hakespeare's men are always "a little
lower than the angels;" whereas a gentleman might fittingly stand among
angels as a brother. This one star never swung across the optic-glass
of our great Shakespeare. That spiritual-mindedness which is life he
scarcely possessed. This was his limitation. Spenser stood higher on
this mount of vision. He conceived and executed a picture of pure
womanhood, and, had he attempted, might have sketched a wondrous face
and figure of a gentleman. Even as it was, he gave intimations of this
coming king. He seems one who gathers fuel for a fire, but never sets
the flame. His figures shift, and present no central character of
manhood who grows and furnishes standard of comparison. Milton's
genius was cast in a cyclopean mold, and needed distances remote as
heaven and hell to give right perspective to his figures, and his
supreme art concerns itself with Satan, and archangels, and God.

Of this ideal gentleman we have had growing hints. Literature, more
and more, concerns itself with spiritual quantities. The air of our
century is aromatic with these beautiful conceptions, as witness Jean
Valjean, Dr. MacLure, Deacon Phoebe, Sidney Carton, Daniel Deronda,
Donal Grant, Bayard, Red Jason, Pete, Captain Moray, John Halifax, and
Caponsacchi. Some of these pictures seem more than side views. But a
gentleman should be, must be, nobly normal. He is a balance of virtue.
Symmetry impresses us in him, as when we look at the Parthenon. All
his powers are in such delicate balance as that they seem capable of
easy perturbation, yet are, in fact, imperturbable as stars. The
gentleman in life is becoming a common figure. We have known such--so
strong, quiet, heroic, calm, sure of the future, knit to God, big with
fidelity and faith, that they translated into literal speech the holy
precepts of the Book of God. So tested, this world grows surely
better. Man has lost in romantic glitter of costume and bearing, but
has gained immeasurably in manhood. The gospel is peopling the world
with men. To suppose God meant to change men to saints was a
misconception. St. Simeon Stylites was that old misconception
realized. We can but honor him, so vast his hunger, so noble his
strife, so courageous his attitude, when he shouts, "I smote them with
the cross;" but St. Simeon did not realize God's notion. Goodness is
fraternal, accessible, genial. John Storm, in Hall Caine's "The
Christian," is susce