selves on their straightforwardness and even bluntness. They "never mince matters"; they always "speak out what they think!" That is, they are so vain of their strong boots, that they don't mind treading on their neighbour's corns! Some of our young gentlemen are so terribly afraid of being thought "ladies' men" that they affect rudeness. They prefer the gymnasium to the dancing-school, and no one blames them for that; but why should they not cultivate manners as well as muscles? It is good to have a robust body, a robust mind, and a robust character; but why should not the rock of strength be clothed with the beautiful flowers of refinement and courtesy? It is written of the charity which "seeketh not its own," that it "doth not behave itself unseemly." This charity is the grand thing to cultivate. This charity is the wellspring of the deepest politeness,-a politeness which is all the more beautiful, because it is free from fussiness and parade. You may remember how Tennyson-in describing the friend of his youth-draws a distinction between the merely genteel man and the true gentleman:

"The churl in spirit, howe'er he veil

His want in forms for fashion's sake,
Will let his coltish nature break
At seasons thro' the gilded pale :

"For who can always act? But he,

To whom a thousand memories call,
Not being less but more than all
The gentleness he seem'd to be,

"Best seem'd the thing he was, and join'd
Each office of the social hour

To noble manners, as the flower
And native growth of noble mind;

"And thus he bore without abuse

The grand old name of gentleman,
Defamed by every charlatan,

And soil'd with all ignoble use."

"Wisdom is justified of all her children." The childish men, who are living as if life were a game to be played at after a stereotyped fashion, may peevishly complain of those who will not "dance to their piping" nor "mourn to their lamenting." But the manly children of Heavenly Wisdom, wherever they be, who are refusing to bow down before the idol of society," who are disdaining to set their whole life to the key-note of mere custom, and who are thinking earnestly for themselves, these men are abundantly "justified." It becomes ultimately manifest that a true propriety regulates their conduct. An inward purity of heart and singleness of motive are the best guarantee for a demeanour that will be marked by the most becoming modesty, and yet be free from all that prudery which is simply an inverted impurity. There is a limit in wit which a deep reverence refuses to pass. There is a point in self-revelation at which a true modesty instinctively pauses. There is a silence which self-respect teaches. There is a delicate considerateness which kindliness inspires. And therefore, whilst we ought to be on our guard against mere conventionalities whenever they would rob us of our naturalness, or destroy our individuality, or pervert our judgment, or crush our affections, or lead us

astray from the path of duty, we ought also, on the other hand, to recognize everything which commends itself to a true discretion or a cultivated taste, as being really beautiful, becoming, or appropriate. Christianity brings in "nobler modes of life," and with these come "sweeter manners," as well as "purer laws." The grand thing—here as everywhere else—is, not that we "cleanse the outside of the cup and platter," but that the heart be thoroughly purified, and that we constantly remember how we are responsible for our beliefs, our affections, our conduct, not to public opinion, with its shifting, transitory regulations,—but to Him whose laws are unchanging and eternal.

THE REAL AND THE IDEAL.

[Reprinted from The Christian Spectator, 1858.]

WHEN Cervantes sent forth into the world that redoubtable hero, Don Quixote, "Knight of the Woeful Figure," and, mounting him on his gallant steed, Rozinante, dismissed him in quest of noble adventures, he did not forget to give him, in the person of Sancho Panza, one who was in every respect fitted to be the squire of such a chivalrous knight. By this we mean, not that the squire and his donkey were the best companions for Don Quixote de la Mancha and his gallant steed, in so far as the purposes of the noble knight were concerned, but that the squire and donkey aforesaid do most effectually serve the purpose of Cervantes himself. For, although the whole work is an exquisitely keen satire on the sentimental romances which were so much in vogue when the author lived, yet nothing could be further from his intention than to cast ridicule upon all fictitious composition. This is manifest from several considerations. From this, chiefly, that in order to secure his purpose, Cervantes did not write a dry, moral disquisition on the absurdities of the tales of chivalry, but a work of fiction, the different parts of which are bound together by a

marked relationship, and the whole of which is pervaded by an artistic unity. And herein he showed his wisdom. He did not discard the weapon of his opponents, but turned it against themselves. His work of ridicule was at the same time one of example. He endeavoured to redeem fiction to its proper sphere -to strip it of the unmeaning follies which had gathered around it. And rarely, in the history of literature, has the success of satire been so marked and so abiding. For though, as has been remarked, his attempt to stem the torrent of prejudice which then existed in favour of the tales of chivalry was apparently as “Quixotic" as the adventure of his own hero against the windmills, yet it is a fact (and a very important fact too, as illustrating the power of the pen) that, from the publication of Don Quixote is dated the downfall, in Spain, of the taste for these absurd and chimerical romances.

We repeat, then, that it was not the purpose of Cervantes to cast ridicule upon all fictitious composition. And we think, therefore, that whilst he has painted in his hero a man who lives wholly in an ideal world, which has no connection whatever with the world around us, his teaching would have been incomplete, and his influence less powerful, had he not contrasted this extreme with its opposite, and shown us in Sancho Panza, a man who is "of the earth, earthy," who is destitute of a single particle of fancy or imagination, and who is led to follow his master, through all his wanderings, only by the hope that he may possibly be a gainer in the end, and perchance become king over that imaginary "island," which the Don is constantly promising to him as the reward of