY DON QUIXOTE SCOTT COLERIDGE SHELLEY BYRON HIGH-BRED TONE IN WRITING BCRNS KEATS SHAKSPEARE. rPHOUGH the gentleman be an aesthetic per- sonage, fragrant, like poetry, with the aroma of life, he needs, as we have said, a sound moral pith for his full florescence ; and hence the Homeric Gods and Heroes come not up to the highest standard of gentlemanly manhood. Nor in Shakspeare should we look in the historical plays for exemplifications of the gentlemanly ; for, through the long dy- nastic contests, which for several generations kept the soil of England wet with successive showers of native blood, the persistent com- batants, kings and princes and nobles, were assuredly as perfidious, conscienceless, ruth- less, remorseless, sanguinary a file of practi- cally heathen villains and ruffians as a poet SHAKSPE ARE'S HISTORICAL PLAYS. 85 could anywhere find to work with. The times were coarse and cruel, black with plots, assas- sinations, and executions. Men had not time or opportunity to be gentlemen. A Sidney or a Bayard would hardly have made himself scope. Hotspur, and his rival Prince Hal, though not darkly stained, as so many others, are rude, gentlemen in posse rather than in esse; and Hotspur is wilful, though Heaven forbid that we should wish him other than he is by a tittle ; and the great Faulconbridge is coarse, as .becomes him to be ; nor would we exchange his rough tongue for a score of smoother ones, for such catching vigor is there in his vaulting speech, that the reading of him aloud before breakfast were, to a poetical dys- peptic, an appetizing tonic. Albeit the tragedy of Lear is not historical, being wrought into its thrilling grandeur out of fable and tradition, we may knowing what England has since become invest Kent with historic reality, and behold in him a pre- venient representative of all fidelity, loyalty, self-devotion ; exhibiting superb proportions, be- 86 THE GENTLEMAN. nignant capabilities ; carrying within his lordly heart the germs which, beneath the future Sun of Culture, were to be warmed into a breed of bountiful gentlemen. And the same sublime tragedy has a mate to Kent in " France," who eagerly takes for his Queen Lear's disowned and dowerless daughter, with a gush of gener- ous warmth that prefigures Bayard, addressing her, " Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken ; and most loved, despised ! " Prospero, the wrongfully deposed Duke of Milan, is a magnificent gentleman. His Duchy was the first through all the Seignories, " And Prospero the prime Duke, being so reputed In dignity, and for the liberal arts Without a parrellel, Neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate To closeness and the bettering of my mind. 1 ' His gentleness and sweet parental tenderness, his cordial joy in forgiving his wrongers, his long-nurtured gratitude to Gonzalo, his super- regal graciousness, all crowned by a subtle, majestic intellect, make Prospero a peer of the supreme creations of poetry, a master to teach ORLANDO. 87 and exalt manhood, a figure whose amplitude and beauty " cannot be measured or con- fined." Orlando, in As You Like It, whose un- natural brother, to quote Orlando's own words, " Keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept," and " mines my gentility with my education," has in him " a something that Nature gave him," which keeps him fine in spite of coarse nurture, and buoys him up through the beatings of adverse fortune to the high place which was his even more by nobility of disposition than by birth. That Adam, an old family-servant, " In whom so well appears The constant service of the antique world When service sweat for duty not for meed," who says of himself, " Though I look old, yet am I strong and lusty ; For in my j-outh I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; " r that Tie should be fervently willing to devote 88 THE GENTLEMAN. to his young master himself and the hoard he had saved to be the "foster-nurse" of his age, is testimony more absolute for Orlando than even the love of Rosalind ; for maidens princess or shepherdess will sometimes be- stow the whole treasure of a virgin heart upon one whose fairness is chiefly of the outside. But how fully is the inward beauty of Orlando proclaimed by the churlish tribute of his bad brother, and by the spontaneous ejaculations of Adam, prompted by his fears, when he meets Orlando before the house of Oliver ; and how distinctly do his words portray the leading features of a gentleman : " What ! my young master ? 0, my gentle master, 0, my sweet master; O, you memory Of old Sir Rowland! Why, what make you here? Why are you virtuous? why do people love you? And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bony priser of the humorous Duke? Your praise has come too swiftly home before you. Know you not, Master, to some kind of men Their graces serve them but as enemies? No more do yours ; your virtues, gentle master Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 0, what a world is this, when what is comely Envenoms him that bears it! " AS YOU LIKE IT. 89 Not a comedy of Shakspeare so teems with wit and wisdom and poetry as this of As You Like It, whose plot and framework are laid with purpose to allow the poet a riotous liber- ty, freest scope for a joyous, audacious fancy, unrestrained but by its own law. This beau- tiful, most sparkling, and sunny of comedies is spiced, too, with a flavor of personality ; for in its bounding, gleesome, exuberance we think we perceive, poetically mirrored, an individual joy, the gladness of the liberated poet on turn- ing his back, as was his frequent wont, upon London, to go down and revel in Warwick- shire. It is a poetic transfiguration of coun- try life and landscape, one melodious, many- voiced, gurgling song, laden with the poet's rural memories and imaginations ; the twofold delight in his work, as poet and man, so in- citing him, that not a drama of Shakspeare furnishes so many golden lines and phrases to hearten and rejoice the floating currency of English speech. I have been lured from my purpose, which is, not to characterize this great comedy, but 90 THE GENTLEMAN. to mark a short passage in it that is relevant to our general aim, evincing as I interpret it more than a dramatic propriety, some- thing that may be termed a gentlemanly jus- tice. In, the second scene of the first act, the wrestling scene, when Celia exclaims, " Here comes Monsieur Le Beau," Rosalind adds, "With his mouth full of news." Then follows his account of the sport that the ladies have lost, namely, the breaking of three men's ribs by Charles, the wrestler, which brings down a hit from Touchstone. The impression left on the reader, fortified by Le Beau's des- ignation as " A courtier attending on Fred- erick," the Usurper, is that of a frivolous, heartless court-gossip ; and in a play so glad- some in its general march, so gayly fanciful in its combinations and contrasts and solutions, this impression, if unremoved, were a dra- matic defect. Accordingly, at the end of the long scene, Le Beau comes back, to warn Or- lando of danger, which he does in fine iam- bics, and with a manner and tone friendly and elevated, proving that the place he fills of an ANTONIO. 9l idle talker about the court, is one imposed upon him (as is more or less the position of so many people in a factitious world), by the tyranny of circumstances, and that he is at bottom a man of heart and not without gen erosity. Antonio, the Merchant of Venice, wins our sympathy by what he is even more than by what he does ; and what he is we learn in the opening scene, from the genial confidential relation which we see exists between him and the band of his light-hearted comrades, who, treating him with fraternal familiarity, evi- dently feel him to be their superior, whom they love as much as they esteem. Affection- ate towards them all, he moves among them with a natural stateliness, which is the un- forced expression of instinctive grace, and healthful, moral sensibility. His readiness with his purse and person, and his " extremest means" to aid Bassanio, who is already in his debt, in any way that stands "within the eye of honor;" his untrafficking spirit that "lends out money gratis," and will not 92 THE GENTLEMAN. let him sink the man in the merchant; hia compassionate liberality, that had delivered so many from their forfeitures to Shylock ; all this bespeaks a nature of the most dutiful and the noblest. His crowning testimonial is the brief letter written to Bassanio when he be- lieves himself about to die through forfeiture of the bond, a letter that, in its tender sad- ness and generous most touchingly disinter- ested consideration, breathes the purest spirit of Christian gentlemanhood. We have thus noted, for our purpose, a few of the choicest among the gentlemen that stand immortal models in the pages of Shak- speare, where they appear as the same class always do in actual life spontaneously. In no instance had Shakspeare a direct con- scious design of depicting a gentleman ; but having, as a chief constituent of his prodigal being, a true and rapturous sense of the beau- tiful in life, the grace of gentlemanhood falls naturally and inevitably upon his nobler and best-balanced characters, which hereby exhibit in compact artistic form that intimate marriage THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 93 between the ideal and the real which is of the very essence of creative Art. A genuine work of Art always combines generic breadth with throbbing individuality, that is, an in- finite ideal with a finite real. From the ideal comes every trait of beauty. It comes thence, but whither does it go ? To the real. If it finds no heart-and-lung-endowed individual, it cannot stop. No earthly lodging being pro- vided, it evaporates. The beautiful is a heav- enly birth seeking an earthly home, and Shak- speare stands foremost