his
qualifications, he had the pluck and good sense to work hard and
persistently until the deficiency was made up. Something remained
lacking, and not all his consummate mastery of arts could conceal that
conspicuous want,--the want of heart.

Teacher and preacher he assuredly is, and long will be, yet no thanks are
his due from a posterity of the common people whom he so sublimely
despised. His pious mission was not to raise the level of the multitude,
but to lift a single individual upon a pedestal so high that his lowly
origin should not betray itself. That individual was his, Lord
Chesterfield's, illegitimate son, whose inferior blood should be given
the true blue hue by concentrating upon him all the externals of
aristocratic education.

Never had pupil so devoted, persistent, lavish, and brilliant a guide,
philosopher, and friend, for the parental relation was shrewdly merged in
these. Never were devotion and uphill struggle against doubts of success
more bitterly repaid. Philip Stanhope was born in 1732, when his father
was thirty-eight. He absorbed readily enough the solids of the ideal
education supplied him, but, by perversity of fate, he cared not a fig
for "the graces, the graces, the graces," which his father so wisely
deemed by far the superior qualities to be cultivated by the budding
courtier and statesman. A few years of minor services to his country were
rendered, though Chesterfield was breaking his substitute for a heart
because his son could not or would not play the superfine gentleman--on
the paternal model, and then came the news of his death, when only
thirty-six. What was a still greater shock to the lordly father, now
deaf, gouty, fretful, and at outs with the world, his informant reported
that she had been secretly married for several years to Young Hopeful,
and was left penniless with two boys. Lord Chesterfield was above all
things a practical philosopher, as hard and as exquisitely rounded and
polished as a granite column. He accepted the vanishing of his lifelong
dream with the admirable stolidity of a fatalist, and in those last days
of his radically artificial life he disclosed a welcome tenderness, a
touch of the divine, none the less so for being common duty, shown in the
few brief letters to his son's widow and to "our boys." This, and his
enviable gift of being able to view the downs as well as the ups of life
in the consoling humorous light, must modify the sterner judgment so
e