essary to
that living, and a man gathers the good things about him very much as
swine seek shelter and make a bed before a viewless coming storm. As we
cultivate the animal we destroy the instinct; hence it is that when a
man ceases to accumulate and goes to spending he loses the power of
accumulation.

We do not mean to say by this that a man may not, through an exercise of
his reason, accumulate property also. The goose that flies a thousand
miles on a line due north is emulated by the mariner, who, by the use of
a compass, will sail with the same accuracy. But the goose carries its
own stomach, and the sailor a rich cargo of silks and velvets. The rule,
or rather, the law, is that when reason takes the place of instinct, the
instinct is lost. The man who from natural impulse and motive makes his
money is unable to enjoy what he has made. He is a mere animal, and of
these animals is our aristocracy made.

When, therefore, we apply to American life the characters, motives, and
manners of European social existence, we make an egregious blunder. The
aristocracy of Europe, mainly of England, is not one of wealth alone,
for many commoners are richer than their lords. Nor is it of pedigree,
for the great majority of them are without such. It is the power of a
hereditary class. It dominates not only the social but the political
structure as well. The lords we look up to and dwell upon, so
fascinated, are the masters, and, relieved from the necessary toil for
an existence, have time and means to be cultured.

It is a class with the prestige of power. Take this away, and a lord
would be no more than the ring-master of a circus, and not half so
amusing as the clown.

Our social aristocrats play at being such, and are ring-masters and
clowns, admired by the ignorant and laughed at by all.

Again, there is no class in the United States that has the leisure
necessary to learn. We have no idle class. We have a continuous stream
of would-be aristocrats, but they come and go so rapidly that no time is
given for the cultivation of manner, nor can there be the repose
necessary to aristocratic ways. The duration of family life on Murray
Hill, or any other fashionable locality in New York or elsewhere, is
that of the penitentiary or the car-horse--about five years. All the
families change in that time. Whence they come they carefully conceal;
whither they go no one cares to learn. There are enormous fortunes made
in a day, that dis