amongst those who pro- vide it with one, solid and sightly. Let me add, in illustration of the principle, that in Racine there is want of the real element, in Moliere of the ideal. The incarnation of the beautiful in what we are endeavoring to depict, a gentleman of the finest type, rare, as we have seen in real life, is rare in the life of fiction. Before quitting this attractive field, we will rest our attention for a few moments on two or three other chil- dren of the imagination, one of whom is as vividly present and as firmly moulded as the 94 THE GENTLEMAN. gentlemen of Shakspeare. But first, a few words about one less distinguished, who tow- ards the close of the last century was a con- spicuous personage, and who, if not now so much known and admired, is still esteemed : Sir Roger cle Coverley. The mind of Addison was not rich or in- tense enough for creativeness. It could not be wrought to a white heat. Its fire was too languid and too stinted in fuel for fervent im- aginative action. Sir Roger de Coverley is a benevolent country-gentleman, with innocent patrician eccentricities, a humorist in the superficial practical sense. He is a provincial gentleman, still further limited by being of the " Old School," in which conventionalities of class, verbal courtesy, hat-in-hand grimacery, assumed too much to themselves, and, under cover of a thin showy costume of manner, made men pass for gentlemen, from whom, if disrobed, you would recoil as from a leper. Sir Roger needed no such disguise, for his was the gentlemanliness of the heart. That the best blood flowed in his veins, he showed SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 95 by his conduct, the only test of good blood, and had a right to be proud of one of his progenitors, Sir Humphrey de Coverley, who " was in his dealings as punctual as a trades man and as generous as a gentleman. He would have thought himself as much undone by breaking his word as if it were to be fol- lowed by bankruptcy." Sir Roger, it was said, died somewhat suddenly, Addison fear- ing that he would be vulgarized by a less skil- ful hand than his own. That Steele, or any other of the " Spectators," should have thrust his pen into the pages dedicated to Sir Roger, was so indelicate a disregard of a colleague's artistic rights, a breach of literary propriety so gross, as of itself to prove the writer dis- qualified for the refined delineation of a gen- tleman. Such a fear, coupled with displeas- ure at the intrusion, may have hastened Sir Roger's departure ; but nevertheless, his por- trait was already finished. Far broader and deeper, more poetical and more real, is " my Uncle Toby," a man and a gentleman to consort with whom braces one's 96 THE GENTLEMAN. moral resolution. A character more exqui- sitely wrought, in its conception more pro- foundly simple, executed with a more vigilant truthfulness and a subtler delicacy, does not exist in literature. Authors and critics are fond of having a fling at Sterne, and some would take a prude's airs over him for a few blotches raised by an erotic fancy on the un- fading pages of Tristram Shandy. When those censures happen to be cleverly worded, they draw the public gaze for a moment ; but at best they are but verbal rockets, that die the instant after they break into life, while the stars towards which they were flung come out undimmed forever. The whole range of prose-fiction presents no group artistically so fine as that collected in the parlor of Shandy Hall on a full evening. In this delectable as- semblage the most captivating figure is that of " my Uncle Toby," in watching whose words and movements, the tears stealing from under the emotion of beauty are at times drowned by a flood from the depths of pathos. One more example from among the pro- THE KNIGHT OF LA MANCHA. 97 geny of the brain, to whom genius has given a warmth that makes them companions and friends, only less dear and profitable to the generations of men than the great predomi- nant spirits whom God bestows for our guid- ance. Of this mental offspring no individual is more widely and cordially cherished than the glory and pride of Spain, the renowned Knight of La Mancha. If the reader will review and question the individuals we have cited from life and from fiction, to illustrate our theme, he will discover, that the characteristic common to them all is, the readiness of each one to go out of and be- yond himself. The more heartily and grace- fully this is done, the finer is the type of gen- tlemanhood. In every instance, from Bay- ard to " my Uncle Toby," whether the deed be generous or seemly, substantial or formal, there is in it a substitution of another for the doer, a suspension of his own desires for the fulfilment of the desires of some one else, the making of his enjoyment consist in the impart- ing of enjoyment to others. And this, ex- 7 98 THE GENTLEMAN. amined closely, will prove to be the quality of all the doings peculiar to gentlemen, from the chivalrous offering of one's life, to pro- tect the unprotected, to the offering of a bow, which daily, superficial, transient act is, sym- bolically viewed, the throwing of one's self dutifully towards another. To do an honor- able deed is, to subject the self to justice and truth ; to do a dishonorable one is, to subject justice and truth to the self. "We are author- ized then to assert, that in every gentlemanly act the agent unselfs himself. And this is the cardinal feature in the life of Don Quixote. Under the momentum of a heated imagination he goes forth to redress the grievances of the world. The unnatural heat swells him to heroic purposes and proj- ects. The eighteenth chapter of the second volume has an enumeration of the virtues and acquirements needed in a Knight Errant, from which we learn what an exalted standard the Don strove to live by. The disproportion be- tween his means and his end, is the measure of his hallucination : the grandeur of the end, DON QUIXOTE. 99 and his entire self-dedication to it, give the elevation of his nature. Of his purse or his person he never has a thought. Whilst others eat, he discourses nobly and instructively on high themes; when his companions retire to rest, he takes station outside the Inn-gate to stand sentinel through the chilling night, and guard them from danger. His extravagances are always chivalrous. It is not that like com- mon madmen he is beside himself: he goes be- yond and far above the common self. He cannot escape being called a madman, but in his mad- ness there is a moral method. He is boun- teously mad, a madman through the ideal magnificence of his aims. To the stoutest " bulls and bears " on " 'Change " a gentleman of fine grain would seem as absurd as the Don does to the multitude. There are more San- chos in the world than Quixotes. And is not Sancho who, through the flattery and pres- sure of his greeds, actually gets to believe hi the Don and his promises as mad as his mas- ter ? He swallows the monstrosities of the Knight's sublimated fantasy, because they give 100 THE GENTLEMAN. him hope of the everlasting filling of his belly. And this is precisely the hallucination of all who are dominated by the sensual and the worldly. Cajoled by their lower desires, they live as though they believed in the everlasting- ness of fat kitchens and of fat dividends, and of the " good things" these can buy, and they believe that through buying are to be had the best things of life ; refusing to know, that when they shall have quitted the earth they will get neither hams nor hock, and that the sensuous earth is but their cradle and their nursery. If a man, reputed sane, could be- think him, what and how he will be a hundred years hence, would not much of his present strugglings and wrestlings look like a duel with windmills ? But he will not thus wisely bethink him, and as grossly as Don Quixote mistook garlic-breathed wenches for Dulcineas, does he go on mistaking mist for water, and a mirage for a succulent harvest. Granted, that the immortal Knight is mad, we will not stand by and hear the Sanchos upbraid him with his madness. He is sublimely not vulgarly mad. SCOTT. 101 And what a gentleman he is, our dear delight- ful madman ! Who does not look to have from him, in whatever encounter, courtesy and generosity ? Who would not take his word as soon as his bond ? Who would not trust wife and daughter and honor and purse to his keeping, and not feel that they were safe. Cervantes in Don Quixote had no more direct design of drawing a gentleman than Shakspeare had in Prospero. Possibly, even with them, the pre-resolve would, in any such attempt, have frustrated itself and have weak- ened the execution, just as in real life the live- lier colors of gentlemanhood pale before cal- culation or consciousness. In one of his later novels Scott attempted to embody a gentle- man. The way to make one with the pen is the same as to make one out of flesh and blood. Take a warm, strong, true man, with arteries exquisitely red with sensibility, and let his rich instincts have the discipline of sharp self-culture working on outward trials, with so much opportunity for choice intercourse as is necessary for the play of the finer sympathies. 102 THE GENTLEMAN. To work after this fashion with the pen re- quires high forgetive resources. Scott, genial and humane, fell short of this imaginative su- premacy. Coleridge, with his feminine refine- ment and superb endowments, could have done it, had he not lacked will to execute a con- ception requiring sustained minute labor ; or Shelley, except that in his mind there was a taint of morbidness ; and the gentleman must be as healthy as a fir-tipt mountain-top. Wordsworth, with all his visionary percipience and thoughtful sensibility, wanted the con- creting gift, and somewhat, too, the Christian glow ; and thence he does not succeed at im- personation. Byron's nature was too animal and unnoble ; and however in his higher moods he could have appreciated the disinterested- ness of the gentlemanly essence, his thoughts could not have been kept of that pure hue, but would inevitably have become streaked with his native insuperable selfishness. Aside from the creation of characters, which implies felicitous poetic power, the pages of some writers are pervaded by a chaste and BURNS KEATS SHAKSPEARE. 