A Gentleman and a Scholar

A GENTLEMAN AND A SCHOLAR. BY LEVI EDGAR YOUNG. Yield thou not to adversity, but press on the more bravely. — Virgil. True worth is in being not seeming, In doing each day that goes by Some little good — not in dreaming Of great things to do by and by. For whatever men say in blindness, And spite of the fancies of youth. There's nothing so kingly as kindness, And nothing so royal as truth. Alice Gary. Ralph Waldo Emerson tells us that it is natural to believe in great men. This we cannot doubt. The lives of Luther, Caesar* Washington and Lincoln always inspire me to loftier thoughts and ambitions; and nowhere could we find a school boy who could not tell you of some one, or perhaps all, of these. Every one must have an ideal of some sort, be it high or low. Great men become our heroes and our stars to which we attach our energies. This is good. But few of us realize that we have. Washingtons, Lincolns and Luthers right about us, and never know it. It is very much like the school boy who is studying botany. He becomes acquainted with the scientific names of flowers found in the Mississippi valley or in some foreign part; yet he never sees the trees, plants and flowers of his own yard. Many people get the idea that greatness lies outside the circle of their friends; and unless they can become Washingtons, Deweys or Sampsons, they have but a small place in the world, and their personal influence will

768 IMPROVEMENT ERA. be for little. True, each one is but a tiny atom in God's great world of society, and: The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom. But one thing is sure; each has his place in the world, each one can be a hero. Some time ago, I became acquainted with a man who seemed to be my ideal. I think he must have been nearly sixty years of age. In physique, he was large, but for twelve years he had been an invalid through rheumatism. His hair and beard were snowy white, and often on my way to school, as I saw him by the window, he looked like some angel come to earth to soothe the cares of people. This man was a college graduate, having come out of Dartmouth in 1854, For many years he was a professor in one of the leading institutions in New England, During the last twelve years of his life, he was an invalid under the patient and loving care of his wife. There was something divine in this man's nature. When one sat down with him, his influence was as sweet and gentle as a woman's. His was a polished character; but not given to formalities. His humbleness and simplicity in every word and act made an atmosphere of sweetness. In his "good-days," or in the shake of his hand, there was a sublime lesson of sincerity. When he spoke, he never upbraided Providence for his lot in life .In fact, I heard him speak but once of his affliction and that was when he told me of his life's history. His conversation was always affable and pleasant. He was an ideal scholar, and studied, and thought, and acted because he loved to do so. Not once did he question the world's opinion of him. History, science and art all formed subjects for conversation. And yet how happily he could laugh at real wit and humor! I have been told that he had many diplomas and college degrees, but he never flaunted these in the face of his friends, nor did he ever speak of his own learning. This man never prayed in public, nor did he ever cry aloud repentance and baptism, but his quiet unassuming way won souls unto Christ. One

A GENTLEMAN AND A SCHOLAR. 769 could never leave him without feeling better, humbler, and that life held sweetness and peace for us all. Remote from towns he ran his Godly race, Nor e'er had changed, or wished to change his place, Unskilful he to fawn or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour: For other aims, his heart had learned to prize, More bent to raise the wicked than to rise. In his dress, he was scrupulously neat and clean. Never anything gaudy; always simple. He never spoke of some great act he intended to do in the future, or of some heroic deed he had done in the past. "True ambition," he used to remark, "is doing today well the work that lies before you." He lived a daily life of peace, always having a pleasant smile and pleasing word for everybody. He never forced his opinions on his friends, but only gave them, and, connecting them with those of his neighbor, some new idea was the result. He could talk about Shakespeare, Moliere, Plutarch, Angelo and Milton; but his conversation was not to show his erudition. It was because he revelled in their thought and knew their wisdom and their learning. He never dwelt wholly in the past, however. To him every bird sang a pensive song; and he knew the habits of the trees; how they ate, drank and breathed. Society as it is today was a study; and every child on the street, he interested himself in, and tried to feel their feelings and to sense their little sorrows and happinesses. He never judged hastily, and especially was he reticent on a subject about which he knew nothing. He never questioned the unsolved laws of nature, but simply, reverently worshiped them. His religion was "love one another." But to describe this man without saying something about his wife would be like "trying to imagine the sun without light." She was educated, too. Her life was a patient toil. "She only felt what a privilege it was to love and administer to such a man and to be loved by him. For he was not, as so many men are, a merely passive and complacent absorber of all this devotion. What she gave, he returned; she never touched him without a response, she never called him without an echo, the springs of grati-