in our esteem, if we discover that he has some intellectual taste or skill:  as when we learn of Lord Fairfax, the Long Parliament’s general, his passion for antiquarian studies; or of the French regicide Carnot, his sublime genius in mathematics; or of a living banker, his success in poetry; or of a partisan journalist, his devotion to ornithology.  So, if, in travelling in the dreary wildernesses of Arkansas or Texas, we should observe on the next seat a man reading Horace, or Martial, or Calderon, we should wish to hug him.  In callings that require roughest energy, soldiers, sea-captains, and civil engineers sometimes betray a fine insight, if only through a certain gentleness when off duty:  a good-natured admission that there are illusions, and who shall say that he is not their sport?  We only vary the phrase, not the doctrine, when we say that culture opens the sense of beauty.  A man is a beggar who only lives to the useful, and, however he may serve as a pin or rivet in the social machine, cannot be said to have arrived at self-possession.  I suffer, every day, from the want of perception of beauty in people.  They do not know the charm with which all moments and objects can be embellished,—­the charm of manners, of self-command, of benevolence.  Repose and cheerfulness are the badge of the gentleman,—­repose in energy.  The Greek battle-pieces are calm; the heroes, in whatever violent actions engaged, retain a serene aspect:  as we say of Niagara, that it falls without speed.  A cheerful, intelligent face is the end of culture, and success enough; for it indicates the purpose of Nature and wisdom attained.

When our higher faculties are in activity, we are domesticated, and awkwardness and discomfort give place to natural and agreeable movements.  It is noticed that the consideration of the great periods and spaces of astronomy induces a dignity of mind and an indifference to death.  The influence of fine scenery, the presence of mountains, appeases our irritations and elevates our friendships.  Even a high dome, and the expansive interior of a cathedral, have a sensible effect on manners.  I have heard that stiff people lose something of their awkwardness under high ceilings and in spacious halls.  I think sculpture and painting have an effect to teach us manners and abolish hurry.

But, over all, culture must reinforce from higher influx the empirical skills of eloquence, or of politics, or of trade and the useful arts.  There is a certain loftiness of thought and power to marshal and adjust particulars, which can come only from an insight of their whole connection.  The orator who has once seen things in their divine order will never quite lose sight of this, and will come to affairs as from a higher ground, and, though he will say nothing of philosophy, he will have a certain mastery in dealing with them, and an incapableness of being dazzled or frighted, which will distinguish his handling from that of attorneys and factors.  A man who stands