103 generous spirit. This high-bred tone, the fruit evidently of unworldliness and superior truth- fulness and sanctity, is especially noticeable, I think, in Spenser, in Coleridge, in Jeremy Taylor, in De Quincey, in Shelley. Its pres- ence presupposes fineness in the texture of the brain, with cordiality and spontaneity of mind and modesty of nature. In others, equal in force and even truthfulness, it is not so ob- servable ; and is still less in the class of clever ambitious writers, in whom there is a restless aim at effect and immediate sensation, as in several of the popular living novelists, who are thence more or less tainted with vulgarity. The genuine poet is ex officio a gentleman. In the proudest drawing-rooms of Europe the peasant Burns would have moved with un- taught ease and propriety, the accepted mate of the highest born and the highest bred. Cowden Clarke, the friend of Keats, has a right to say of that superlative genius, that " had he been born in squalor he would have emerged a gentleman." And Shakspeare ! what a genial, fascinating, graceful, radiant 104 THE GENTLEMAN. gentleman he must have been. His gallery of women proclaims him such as absolutely as the works of Raphael proclaim him a poet. Were ladyhood to be struck by some spiritual plague, and so vanish from the earth, it would find a sanctuary in the pages of Shakspeare, whence could be restored its most distin- guished type. As rainbow and lightning in the sunny morning vapor, within the young abounding brain of Shakspeare lay tenderly unconsciously coiled the beauty and power of manhood and of womanhood, to unwind and shape themselves in his broadened, deepened years, permeating and vivifying the peopled Paradise he evoked, to be for his race a joy and a nourishment forever. VIII. THE MORAL AND THE POETICAL THEIR ALLIANCE IN GENTLEMAN- HOOD THE GENERIC THE "LIBERAL" PROFESSIONS IMPAR- TIALITY OP NATURE MANNERS LORD CHESTERFIELD. TT7E will now descend from these altitudes, up to which we have been drawn by the necessities not less than by the attractions of our subject. The descent will not be sudden ; for the aesthetic, or poetic, being a cardinal element in gentlemanhood, when the moral power, to which it and all else yields the chief place, ceases to act in its fullest force as it does act in the transcendent few whom we have cited the aesthetic, which in those few even was essential to their brilliancy, becomes more notable, and, among men of not pre- dominant moral strength, gives superiority ac- cording to the measure of its presence. As the lives of Sidney and Bayard were poetry in action, so every gentleman is, according to his degree, a practical poet, the poetical mani- 106 THE GENTLEMAN. Testing itself, not in the beauty of verses, but in the beauty of conduct. In the poetic ema- nation there is a cleansing virtue which con- fers on him from whom it flows interior tone as well as outward lustre. An inward font of poetry keeps the mind agitated by its cur- rent, and thus purged of dross. If the font gets fouled by the neighborhood of base qual- ities, its flow slackens, (as has been strikingly shown in some poets), and the man slips from his height of gentlemanhood. The alliance hi gentlemanhood between the moral and the poetical is not accidental or temporary or superficial ; it is essential and permanent a union of absolute interdepend- ence, an indissoluble intimacy, reciprocally grateful and indispensable. The moral needs the poetical for its full vivification and enlarge- ment : the poetical, lacking the moral, is scanted in its best juices, and soon shrivels, and runs to coxcombry and affectation, if not into paralyzing vice and impoverishing selfish- ness. In short, gentlemanhood needs what all concomitants and constituents of civilization THE MORAL AND THE POETICAL. 107 need, a moral basis ; without which basis civilization bears neither flowers nor fruit nay, without which, civilization were not, and could not be. In the majority of men the moral power is regulative not motive. Few are the Oberlins and Howards and Pauls. Men of sound na- tures are not all, like these ethical geniuses, impelled by the moral element, they are re- strained by it; not driven, like them, into virtuous excesses, but withheld from vicious. Descended then from the heights where we have tarried so long, we find ourselves on an expansive level, not by any means a dead level or a low, but a live level and a high, ani- mated by numberless inequalities, and ranging above the flats of multitudinous humanity, a broad plateau, in sight of and enclosed by the breezy, luminous heights already described, and large enough to give free movement to the eliminated crowd, who claiming, and more or less possessing, the superiorities which, resting on a moral basis, are built up by aesthetic cul- ture constitute by general, tacit, and not al- 108 THE GENTLEMAN. ways willing consent, the class of gentlemen, a class, the boundaries of which are not very definitely marked. The gentlemanly always involves poetic cul- ture, or as in its lowest aspects conform- ity to the results thereof, even if the culture show itself but superficially and outwardly. Faint or orient the spirit of beauty shines through the gentleman ; and beauty always implies something that is neither circumscribed nor petty. Aristotle says, " Poetry is more philosophic, and more deserving of attention than history ; for poetry speaks more of uni- versals, history of particulars." And poetry, it may be added, deals with universals because its staple is feeling, which it illustrates and ennobles by a refined fidelity, a truthful exal- tation. The gentleman (who never would have been were there not in the heart of hu- manity a craving for the beautiful, what we may term the poetic instinct) asserts his claim by signs of breadth a breadth which is the result of susceptibility to the beautiful, wrought upon by commerce with the world ; like a peb- THE GENERIC. 109 ble on the beach, which gives evidence of hav- ing been rounded and smoothed by attrition with thousands of others, all mingled and shaken and rolled together by the heave of the limitless world of waters. As there are stones of so loose a substance as to be crum- bled by the waves of the sea, or so rugged as to be incapable of smoothness, some men are crushed instead of being polished by the world's pressure, and some refuse to be pol- ished ; and the smoothed and rounded, unless in addition to evenness of texture they have a lasting preciousness of quality, will not be lifted up to sparkle in the crowns that begem the forehead of humanity, but will remain in the pile of shapely pebbles. The generic being demanded in the gentle- manly character, the specific is a detraction therefrom. Thence, whatever is local or per- sonal, provincial or professional, is inconsistent therewith, and, if not countervailed by a more than common individual breadth and aesthetic generosity of nature, will be fatal to one's pre- tension. The smell of the shop is not fragrant 110 THE GENTLEMAN. in the nostrils of gentlemanhood. The more petty and circumscribing the occupation, the more obstructive it is to the growth of gentle- manhood. Thence, the "liberal" professions and wholesale counting-rooms feed its ranks, which get little sustenance from the retail counter or the journeyman workshop, the lim- ited routine of the latter implying contraction and belittling confinement of the faculties and aspirations. So, on the Continent of Europe where feudal prescriptions have been in- vaded and disrupted, but by no means sub- dued even the liberal professions and upper commerce are excluded from the highest cir- cles ; and that, not on account of blood, for many of the socially best born drop, through weakness, out of these circles, but because mercenary occupations are presumed to at- taint the freedom and largeness and inde- pendence, which are the conditions of a high gentlemanhood. And this they surely do, un- less their temptations are counteracted by in- dividual nobleness and purity. The habit of acquisitive eagerness, of buying as cheap arid IMPARTIALITY OF NATURE. Ill selling as dear as possible, eats into the mar- row of manliness ; and overreaching and crafty trafficking are as incompatible with gentleman hood as perjury is with piety. But what is best in humanity proceeding from an inward motion, and Nature not being partial, the gentleman springs up spontane- ously in all circles, and at times with such an inborn equipment as to resist the crush of ad- verse circumstances. On the other hand, the righteous impartiality of Nature exhibits many of the externally most favored as impotent to profit by their privilege, the oldest escutcheons being tarnished at tunes with the stains of faithlessness and sycophancy, and now that gold is more than ever a necessary support to rank, the high-born showing themselves en- thralled by its lusts, and drooping with the meannesses and falsehoods that attend an ig- noble devotion to its possession ; while behind the aprons of coarse labor we meet occasionally with traits of nobleness and refinement, that were lessons for him who has improved good opportunities, and that put to shame many an accidental gentleman. 