Barnabas. "Why, then, I take it, your search is still unsuccessful."
The Preacher. "Quite! Sometimes a fear comes upon me that she may be beyond my reach—"
Barnabas. "You mean—?"
The Preacher. "Dead, sir. At such times, things grow very black until I remember that God is a just God, and therein lies my sure and certain hope. But I would not trouble you with my griefs, young sir, more especially on such a glorious morning,—hark to the throstle yonder, he surely sings of Life and Hope. So, if you will, pray tell me of yourself, young sir, of your hopes and ambitions."
Barnabas. "My ambitions, sir, are many, but first,—I would be a gentleman."
The Preacher (nodding). "Good! So far as it goes, the ambition is a laudable one."
Barnabas (staring thoughtfully at his bread and butter). "The first difficulty is to know precisely what a gentleman should be. Pray, sir, what is your definition?"
The Preacher. "A gentleman, young sir, is (I take it) one born with the Godlike capacity to think and feel for others, irrespective of their rank or condition."
Barnabas. "Hum! One who is unselfish?"
The Preacher. "One who possesses an ideal so lofty, a mind so delicate, that it lifts him above all things ignoble and base, yet strengthens his hands to raise those who are fallen—no matter how low. This, I think, is to be truly a gentleman, and of all gentle men Jesus of Nazareth was the first."