for an Englishman to misunderstand and to be misunderstood.  For, if he described another Englishman as not being a nobleman, invariably the foreigner would presume it to be meant that he was not a gentleman—­not of the privileged class—­in fact, that he was a plebeian or roturier, though very possibly a man every way meritorious by talents or public services.  Whereas, on the contrary, we English know that a man of most ancient descent and ample estates, one, in the highest sense, a man of birth and family, may choose, on a principle of pride, (and not unfrequently has chosen,) obstinately to decline entering the order of nobility.  Take, in short, the well-known story of Sir Edward Seymour, as first reported in Burnet’s Own Times; to every foreigner this story is absolutely unintelligible.  Sir Edward, at the Revolution, was one, in the vast crowd of country gentlemen presented to the Prince of Orange, (not yet raised to the throne.) The prince, who never had the dimmest conception of English habits or institutions, thought to compliment Sir Edward by showing himself aware of that gentleman’s near relationship to a ducal house.  “I believe, Sir Edward,” said the prince, “that you are of the Duke of Somerset’s family?” But Sir Edward, who was the haughtiest of the human race, speedily put an extinguisher on the prince’s courtesy by replying, in a roar, “No, your highness:  my lord duke is of mine.”  This was true:  Sir Edward, the commoner, was of that branch which headed the illustrious house of Seymour; and the Duke of Somerset, at that era, was a cadet of this house.  But to all foreigners alike, from every part of the Continent, this story is unfathomable.  How a junior branch should be ennobled, the elder branch remaining not ennobled, that by itself seems mysterious; but how the unennobled branch should, in some sense peculiarly English, bear itself loftily as the depository of a higher consideration (though not of a higher rank) than the duke’s branch, this is a mere stone of offence to the continental mind.  So, again, there is a notion current upon the Continent, that in England titular honours are put up to sale, as once they really were, by Charles I. in his distresses, when an earldom was sold for L.6000; and so pro rata for one step higher or lower.  Meantime, we all know in England how entirely false this is; and, on the other hand, we know also, and cannot but smile at the continental blindness to its own infirmity, that the mercenary imputation which recoils from ourselves, has, for centuries, settled upon France, Germany, and other powers.  More than one hundred and thirty thousand French “nobles,” at the epoch of the Revolution, how did most of them come by their titles?  Simply by buying them in a regular market or bazar, appointed for such traffic.  Did Mr St——­, a respectable tailor, need baronial honours?  He did not think of applying to any English minister, though he was then actually resident in London; he addressed his litanies to the chancery of Austria.  Did Mr ——­, the dentist, or Mr R——­, the banker, sigh for aristocratic honours?  Both crossed the Channel, and marketed in the shambles of France and Germany.