112 THE GENTLEMAN. I am casting too deep a line, peering too searchingly below the surface, it will be urged : manner and air go for so much in the gentle- man. But manner and air except in the counterfeit gentleman, who is soon detected are due to what is inward. Habits of carriage are the fruit of habits of feeling. A man of low sentiments will betray ignobility, however tutored he may have been in polished schools ; nor will the proudest pedigree insure the wearer of a ducal coronet against coarseness and foulness of nature and their infallible out- ward manifestation. Good manners are so much a passport, that worldlings especially those whose way has not been made for them, but who have to make it for themselves cultivate them assiduously, school themselves with laborious watchfulness, and make themselves the most tractable of them so superficially proficient, as to climb by means of a fair outside with cat-like quiet- ness and agility. Such men are not masters in manners : they are masters of the art of manners. They use manners to seem to be MANNERS. 113 what they are not : they act manners. One of the best touchstones of the genuineness of gentlemanhood is the bearing of a man with inferiors. Turn one of these well-mannered, self-seekers into a hovel, and his silken speech and pliant guise drop from him as suddenly as his regal port does behind the scenes from the buskin ed king, or his cloak from the muffled villain ; and the smiling, climbing time-server stands unkinged in ungentlemanly harshness and heartlessness. No man need or ought to comport himself to all persons at all times with one uniform style ; but a true gentleman, (though not necessarily bounteous,) is never harsh and unfeeling, and has it for a law of con- duct, to be uncivil to no one. There is an easy self-possessed carriage, ac- quired (by the capable) through hereditary or habitual association with the well-bred, a sup- ple conformity to, or rather, a genial concord- ance with, the demands of good-breeding, an unobtrusive polish, which denotes the man of the world, and is the armor of the gentleman, and is as much expected in refined drawing- 8 114 THE GENTLEMAN. rooms as washed hands and clean linen. And among men of a certain range of social com- merce there exists a free-masonry, without compact or outward badge, whereby through subtle indications lost upon the uninitiated they at once accredit each other, and in- stantly feeling at ease, unbend, are communi- cative, and even, trivially, confidential. This subtle rapport, created by a life of familiarity with the higher social circles, consisting in a nameless tone, an indefinable presence, an indescribable, imponderable, sesthetic aura, is nevertheless a mere bond of outward rank, and binds so little intrinsically, that should two strangers, meeting on a journey, interchange silent mutual recognition of each other as members of this ancient, unmystical order, and thereupon establish harmonious conversa- tional relations; and should one be a father and the other a bachelor of thirty, the father would no more intrust his daughter to the safe- keeping of his congenial new acquaintance than he would indorse his note, being well aware, that command of the bienseances and MANNERS. 115 colloquial tone of good company, carrying though it does membership of a choice ex- clusive confraternity, and the select result of long social education, is yet so external, that it is no guarantee of honorable conduct or even of a persistent private good behavior; and that his velvety, well-mannered companion may possibly be a fugitive from deluded cred- itors, or a seducer of his friend's wife, who, moreover, should you cast a doubt upon his honor, would pistol you at ten paces. "We will prize good manners at their real worth, which is high, when they are truthful, when they faithfully represent what the heart is and wills. Good manners promise much : let the promise be fulfilled. If it is not, they are false manners, however good they may look. There is nothing hypocritical about the genuine gentleman, and the heartiest would rather have his outward mien below than above his interior self, and under no cir cumstances other than simple. There needs no wide experience to learn, that a man, malleable and clever, with histri- 116 THE GENTLEMAN. onic gifts, can put on good manners, and wear them with an air so original, that others than the dull-witted will be taken captive, not per- ceiving that they are imitative and cuticular. A man of this stamp plays his part well ; but he is a social actor, not a gentleman. Nay more ; in so far as through mannerliness he deceives, and compasses selfish ends, that are at times to others injurious or ruinous, he is more hateful than the ruder knave, who has not the art to get currency for his gilded brass. It is true, the gentleman is known by his man- ners, and this recognition is a homage ; for it implies, that in his bearing there is neither effort nor artifice, and that his manners are but the polish of a fine grain, not a varnish to make the grain seem finer than it is, or to dis- guise a coarse. The gentleman is an aesthetic fruit on an ethic stem : if the stem be not ethic, the fruit, however sightly, bears no handling, and if eaten, proves to be bitter or poisonous. Moreover, all men nowadays, even the most rustic, are by general civilization con- LORD CHESTERFIELD. 117 strained to civility, and manners being oil to the wheels of worldly progress, a polished out- side is almost as universal as are coats of fine broadcloth ; so that many a man is externally urbane who is not a gentleman, wanting as well his subtle seemliness as his deeper trust- worthiness, though entitled to recognition for gentlemanlike deportment. And so much has to be accorded even to some who are base and slavish. But the gentleman has fresh impulses and original promptings, under which, guided by an aesthetic sense, he will strike through forms tougher than those of outward demeanor, and, not fearing responsibility, flash into acts of startling but, captivating boldness. The gentleman feels his inward life with such ful- ness and vivacity, that he careers upon the furrowed sea of performance with triumphant power of resistance and self-direction. Your worldling may be a gentleman, but not of the first degrees : he is too much under outside dominion, and when most the gentleman is least the worldling. Lord Chesterfield was a worldling-gentle- 118 THE GENTLEMAN. man; and how surely the gentleman sinks when the worldling is in the ascendent his doings and counsel teach. Enforcing advice to his son by his own example, he tells him that on entering life, " my great object was, to make every man I met with like me and every woman love me ; " that is, he abased the gentleman to satisfy the worldling. In any and every man it is of course commendable to desire the good-will of all other men; but to set about through art and outside to make himself liked which does not even imply a grounded good will by every one he talks to, is to be weak hi that masculine self-respect which is a preponderating element in gentle- manhood. It is daily to practise the fraudu- lence of the demagogue in private intercourse, to become a bowing beggar of all passers for the small change of approbation. Look at an- other sample of paternal advice, bearing in mind that he to whom it is given was a boy of seventeen. "Make your court particularly, and show distinguished attention, to such men and women as are best at Court, highest in the LORD CHESTERFIELD. 119 fashion, and in the opinion of the public ; speak advantageously of them behind their backs in companies who you have reason to believe will tell them again." A man not of principles but of expedients, Lord Chesterfield strove to cultivate manners in his son as a means of worldly success, es- pecially as an invaluable aid in the diplomatic career. " Even polished brass," he tells him, " will pass upon more people than rough gold." Add to this the following sentence, and we have the texts upon which were written most of Chesterfield's Letters to his Son ; " The pleasures of low life are all of this mistaken, merely sensual and disgraceful nature ; where- as those of high life and in good company (though possibly hi themselves not more mor- al) are more delicate, more refined, less dan- gerous and less disgraceful; and in the com- mon course of things, not reckoned disgraceful at all." Chesterfield found the standard of gentle- manhood low, and he left it lower. His once famous Letters are now historical, constituting 120 THE GENTLEMAN. an instructive document on one province of English life, towards the end of the last cen- tury ; but, fifty and forty years ago they were practical, and even in our country were put into the hands of young men by moral fathers, who had not read, but adopted them from their English fame ; and gentlemanhood, which has since revised and rejected them as canon, is not yet entirely purged of the virus where- with they poisoned it. The failure of Lord Chesterfield in his cher- ished aim was even comical. The son grew up to be curiously deficient in what the father set so much store by. He was a man of sense and acquirement with common manners, and could not take a polish ; and possibly for this he deserves respect, as besides aesthetic inca- pacity it may have indicated a native honesty of core. He was more the gentleman for his very plainness. At all events, not being born to be a graceful, winning man of the world, all his father's discipline and persevering pains could not make him one. An ancient king of Scotland, being under weighty obligation to LORD CHESTERFIELD. 