There is no art to read the mind’s construction in the face; but it is possible to see the correspondence, after the cypher has been well de-coded. Matthew Arnold—a plain face—a plain brow—dark hair, parted exactly in the middle—and cheek whiskers! A long nose, slightly thick, and drooping—a wide plaster of mouth, firm but highly sensitive—a six-foot stature and slim build—a scholastic figure and face and cut—tutorial, perhaps; and in that plain face the expression of impression—that is, the visible result of sensitiveness. Every pre-natal and post-natal fineness of his rarely fine, high, sincere mind pervaded the texture of his countenance and gave its stamp of authentic quality to render nugatory anything that might seem superficially to counteract the inherent integrity. Superficially, it might have seemed (perhaps) a smug face or a supercilious one; not inwardly. Inward daintiness might have been there, as there certainly was fastidiousness, if not a frigidity. But a warm heart corresponded to that mouth, which was thick without seeming sensual, and back of that face was a just, a clear, a steady mind, a heat for right and truth, a manly spirit with a manly intellect, a manly sense of clean beauty—and with whatever æsthetic narrowings (if they existed), a broad, direct, noble simplicity and humanity. I hope he will verily have his reward, for in his brave, unwhining, spotless life, he did most valuable, intelligent drudgery for his bread; and out of a beautiful gift composed the loftiest, simplest, broadest, gravest, most reserved and felt, and perhaps most musical and moving poem (as pure poem) of his generation—Sohrab and Rustum. It lacks all the prettinesses of his contemporaries, but is the sole product of his time, in “The Grand Style”—this, however, being of course only the individual opinion of the present commenter.
If a man, one hundred years after his birth, still evokes such graceful and pensive homage, he has evidently some durable claim upon our hearts. Ever since our teens we have wondered what Sohrab and Rustum was about and why it was always assigned as required study for College Entrance. Now we intend to read it.
DAME QUICKLY AND THE BOILROASTER
Something had happened to Dame Quickly’s storage battery, and all the amperes seemed to have escaped. An extremely friendly and cheerful young man came up from Fred Seaman’s garage, with mysterious medical-looking instruments, to grant a consultation. In the course of the chat he remarked, “If you once ride in a Boilroaster car, you’ll never be satisfied with any other.”
His energetic hands were at that moment deep in our loved Dame Quickly’s mechanisms; she was wholly at his mercy; naturally we did not feel like contradicting him or saying anything tactless. We wondered, but only privately, whether the fact that Fred Seaman is the local agent for the Boilroaster had anything to do with this comment? Or perhaps, we thought to ourself, our friend the battery expert really is a convinced enthusiast for the Boilroaster, and felt that way about it before he took a job at Fred Seaman’s establishment? We were sorry that William James was dead, for we felt that the author of The Will to Believe would be the man to whom to submit this philosophical problem. We were puzzled, because only a few days earlier another man had said to us (with an equal accent of decisiveness and conviction) that he would rather have a Dame Quickly than any Boilroaster ever made. “They stand up better than any of ’em,” he had said. Suddenly it occurred to us how useful it would be if there were some kind of spiritual gauge—like the hydrometer our friend was plunging into the cells of the Dame’s battery—which one could dip into a man’s mind to test the intellectual mixture of his remarks; to evaluate the proportions of those various liquids (the strong acid of self-interest, the mild distilled water of candour, etc.) which electrify his mental ignition.
Well, how about the Boilroaster, we said—(searching for a technical term that would show him we are a practical man)—Do they stand up?
He suggested that we get into his own Boilroaster, which stood grandly overshining the dusty Dame (reminding us of those pictures where a silhouette of the new Majestic is placed behind a little picture of the Teutonic or some other humble ship of older days) and take a run around Salamis while he tinkered with the battery.
Oh, no, we said nervously. Dame Quickly is the only car we know how to run, and besides the gear shift is different in the Boilroaster; we might get confused and have to come all the way home in reverse, which would be bad for our reputation in the village.