There is something very touching about this character--something in his
mild tone of speech, in his polite and gentle demeanour, that at once
engages our sympathies. We have the poor old gentleman distinctly before
our mind’s eye at this moment. Let us endeavour to sketch him.
He is of middle height, well proportioned, and of rather slender make.
His clothes, though a good deal the worse for wear, are carefully
brushed, and put on with scrupulous neatness. His linens are clean and
bright, and his neck-cloth, equally faultless, is adjusted with nice
precision; for, old as he is, he has not lost, nor ever will lose,
that sense of propriety which dictates a decent attention to external
appearance.
Some sixty and odd summers have passed over the head of him who is the
subject of our sketch, and they have left their usual traces behind. His
hair is thin and scanty, and of the silvery hue of eild. His countenance
is expressive at once of a gentle and benevolent nature, of a cultivated
mind and refined taste. He has seen much, read much, and thought more.
A certain air of mild, subdued dignity--for the old man, poor though he
be, never for a moment forgets that he _is_ a gentleman--adds a grace
to all he says and does. When in society, or when accosted by a friend,
a pleasant smile, speaking a sincere affability, plays on his cheerful
countenance. But when alone, when there is no one present to demand the
exercise of his politeness, the expression of that countenance subsides
into a gentle melancholy. His look is then grave and thoughtful; somewhat
sad, but not morose. There has been disappointment in his life, high
hopes laid low, and noble aspirations foiled in their aim.
Delightful it is to see the old gentleman enter a room in which some
friends are assembled--his bow is so graceful--his smile so cheerful--his
words of greeting so pleasant to the ear. All rise, smiling, to receive
him--all hail his presence, with a quiet but heartfelt joy. Welcome,
thrice welcome is he to all. His gentle manners, his exhaustless store
of anecdote, all so well selected, all so neatly told. His intelligence
and extensive information render him one of the most delightful of
companions. A welcome visitor is he at all times--a welcome addition to
the family circle into which it is his delight to drop, just in time to
share in the sober, social cup of tea, his favourite beverage.
The old gentleman is unmarried--he is a bachelor. There is some vague
unconnected story of an early attachment and of disappointed love, but
nobody knows any of the particulars--no one knows who the lady was, nor
what were the circumstances of the case; and our old friend never alludes
to them in the most distant manner. The history of this passage in his
life is a secret pent up within his own breast; one that will go with
him to the grave, and with him be buried within its silent precincts.
But it is one over which he often broods in the solitude of his solitary
chamber, and during those sleepless nights, and they are many, when
reminiscences of the past forbid the approach of forgetfulness.
Being a bachelor, and his circumstances narrow--a small annuity being now
his only dependence--our old friend has no house of his own. He lives
in hired lodgings--humble, but cleanly, comfortable and respectable.
His landlady is a “decent widow,” and he has been her lodger for
fifteen years. Little as he has, he has always paid her punctually, and
to the last farthing; and much does she esteem and respect her kind
and gentlemanly inmate. Regular and temperate in all his habits, and
moderate in his desires, he gives her little trouble, and even that
little he is at all times anxious to abridge. His cup of tea or coffee
morning and evening is nearly all in the way of cookery that he requires
at her hands. Quietly he comes in and quietly he goes out, and he
never does either without saying something kind or civil as he passes.
In all things easily pleased, he expresses thanks for every little
attention shown him, and never raises his voice in anger, never even in
querulousness or impatience. To every one around him, without distinction
of rank or worldly circumstances, he is all politeness, all gentleness,
and all kindness.
Who can but love and respect the decayed old gentleman!