121 an humble woman, offered to grant any favor she would ask. " Make my son a gentle- man," exclaimed her true maternal heart. " I can make your son a nobleman : I cannot make him a gentleman," rejoined the king, uttering a deeper truth than he knew ; for a man must be born a gentleman in a finer sense than the word commonly imports. IX. HONOR PERSONALITY PRIDE AND VANITY FASHION VULGARITY TNTO the texture of gentlemanhood the sen- timent of honor enters integrally as a bra- cing constituent. In its healthy condition honor is the accompaniment and complement of noble individuality. The single man is vivified and straightened by a warm sense of independent 'self-subsistence, whereof honor is at once the offspring and the guardian, a guardian as sleepless as the anxious maternal -eye, as ten- der to every approaching breath as an aspen- leaf in June. Honor is not a virtue in itself, it is the mail behind which the virtues fight more securely. A man without honor is as maimed in his equipment as an accoutred knight without helmet. Honor is not simpje truthfulness : it is truthfulness sparkling with the fire of a susceptive personality. It is something more than an ornament even to the HONOR. 123 loftiest ; and Alfred and Washington had been incomplete without it. Originating in self- estimation, it yet gives no countenance to the pretensions of egotism, and differs as much from an inflated pride as a dignified self-re- spect does from the stiffness and cold-pokerism of self-conceit. One who deserves that it he fully said of him, that he is a man of honor, is one in whom uprightness is fortified by a keen sense of personal responsibility, and honesty is made graceful and stately by a spirited self-reliance. The honor that Hotspur would " pluck from the pale-faced moon or bottom of the deep," and that is the subject of Falstaff's catechism, is a synonyme of reputation a something to be conferred by others, the creation of an out- side opinion, in which sense the word is mostly used by Shakspeare, in the singular as well as the plural. That which can neither be con- ferred nor taken away, which is interior, and inviolate except by the owner, the refined es- sence of the noblest selfhood, we now express by the word honor, which at the same time 124 THE GENTLEMAN. retains in certain relations the more external meaning. As some of the best things become by per- version the worst, their very virtues giving a virulent potency to poisons, the life-sustaining air itself carrying when foul the largest freight of death, so honor, whose name is a promise of purity and elevation, is liable to such warp and debasement, as to be turned into a shield of vice and be forced to entwine itself defen- sively even around dishonor. The sovereignty of self, not duly tempered, grows despotic from narrowness and blind from despotism, and, mistaking its own will for light, decrees brown to be white and foul fair, half-believing its own decree. Men who have betrayed weighty trusts, and made shipwreck of hon- esty, cling with a wild, semi-dubious defiance to honor, or rather to the name, and challenge its protection, with the same right as a pirate would that of a great nation's flag that he had flung out from his topmast in the agony of de- feat. Even the blackleg and the libertine strive by help of it to piece out their rags HONOR. 125 into a dress-suit, and boldly wielding the rem- nant of self-respect which is divinely left, as a nest-egg of regeneration, even to the most abandoned impose on many people with what Coleridge calls " the ghost of virtue deceased." The point of honor is a shifting point, vary- ing in fervor and changing its place, according to age and country. In the darker, less stable times it is most vivid, and has been especially sparkling and active among the " proud Span- iards," thus revealing, that it is hatched in the beetling eyries of pride. If too long and closely it haunts the rocky region of its birth, it grows fantastical and tyrannical and imprac- tiable, and will lead him, who follows it too far, into ugly falls. Like the pharos-flame, it may help you through a night-tempest on a dangerous coast ; but its sole function is, to apprise you where you are, leaving to your in- ward resources to work out a safety. If rea- son and principle are weak or overruled, not only will it have no power to save you, but a jack-o'-lantern will be taken for a beacon, and 126 THE GENTLEMAN. even honorable men misled by the partiali- ties and sinuosities of self may be betrayed, by the very point of honor, into wrongfulness and crime. Longer and more numerous than were the roads out of Imperial Rome, are the lines whereof a cultivated Christian is the centre, lines that connect him with his neighbors and those mentally akin, and then, running to all corners of the civilized world, lose themselves in the infinite and eternal. He is a fixed cen- tre, without definite circumference, but with radii innumerable, that are the chords where- on play the magnetic currents of life ; and ac- cording to the messages which they carry or bring, are a man's gains or losses, joys or sor- rows, improvement or declension, exaltation or humiliation. His personality is the pivot of each man's life. By the qualities that have become asso- ciated with and the individuals who have most illustrated it, the term gentleman implies an elevated, purified personality, and therewith a constancy and manliness which, whether or not PERSONALITY. 127 they be exhibited in government of others, im- port a steadfast command over one's self. The motions of a gentleman should be self-ruled with a smooth regality of will. These mag- netic currents therefore should, on arriving to or issuing from him, be commingled with and controlled by a virile, individual virtue, which at once beautifies and intensifies their life. A healthy gentlemanhood makes of the heart a centre so vivid, that it throws off" or consumes all hurtful influences. We have called honor the essence of noble selfhood, a central feeling, sterling and subtle, that has its birth in self-regard, that looks solely to itself for worth and preservation. On the other hand, the word honors, in the plural, means a something that comes from abroad, that depends upon outward opinion and decision. A man of honor may not be a man of honors ; though true to his best self, he may not be, nor desire to be, the object of conspicuous public consideration. His neigh- bor, though not a man of honor, has honors heaped upon him, achieving and valuing an 128 THE GENTLEMAN. outward reputation and its fruits. Well is it and significant, that one word expresses such diverse, even opposite, things, their union be- ing needed to the consummation of character ; for, a due regard for general opinion, a sus ceptibility to censure or approval, if inwoven with a full self-estimation, enlarges and supplies without weakening the individuality. Equi- librium between them produces a graceful strength, and the man is more comfortable to himself as well as to others of whom it is not said that he is proud or he is vain. Pride isolates : vanity diffuses. Pride is self-satisfied: vanity reaches self-satisfaction through extraneous satisfaction. Pride is di- rect : vanity is circuitous. Pride can array itself in the dark : vanity must have a look- ing-glass. Pride gives his stately gait to the Arab : vanity puts paint on the tawny skin of the Sioux warrior, and on the fair, feminine skin of tribes that live on the Hudson River. A product of vanity is Fashion, which is in- deed a conglomerate of vanities, wherein is sparsely intermingled the grit and more often the scoria of pride. FASHION. 129 Fashion, as the child of vanity, is fed on the transitive and showy, on superficialities and externalities. Fashion is a usurpation of the temporary over the enduring. It is idle- ness putting on the airs of occupation. It busies itself with the cut and color of clothes and furniture, with wrappages and teguments and redundancies, ever seeking, like its mother, to catch the eye with novelty and material glare. It is thus at points with beauty, which is modest and psychical, as it is with the true, which is unchangeable. It is often a rebel against grace and a distorter of nature, but for whose impregnable might and sleepless, re- stringent, unavoidable authority, it would break into intolerable aberrations and illegalities. Fashion and worldliness are inseparable twins ; or perhaps it were more logical to regard their relation as voluntary, and call them a married couple, the dashing adventurer, Worldliness, having, for a faster success, taken to wife the capricious, cajoling widow, Fashion, (relict of deceased Earnestness,) who submits to the yoke for the sake of the rule. At all events, 9 130 THE GENTLEMAN. the alliance between the two is so intimate and effective, that the worldly are the most watch- ful observers of and conformists to fashion, de- signing thereby to gain for themselves protec- tion and consideration as the cheerfully sub- missive subjects of a powerful despot. Fashion is sensuous, and so is doomed to an endless search of new stimulants, which leads to weariness and satiation, as these do to cal- lousness and cynicism. A sexagenary of fash- ion is, from inherent sequence, hard and blasS. His best years have been sucked of their sweetest juices by the petulant fevers of levity and ostentation : the ingots of his manhood he has beaten into shallow gilding and fan- tastic trinkets. His look into old age is like that of a traveller, who, with his back to the green and growing fields, peers over a precipice into an extinct volcano ; except that the traveller can turn round to enjoy again the freshness and flavor of life, while he has forfeited such liberty, and can only regain it through a heart-shaking, individual, moral revulsion, which shall rekindle in him FASHION. 