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nature herself: to which nothing was vulgar, from which nothing was excluded; speaking to the ear like Italian, speaking to the mind like English; with words like pictures, with words like the gossamer film of the summer; at once the variety and picturesqueness of Homer, the gloom and intensity of Æschylus; not compressed to the closest by Thucydides, not fathomed to the bottom by Plato, not sounding with all its thunders, nor lit up with all its ardors even under the Promethean touch of Demosthenes! And Latin — the voice of Empire and of war, of law and of the State ; inferior to its half parent and rival in the embodying of passion and in the distinguishing of thought, but equal to it in sustaining the measured march of history and superior to it in the indignant declamation of moral satire ; stamped with the mark of an imperial and despotizing republic; rigid in its construction, parsimonious in its synonymes; reluctantly yielding to the flowery yoke of Horace, although opening glimpses of Greek-like splendor in the occasional inspirations of Lucretius; proved, indeed, to the uttermost by Cicero, and by him found wanting; yet majestic in its bareness, impressive in its conciseness; the true language of History, instinct with the spirit of nations, and not with the passions of individuals ; breathing the maxims of the world and not the truths of the schools; one and uniform in its air and spirit, whether touched by the stern and haughty Sallust, by. the open and discursive Livy, by the reserved and thoughtful Tacitus.”—Henry Nelson Coleridge.
“There is a small but ancient fraternity in the world, known as the Order of Gentlemen. ... I cannot but distinguish some personages of far-off antiquity as worthy members of this fellowship. I believe it coeval with man. But Christ stated the precept of the order when he gave the whole moral law in two clauses, — Love to God, and Love to the neighbour. Whoever has this precept so by heart that it shines through into his life, enters without question into the inner circles of the order.
“But to protect itself against pretenders, this brotherhood, like any other, has its formulas, its pass-words, its shibboleths, even its uniform. These are external symbols. With some, the symbol is greater than the thing signified. The thing signified, the principle, is so beautiful, that the outward sign is enough to glorify any character. The demeanor of a gentleman-being art, the expression of an idea in form can become property, like any art. be an heir-loom in an ancient house, like the portrait of the hero who gave a family name and fame, like the portrait of the maiden
martyr or the faithful wife, who made that name beloved, that fame poetry, to all ages. This precious inheritance, like anything fine and tender, has sometimes been treated with over-care. Guardians have been so solicitous that a neophyte should not lose his inherited rank in the order of gentlemen, that they have forgotten to make a man of him. Culturing the flower, they have not thought to make the stalk sturdy, or even healthy. The demeanor of a gentleman may be possessed by a weakling, or even inherited by one whose heart is not worthy of his manners.
6. The formulas of this order are not edited; its pass-words are not syllabled ; its uniform was never pictured on a fashion-plate, or 80 described that a snob could go to his tailor, and say, “Make me the habit of a gentleman.' But the brothers know each other unerringly wherever they meet; be they of the inner shrine, gentlemen, heart and life; be they of the outer court, gentlemen in feeling and demeanor.
“No disguise delays this recognition. No strangeness of place and circumstances prevents it. The men meet. The magnetism passes between them. All is said without words. Gentlemen know gentlemen by what we name instinct. But observe that this thing, instinct, is character in its finest, keenest, largest, and most concentrated action. It is the spirit's touch.” — - Theodore Winthrop.
To thee and thine: have I not kept the vow ?
With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now
Of studious zeal or love's delight
Outwatched with me the envious night:
Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free
That thou, O awful LOVELINESS,
“The day becomes more solemn and serene
When noon is past, there is a harmony
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Thus let thy power, which like the truth
Of nature on my passive youth
Its calm, to one who worships thee,
Whom Spirit fair, thy spells did bind
HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. — Shelley
“Rafael made a century of sonnets,
“You and I would rather read that volume,
(Taken to his beating bosom by it)
: You and I will never read that volume.
Guido Reni like his own eye's apple,
“Dante once prepared to paint an angel : Whom to please ? You whisper, · Beatrice.' While he mused and traced it and retraced it, (Peradventure with a pen corroded
Still by drops of that hot ink he dipped for,
Says the poet — Then I stopped my painting.' “You and I would rather see that angel
Painted by the tenderness of Dante,
“You and I will never see that picture.
“What of Rafael's sonnets, Dante's picture ?
• This: no artist lives and loves that longs not
ONE WORD MORE. — Robert Browning. “Sit still upon your thrones,
O ye poetic ones !
“Ye to yourselves suffice,
Without its flatteries.
“In prayers — that upward mount
Like to a fair-sunned fount Which, in gushing back upon you, Hath an upper music won you,
" In faith that still perceives
No rose can shed her leaves, Far less, poet fall from mission With an unfulfilled fruition !
“ In hope
“In thanks — for all the good,
By poets understood -
Through fissures of the clay,
For death which breaks the chain,-
LAY OF THE EARLY ROSE.- Mrs. Browning.
Very Long Pauses. “O the long and dreary Winter !
O the cold and cruel Winter !