They
are sturdy men, of simple tastes often. Sometimes, though rarely, very
generous, but necessarily with an altogether false and exaggerated idea
of the importance of money. They are a rather rough, unsympathetic, and,
perhaps, selfish class, who, themselves, despise purple and fine linen,
and still prefer a cot-bed and a bare room, although they may be worth
millions. But they are married to scheming, or ambitious, or
disappointed women, whose life is a prolonged pageant, and they are
dragged hither and thither in it, are bled of their golden blood, and
forced into a position they do not covet and which they despise. Then
there are the inheritors of wealth. How many of them inherit the valiant
genius and hard frugality which built up their fortunes; how many
acknowledge the stern and heavy responsibility of their opportunities
how many refuse to dream their lives away in a Sybarite luxury; how many
are smitten with the lofty ambition of achieving an enduring name by
works of a permanent value; how many do not dwindle into dainty
dilettanti, and dilute their manhood with factitious sentimentality
instead of a hearty, human sympathy; how many are not satisfied with
having the fastest horses and the "crackest" carriages, and an unlimited
wardrobe, and a weak affectation and puerile imitation of foreign life?
And who are these of our secondly, these "old families?" The spirit of
our time and of our country knows no such thing, but the habitue of
"society" hears constantly of "a good family.
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