131 the long - smothered flames of sympathy and faith. The tyranny of fashion disheartens and per- verts the best ladyhood and gentlemanhood : its predominance is a sign of spiritual weak ness. For gentlemen to give way to it unto subjection, is a partial abdication of the social throne. Their part is, to rule, not to be ruled, to rule quietly, imperceptibly, but not the less potently, over modes and socialities and aesthetic secularities, to rule through inward, rightful empire, whereof demeanor is but a partial outward expression. Do they cease to be initiators and foremen, their rank is for- feited, and gentlemanhood, shaken in its up- rightness and its independence, loses its pres- tige, and the social tone is lowered. The good there is in things evil may be dis- covered to lie here in the drawing together, the feeling together, the acting together of a large multitude not otherwise in harmony. In the vast extension, in latter times, of the do- minion of fashion, the thoughtful and hopeful may discern a wide, lively power of cob'pera- 132 THE GENTLEMAN. tion, preluding, as it -were, in a superficial ex- hibition, for a deep beneficent display of asso- ciative virtue ; and even see a significant sym- bol in a monstrosity of apparel, interpreting the circumvestment of the globe with crinoline into a prefigurement of world-encircling intel- lectual and moral bonds. The gentleman being genuine through in- born qualities well cultivated, is not imitable except in his surfaces, life not being imitable but only life's integuments ; and fashion deal- ing with perishable outsides, striving ever with a restless multitudinous effort to make appear- ance do the work of substance, becomes the parent of vulgarities. A gentleman may be disagreeable, he may be coarse on occasion, he may be rough, rude, even for the moment un- gentlemanly, so fallible are men, but he cannot be vulgar. What is vulgar, what is vulgarity ? The opposite of beauty is ugliness ; but neither is ugliness of itself vulgar, nor he who is content with it. But when to a deficient sense of the beautiful is joined the pretension VULGARITY. 133 to possess it, there is a beginning of vulgarity, which blows out into full grossness when there follows a self-sufficient vainglorious display of the pretension. A man is vulgar, not because he has no sense of beauty in conduct or bear- ing, but because, not having any, he wishes ambitiously or ostentatiously to seem to have. Vulgarity thus consists in a pretentious, obtuse conceit : it is an attempt to be what from aes- thetic deficiency one cannot be, accompanied by unconsciousness of the impotency, a sort of open-eyed blindness that leads to the com- mission of numberless petty enormities. A man will spend half a million on pictures, and have a gallery of daubs. He is vulgar, not because he has bought bad pictures, which he might do from indifference or misplaced be- nevolence, to assist incapable artists, but be- cause, not having a sense, and a cultivated sense, of beauty, from obtuseness he believes that he has, impelled by vanity to affect a sen- sibility which he has not. There is no necessary connection between vulgarity and humbleness of birth. Day-la- 134 THE GENTLEMAN. borers are even less liable to exhibit vulgarity than other classes, who, from their better worldly position are tempted to affect to be still higher than they are. The hard-working masses are too much straitened for affecta- tion. Humbleness of station is, in choice na- tures, compensated by an elevating humility. Nature, moreover, has no more respect for our emblazoned dignities than a conflagration has for the title-deeds of a Barony. Out of a room full of Dukes and Earls, Charles Lamb would have been picked as the man of the whole company whose physiognomy, carriage, and speech most strongly illustrated the oppo- site of vulgarity. The intellectual sparkle of his countenance, clarified, transfigured, by a light ever flaming outward from the beautiful, was tempered by an expression drawn from moral depths, that told of tragic trials hero- ically withstood. The vulgar man's face is no tablet for recording aspirations and trials. His desires are gross, his ambitions worldly, his disappointments earthy. Vulgarity implies shallowness of nature and VULGARITY. 135 therewith crudeness of performance, its chief domain being the more exposed phenomena of social life, which afford a field for the display of minor vanities and pretensions and impu- dences. The vulgar man is not civil, he is officious, and, from doltish indelicacy, is prone to meddling, and thus becomes at times offen- sive as well as ridiculous. Moderation, mod- esty, unobtrusiveness being characteristics of gentlemanhood, vulgarity shows itself in the contraries of over-doing and excess. Over-dressing is vulgar, especially in wom- en, for the glare of the sun-lit and eye-lit street. Toilets, even when tasteful as to col- or and style, denote, if habitually rich and showy, mental vulgarity, their transparent de- sign being by superficial material means to im- press the beholder. The refined beholder is unfavorably impressed, suspecting such out- ward richness (except on grand gala-days) to be the mask of inward poverty ; and regard- ing simplicity of dress in the wealthy as a promise of wealth in resources of heart and head. In individual instances he may err on 136 THE GENTLEMAN. either side, but a prevalent fashion of costly dressing is a sign of general vulgarity. The finest type of ladyhood would recoil offended from her mirror at seeing herself besilked and befeathered and bejewelled for a morning walk or drive. She will be as simply elegant in her attire, in doors or out, as in her manners ; will not exhibit, either in the one or the other, the slightest effort to outvie her neighbors; will show her mind, and will charm, by the taste- ful selection and combination of refined ma- terials, and weakens not her native dignity and personal attractiveness, by the costliness or showiness of her raiment. In her apparel will be expressed the modesty and chasteness of her nature, and she will blush to be obliged, (which no lady should allow herself to be,) to conform to the fashion of very " low dress- ing," an exposure, the immodest purport of which "jumps into the eyes" of the spectator at a Paris Bed Mobile. Natures there are so gross and egotistic and unspiritual, that even a sense of beauty (shown, however, in the material and fugitive) VULGARITY. 137 cannot save them from vulgarity; as if to bear witness and the more emphatically be- cause exceptionally that the foundations of all best manhood rest on the moral. A. large proportion of vulgarity is negative ; that is, in the demeanor there is no ambitious effort, which makes conspicuous the aesthetic obtuseness, but this obtuseness and want of social culture become transparent through juxtaposition with refinement. The individ- uals do not actively, eagerly affect to be what they are not ; but yet, being where, from obvious deficiency, they are out of place, there is, by their mere presence, a seeming to be what they are not, and thus is fulfilled the chief condition of vulgarity. Some people may be said to be modestly vulgar. In language vulgarity shows itself, not so much in the use of coarse or inappropriate words or of low or uneducated phrases, as of such as denote a falling from the refined stand- ard through aesthetic incapacity. Vocally to add an h to monosyllables or polysyllables be- ginning with a vowel, or to interchange w and 138 THE GENTLEMAN. v, is a grievous lapse from the elocution of the English tongue, betokening lack of sensibility to the beauty and proprieties of speech. Per- sons guilty of these oral crimes are uncon- scious of having committed any breach of law ; but this unconsciousness, evincing aes- thetic hebetude, is the essence of the vulgar- ity. These and similar vices in phrase or elo- cution are endurable in Fleet Street or Smith- field Market, where the mind's verbal utter- ances are curtailed and despoiled by the gross simplicity of its needs and the maiming routine of its work ; but when in a drawing-room of Mayfair or Belgravia they assail the ears of a scholarly gentleman, he experiences a distress- ful shock, and his first motion is to treat the culprit as the " conductor " treats a passenger without a ticket. Luminous atmosphere brings out vulgarity, as varnish the lights and shadows of a picture. X. VARIOUS KINDS OP GENTLEMEN FRAGMENTS LADYHOOD CON- CLUSION. TTTHAT is so deep and so alive with prin- ciple and power as gentlemanhood will, in the multiplicity of its combinations with ac- tion, exhibit itself in a vast variety of personal and social phenomena, modified endlessly by individualities. A brief characterization of some of the embodiments thus thrown up on the social surface will help to illustrate the principle illustrations which are partial and limited, and must by no means be taken for an attempt at a full classification of gentlemen, an attempt, the success whereof were very problematical, and which is altogether too am- bitious for our present purpose. First then we will name the conservative gentleman, but the crowd of gentlemen "who" dress "with ease" are conservative, jealous of encroachment, suspicious of change. 140 THE GENTLEMAN. The gentleman has not necessarily a big brain, and we once read an apt description of an in- dividual, as having a smallish, well -shaped, gentlemanly head. Were there not now and then a big brain amongst them, the whole company would shrivel ; while, on the other hand, some who are not of the largest intel- lectual calibre are lifted into the advocacy of great causes and great changes by generosity and courage of nature, like Mathieu de Mont- morenci and Lafayette, two shining examples of gentlemanhood, select compatriots of Co- ligny and Bayard. The conventional gentleman, a stickler for forms and conformity, somewhat stiff and set, is apt to be timorous, and thence overrates the past and distrusts the future. He mag- nifies the quiet deeds of the drawing-room, together with the whole social apparatus of visiting, small talk and various dressing; thinks punctilios terrestrial pivots ; prefers the superficial to the profound, not being adven- turous enough to learn, that it is as easy to swim in deep water as shallow, nay, easier. VARIOUS KINDS OF GENTLEMEN. 