fell at Zutphen, was better fitted for command than he under whom he served, his uncle, the unprincipled worldling, Leicester, who, with all his birth and rank and magnificence, was as far from high gentlemanhood as the most abject of his valets. - Hampden was a man and a gentleman of the largest and finest mould, humane and intrepid, wise and refined, always kindly, always resolute, with a broad, farseeing intellect at the command of feelings as warm as they were pure, as tempered as they were strong, - a man full of dutifulness and heroism, with "a flowing courtesy to all men." - A supreme gentleman was Washington, raised to the front of the world by the grand necessities of a sublime historical epoch. - Napoleon was a sublime snob.

Napoleon's mind was swollen with the virus of vulgar ambition. His moral nature, originally cold and meagre, grew blotched as he advanced, festering with the lust of power and its subservient crimes. His love was ever selflove. He circled himself with dependants, not with friends. Dutifulness was unknown to him; generosity he scorned; tenderness he pitied. Bloated by the perpetual consciousness of his astounding exaltation, he had an enjoyment, that was at once gross and puerile, in the wielding of his super-regal sceptre. He had not in him purity enough to value truthfulness and delicacy in others; and, never letting the rights or feelings of a fellow-man stand in the way of his desires, he was at times as brutal in his bearing as he was selfish in his aims. In the treatment of women he was unmannerly and unmanly. He made his mother stand in his presence! It was not the Cæsarian conqueror, it was the Imperial parvenu that kept kings waiting in his antechamber; a gentleman had been eager that their strange subordination were as little felt as might be. The man was maddened: he was possessed with a mania, a vast insatiable greed of dominion, that subdued him to a demon-darkness, and pulled the Emperor from his throne, the gentleman from his beauty and his propriety. - Louis Napoleon, - in intellect immeasurably inferior to his uncle, - is as material in his nature and as mole-eyed as he to the true grandeurs of Imperial rule; but he is capable of generosity, and is at least a gentleman in outward deportment.

Napoleon, enwrapt in self-exhaled gloom, illustrates the suspension of moral freedom, the obscuration of the illuminating spiritual forces before pride, flanked by the blinding material forces. St. Paul illustrates the majesty of moral freedom, the potency of an inward might, with life enough in it to appease the animal insurgents, to calm the mutinous me, and subject the whole being to the dominion of feelings that, too high for malice, too clean for personalities, know nor self-seeking nor petty limitations. Within the core of Saul of Tarsus, the prized pupil of Gamaliel, "a blasphemer and persecutor and injurious," lay latent, gigantic moral energies; else had he not been chosen to be assailed by that sun-surpassing glare on the road to Damascus. After beholding that vision, after listening to that voice, he soared at a flight into the serene of almost transterrestrial mastership, whereby he was enabled to trample under foot all the pride and the rancor and the lusts and the narrowness of the Jew, Saul. Thenceforward the staple of his earthly life was a superiority to earthly pains and pleasures. He moved with the springiness of one who has just alighted from upper spheres, and thrids our grovelling crowds with a winged buoyancy. In Paul's nature there was rare breadth as well as vigor. In all circumstances he felt that easy commanding self-possession which, in the ordinary conduct of life, is a characteristic of the gentleman. He was always equal to or above the situation. One of his highest qualifications for his great mission was his belief in an inborn human capacity for goodness and elevation, a belief drawn from the depths of his own consciousness. The lofty, spirituallyminded Frederick W. Robertson, to whom clings so gracefully the too often unfitting title of Reverend, in one of those teemful, lucent passages that throng his pages as stars the transparent heaven, says of St. Paul: -"And here you observe, as usual, that the Apostle returns again to the great Idea of the Church of God, the invisible Church, Humanity, as it exists in the Divine Mind. This is the standard he ever puts before them. He says, This you are. If you fall from this, you contradict your nature. And now consider how opposite this, St. Paul's way, is to the common way of insisting on man's depravity. He insists on man's dignity: he does not say to a man, You are fallen, you cannot think a good thought; you are half beast, half devil; sin is alone to be expected of you; it is your nature to sin.' But he says rather, 'It is your nature not to sin; you are not the Child of the Devil, but the Child of God.""

Such faith in human nobleness yields blooming fruit in daily manners, imparting to the carriage of a man towards his fellow-men, even in moments of reproof, respectfulness and gentleness, qualities so eminently exhibited by St. Paul. To this faith, - rooted in intense fellow-feeling for his brother men, and thriving on the richness of his moral nature, - was in him inseparably united as the blue to the