that, in the intervals to which I have referred
when he became conspicuous for occasional
grace or shining virtue he had done great
good to the State; but when, against these
few intervals of light, they began to unfold
the dark shadows that belonged to the older
years of his existence, he began to be looked
upon as a monstrosity. It was said that he
had committed all the worst actions of a
thousand years; that he had seldom respected
the women of whose graces he had pretended
to say pretty things; that he had sacked
cities; had turned his sword against the
people; had subjected the interests of tens of
thousands to his avarice; had blinded the
eyes of the many, that only he and his might
take advantage of sunlight. This was a
terrible stage in the career of the gentleman: a
stage to which the present gentleman
sometimes looks back with a feeling of profound
commiseration.

About the year sixteen hundred and
twenty Henry Peachum published The
Compleat Gentleman; and ten years afterwards
Richard Brathwait gave to the world his
English Gentleman. Brathwait, in his
dedicatory preface, holds virtue to be "the
greatest signal and symbol of gentry;" while
Henry Peachum discoursed learnedly on the
heraldic distinctions of gentility. Brathwait
says that the gentleman is rather manifested
"by goodnesse of person than by greatnesse of
place." "For, however," he continues, "the
vulgar honour the purple more than the
person, descent more than desert, title than merit
—that adulterate gentility which degenerates
from the worth of her ancestors derogates
likewise from the birth of her ancestors. And
there be such whose infant effeminacie, youthful
delicacie, or native liberty, hath estranged
them from the knowledge of moral or divine
mysteries: so as they may be well
compared to the ostrich, who (as the naturall
historian reports) hath the wings of an eagle,
but never mounts: so have these the eagle
wings of contemplation, being indued with
the intellectual faculties of a reasonable soul;
yet either intangled with the lightnesses of
vanity, or trashed with the heavy poises of
selfe-conceit and singularitie, they never
mount above the verge of sensuall pleasure."
So far back, then, as the reign of Charles the
First men began to assert—to the extreme
annoyance of the gentleman—that refinement
and moral rectitude were the chief attributes
of gentility: that a man might have a
great many quarterings and a great many
vulgarities; be the son of a lord and the
son of a sot.

At this time the vigour of the gentleman
began to decline; "I am here," said Brathwait,
" to tender unto your honour's judicious
view a gentleman quite of another garbe: one,
whom education hath made formall enough,
without apish formalitie, and conceiving
enough without selfe-admiring arrogancie. A
good Christian in devout practising, no lesse
than zealous professing; yet none of the
forward'st in discoursing of religion. For hee
observes (as long experience hath brought
him to be a judicious observer) that discourse
of religion hath so occupied the world, as it
hath well near driven the practice thereof out
of the world. Hee esteemes such only happy
who are of that number whom the world
accounts fooles, but God wise men. He observes
the whole fabricke of humane power, and he
concludes with the preacher: Ecquid tam
vanum! He notes how the flesh, becoming
obedient, behaveth herselfe as a faithfull
servant to the soule: this governeth, the other
is governed;—this commandeth, the other
obeyeth. This is the gentleman whom I have
presumed to recommend to your protection;—
and to you he makes recourse, not so much
for shelter as honour: for his title it
exempts him from servile bashfulness,—being
an English gentleman." And then he
continues to rate the ancient gentleman on his
haughtiness to the "groundlings." He reminds
him of his follies and his sensual debasement,
and tells him, after Phavorinus, that they
who suck sows' milk will love wallowing
in the mire.

All these hard things the gentleman of the
olden time could not take in good part. He
felt that his end was approaching; that for
him and for those like him, these subtle
reasons and poor phantasies of poetic minds
were not proper food; and so he laid aside
his lance, broke up his helmet, lowered the
crest that had never quivered before a foe,
gave his gauntlets to his servants, his jewelled
sword-handle to his mistresses, his drinking
cup to his oldest retainer, and with a proud
look, expired.

The modern gentleman was born in an
age of millinery, to succeed the ancient gentleman.
In his greenest youth he had the
milliner's taste of Charles the Second, the
spirit and grace of Rochester, and the vices
of both. He only wanted virtue to make
him perfect. Yet, had he been virtuous,
the gentleman in those days would have
cut a sorry figure at Court. At one
moment he actually did threaten to become
virtuous and patriotic; but he was warned
by the axe that gleamed over the heads of
Algernon Sidney and Lord William Russell.
He prided himself on his smart sayings. He
took particular pride in personal adornment;
adopted satins and lace and powder, and wore
patches. But even then, in his foolish youth,
he was a visible improvement upon the older
gentleman. He drank less; he swore less;
he treated his inferiors with better grace;
and he began to pride himself upon his
intellectual accomplishments. Selden, in his Titles
of Honour, describes his youth very closely.
In default of tournaments, he took to a long
credit with his tailor. He laid down laws for
the government of his toilette; and finally
succeeded in establishing a tyranny which,