141 The excitable gentleman is a variety uncom- fortable at times to himself and to others, his irrepressible, nervous vivacity running over, like the steam that noisily escapes from the lid of a teapot. An essential, almost a con- dition, of gentlemanliness being self-possession, he finds himself frequently on the edge of a momentary forfeiture of his rank. A variety more to be pitied is the dyspeptic. gentleman, he being subject to constant self- reproaches and contritions from minor breaches of the convenances, through petulance and crossness caused by bodily malaise. The idle gentleman, not having within him- self wherewith to feed his mind, comes upon the town (your gentleman about town) and has to be mentally supported by the community. The retrospective gentleman is a subvariety of the conservative ; or, we might say, a su- pervariety, seeing that, in the tenacity of his conservatism, he becomes a scoffer and denier of the present. Each new day steals upon him like a thief, who comes to purloin some- thing of the precious past. As the waves of 142 THE GENTLEMAN. time roll in from the menacing future, he ever dreads an inundation ; and standing with his back scornfully turned towards the encroach- ment, and his eyes half-closed, the better to hold the mental images of the irrecoverable past, and his ears untuned, except to the songs of bygone joys, he is liable to get individually swamped by the purges that bring refreshment and vigor to all around him. Striving to draw fragrance and nourishment out of memories and preterperfect imaginations, he walks through the present as a fine lady through a malodor- ous alley. The eccentric gentleman, when not a man of wit or genius, must at least be of more than common cleverness. An eccentric fool or me- diocrity will not be -tolerated. The eccentri- city of a gentleman is the humorous enjoyment of the freedom which is the privilege of spirit- ual superiority. Were all men as free as he, there would be no eccentricity, each pursuing his individual path without disturbance of other orbits, all being concentric about a remote pre- dominant power. VARIOUS KINDS OF GENTLEMEN. 143 The courteous gentleman sounds like a pleo- nasm. But all gentlemen are not courteous, nor is courtesy a profound quality of gentle- manhood. Courtesy, originating at courts, im- plies a dignified, respectful, high-bred manner, acquired in an atmosphere of ceremony ; and is thus rather self-regardful and self-protective than kindly, stately and proud, rather than gentle and winning. The high-bred man is not necessarily the best-bred man, and a genial gentleman is a finer type than a courteous. Indeed courtesy is comparatively conventional and superficial. The type of the superfine gentleman is given by Hotspur in his description of " a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed, fresh as a bride- groom," who questioned him, smarting from wounds, with " holiday and lady terms." He looks as though he had just been rubbed all over with pumice. You would say that for his toilet the milliner had been called in to help the tailor. His laugh is only an audible smile ; his breath is too precious for speech much louder than a whisper ; and a strong 144 THE GENTLEMAN. epithet grates on his nerves like profanity on the ears of a pious woman. To speak of the pushing gentleman is a semi-solecism ; but in treating of gentlemen, it becomes us to use liberally the gentlemanly virtues of tolerance and forbearance. Having the essentials, we can put up with aberrations that do not deaden them, inconsistencies that are not so trenchant as to be chaotic, and par- tial infringements. Let not, therefore, a gen- tleman be cashiered for being on unfrequent occasions a little pushing. The evil in men is so neighbored, by good, and often by a kind and degree of good least looked for, that, learning charity from a discriminative experience, we find the judg- ment will miscarry, even in what is such a product of beauty practically cultivated as the gentleman, if we judge without a considerate tolerance ; while with this, we shall sometimes have the pleasant surprise of detecting a gen- tleman in a man who blows his nose with his fingers, or wills his fortune to his wife during widowhood. FRAGMENTS. 145 In the evolution of a strong, rich subject, fragments will be thrown off that exhibit its inmost grain, and thus serve, as well as what has been smoothly incorporated, to elucidate it; and, having issued from the mind of the writer when in warm vibration, help that of the reader to give clearness and completeness to the image he draws out of the pages before him. Some such fragments, that seem best fitted for this end, we here insert. The polish of a gentleman is a refined effect from within, as different from the servile ac- commodations of fashion, or the unctious lu- brications of worldliness, as the gloss on the cheek of healthful innocence is from the cos- metics of vanity. The word polish does not rightly characterize the condition, which is an effluence, a perpetually renewed freshness and fragrance, whereof the subject is as unconscious as the pine-tree of its perfume. Manners should be more felt than seen : they depend for their excellence as much on what is not done or said as on what is. The man of the best manners has no thought of his 10 146 THE GENTLEMAN. manners, nor do you perceive that he ever has had, so perfect in him is the marriage between nature and discipline. His manners are not put on with his dress-coat : they are ingrained, and are spontaneous, like his talk. A gentleman is cleanly and comely, all his outward, of dress, bearing, and speech, be- tokening simplicity and inward cleanliness. Gaudy or flashy apparel suggests, if it does not denote, interior flimsiness or meretricious- ness, which is a deduction from gentleman- hood. The artificial becomes not the gentle- man, who, if he wears a wig, wears it for use, not for show, as Washington wore false teeth. In a hearty gentleman there are no little- nesses. The minor details of his life are not mean : they are petty, not pitiful. In order that he seem large, distance and ceremony are not needed. He is a hero to his valet de chambre, if he happens to have one. Nay, he is a gentleman to himself. The gentleman is not too subjective : he is able, and likes, to go out of himself, and see things as they are, unrefracted by his particu- FRAGMENTS. 147 lar desires or prepossessions, surveying them with indulgence. The man -who forever hugs his own conclusions, is but a beggarly gentle- man. The gentleman is, above all things, free. A slave, therefore, he must not be to things any more than to persons, not to conventionalities or fashions any more than to kings or patrons. He is first of all a man, and to be a man he must be a freeman, above voluntary subser- vience. Through involuntary servitude the gentleman shines undimmed, as did Cervantes through his Algerine chains. In presence of the grandeurs of the world he is as unmoved as a Mohawk, and dines from dishes of gold or talks to a king without constraint. Every gentleman will not always be above selfishness, and, from their aggregate qualifi- cations, men may bear unchallenged the choice appellation, who will at times use their oppor- tunities for their own advantage. But a gen- tleman will be negatively rather than posi- tively selfish. He may dine oftener than one with disinterested digestion would on capon 148 THE GENTLEMAN. and Burgundy ; but he will not rob a hen- roost. A gentleman may brush his own shoes or clothes, or mend or make them, or roughen his hands with the helve, or foul them with dye- work or iron-work ; but he may not foul his mouth with a lie, he must not lie, he need not lie, even in the year 186-. There is no sinister or even wayward shifting in the true gentleman. You know where to have him. He is sensitive to the pressure of responsibilities. The sense of dutifulness elevates his conduct into serious activity. Although not demanded for his qualification, generosity amplifies the gentleman. But men wanting in spiritual liberality, who are not ready with acknowledgment of merit, who make of envy a bosom-companion, whose ap- probation is centred in themselves, are but halting, laggart, niggardly gentlemen. Admi- ration and reverence are uplifting elements in gentlemanhood. His gentlemanhood is finally judged, not by FRAGMENTS. 149 what a man has by possession or inheritance or opportunity, but by what he is. The gentleman is fine in bis delicacy, "wounds no one's sensibilities, asks neither intrusive nor unfeeling questions, is never over-curious or in- terrogative, carries unselfishness into small, daily things, giving kindliness to common acts and sincerity to politeness. A gentleman of the best type is habitually accommodating and considerate, prompt for petty service as well as capable of large. In his heart there is a central tenderness which is ever percolating in lively streams to the sur- face, making his demeanor sympathetic and welcome. The refined generosity, the spon- taneous unselfishness, that characterize the gentleman of the purest type, were illustrated with beautiful originality in the practice of an eminent Frenchman, who forty years ago was Minister from France to the United States, and who afterwards filled high official posts at home under the elder Bourbons, M. Hyde de Neuville. In the streets of Paris he had the habit of offering his umbrella to the first 150 THE GENTLEMAN. woman he met without one in the rain, flis name and address, distinctly printed on the edge of the silk, he pointed out to the sur- prised grateful recipient. M. de Neuville said that, often as he had thus lent his umbrella to strangers, in no single instance had there been a failure to return it, another proof how trust will beget honesty. The gentleman will have an educated face ; not that we are to see on his forehead the sprouting of Greek roots or the shooting of mathematical lines, but from his countenance will beam a tranquil light, kindled from a long inward interplay of thought with refined feel- ings, and fanned by breaths from without that have passed over fields well set with the finer fruits and flowers of life. His visage is a mir- ror which, having the capacity to reflect gentle and beautiful forms and images, shows that it has often fronted them. The gentleman, being a product of emotional refinement, must breathe, in order to keep his freshness, an atmosphere not entirely uncon- genial to him. Sir Philip Sidney could not FRAGMENTS. 151 have preserved all his gentlemanly lustre, if, on returning from his travels, he had been obliged to consort daily and intimately with the fre- quenters of Lombard Street. So free should be the gentleman's thought, so authoritative his inward over his outward, that he should possess all things as not possess- ing any. He claims to be better than the crowd about him. To approve his claim, he must strive upward ever, must keep bettering himself, like Prospero; and thus he may at- tain to something of Prospero's magical power. What a classic is among books a thorough gentleman is among men, precious metal finely wrought. Between his mind and his manners, the inward and outward, the spirit and form, there is a graceful consonance, the result of proportion and discipline, the texture being of that high quality which admits of and invites delicate manipulation. A community or people that cannot produce and maintain gentlemen, is doomed to a sapless mediocrity. The gentleman is grounded on a Christian 152 THE GENTLEMAN. basis of manly individualism, irradiated by sus- ceptibility to the beautiful in feeling and con- duct, which susceptibility has the virtue to draw him out of himself, stimulating those powers in him which lift a man into the broad and universal. Deep are the conditions, slow the prepara- tions for the planting and maturing of the most precious things. Hundreds of centuries were silently consumed ere the gases of the seeth- ing earth could be purged and rarefied to be fit to feed the life of a being so subtly organized as man. Centuries of Christian culture pre- cede the permanent production of a class of gentlemen, whose existence presupposes the transmitted discipline of many generations. The gentleman has a long line of ancestors, not necessarily his bodily, but his mental pro- genitors. From all classes spring individuals with such delicate affinities, that without family affiliations they grow quickly into membership and even leadership of the choice class, having in their temperament a capacity to absorb and assimilate the emanations of gentlemanhood. LADYHOOD 153 In these latter " fast " days, especially in confi- dent hurrying America, men are all eager to be something, everything, -without going through the process of becoming it ; as though they could overleap the universal law of growth, as though we could know much without having learnt much. I once heard an eminent American say, that our country is full of people who wish to be gentlemen ; a most creditable ambition assuredly. But for the most part they set about compassing their wish by easy, gross, and most barren monetary means, instead of striking into the only path that leads to its attainment, a patient culti- vation of the finer and better sensibilities and a severe, unremitting self-culture. We have said little of ladyhood, because it runs side by side with gentlemanhood. But ladyhood is a something of still finer quality, woman's sensibilities being more tender, her aspirations more generous, her whole nature more diflusely and delicately dyed with beauty. Her being is spiritualized by the holiness of the maternal function. The bride's love and 154 THE GENTLEMAN. the mother's love sweeten and elevate her needs and occupations. From her greater mo- bility, impressibility, pliability, she has more tact and gracefulness, and takes a polish more quickly, her demeanor being further burnished by her readiness to please and to be pleased. Sensitiveness and susceptivity, which are such rapid educators, are more native and necessary to her than to her companion ; while on the other hand, being so impressible and suscipient, she is even more exposed than he to be in- fluenced, and so it may be, to be defiled or discolored, by the circumstances and agencies immediately around her. Her purity and mod- esty without which she is a distempered joy, a flavorless fruit, a leafless paradise, a baffled expectation are a treasure upon whose se- curity depends that of all the best possessions of social life, and among these, ladyhood, with its inculpable spells, its profitable attractions, it sanatory fascinations. From the greater ductility, the livelier aes- thetic educability of women ; from the com- parative seclusion of their walks of life, their CONCLUSION. 155 only partial participation in the general coarse money-scramble, they spending the gold which their fathers and husbands have gathered, in exchange often for their souls, ladies are in any given community more numerous than gentlemen. In Europe American women are socially much more successful than American men, bringing into the circles into which they may be admitted, sensibilities better cultivated, as well as quicker to appropriate the finer usages of an old traditional society. From the . same causes, of that prosperous class, comically called " Beggars on horseback," a minority will be found to ride on side-sad- dles. A few compendious paragraphs, and our es- say is ended. The gentleman is never unduly familiar ; takes no liberties ; is chary of questions ; is neither artificial nor affected; is as little ob- trusive upon the mind or feelings of others as on their persons ; bears himself tenderly tow- ards the weak and unprotected ; is not arro- gant, cannot be supercilious ; can be self-de- 156 THE GENTLEMAN. nying without struggle ; is not vain of hia advantages, extrinsic or personal ; habitually subordinates his lower to his higher self; is, in his best condition, electric with truth, buoy- ant with veracity. Gentlemanhood is not compassed by imita- tion, because inward life is not imitable ; nor is it purchasable, because refinement cannot be bought ; nor, but partially inheritable, be- cause nature discountenances monopolies. It is not superficial, its externals being the tokens of internal needs, its embellishments part and parcel of its substance. Akin to architecture and poetry, as having its source in use and truth -sublimated by beauty, its adornments, like those of a chaste cathedral or a high epic, are congenital with its essence, out-flow- ings from its' inmost, captivating symmetries, that are captivating and symmetrical because they are the exuberant utterance of an inward grace, a living effluence, not the superad- ditions of effort and calculation and vanity. The gentleman makes manliness attractive by Beemliness : he exemplifies, in the words of CONCLUSION. 157 Sidney, " high thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy." In all intercourse no armor is so becoming and so protective as a gentlemanly demeanor ; and when we think, how intimate, diversified, unavoidable, indispensable, how daily and hour- ly are our relations with our fellow-men, we cannot but become aware, how much it con- cerns us, for our pleasure and our profit, and for a deeper satisfaction, to be affable and gen- tlemanly, and arm ourselves with a bearing that shall be the expression of self-respect, purified by respect for others. Stripped of all that is adventitious and con- ventional, there is in the word gentleman, a lofty ideal, which may be, and is, more or less realized in the conduct and carriage of indi- viduals ; and which finds expression, not through mere shallow civility and verbal po- liteness, but through a gentle, kindly bearing in all intercourse, the outward mark of inward fellow-feeling. From this cordial sentiment spring blossoms and flowers of spiritual beauty, that are captivating ornaments to the person, 158 THE GENTLEMAN. and exhale an atmosphere of refinement and tenderness, wherein the harsher self is soothed into disinterestedness and devotion. At the root of gentlemanhood, in a soil of deep, moral inwardness, lies a high self-respect, not the pert spoiled child of individual self- estimation, but a growth from the conscious- ness of illimitable claims as an independent, infinite soul. The gentleman is a Christian product. His high exemplar is He, who delivered the precept, as fresh as, since him, we know it to be vast and deep and true, whosoever would reign , let him serve, proving its sublime force, by establishing, through such service as has never elsewhere been seen, a reign, to which the sway of all the kings that have been crowned on the earth is empty and theatrical ; who from the deeps of one heart poured a love so warm and divine, that it became for man- kind a consecration; who up to his resplend- ent solitary summit, far above all thrones and principalities, carried a humility so noble, a sympathy so fraternal, that he looked down CONCLUSION. 159 upon no man, not even a malefactor ; who re- buked the arrogant and upraised the lowly ; by the spiritual splendor of whose being the ages are lighted upward forever ; who in his manly tenderness, his celestial justice, stretched forth a hand that lifted woman to her equal place ; who to his disciples, and by them through all time to all other men that shall be truly his disciples, gave his peace, that peace which the world cannot give; in whose look and word and action were supreme dignity and beauty and charity, and infinite consolation ; of whom " old honest Deckar " says, " The best of men That ere wore earth about him was a sufferer, A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, The first true gentleman that ever breathed." 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