There is nothing in New England corresponding at all to the feudal
aristocracies of the Old World. Whether it be owing to the stock from
which we were derived, or to the practical working of our institutions,
or to the abrogation of the technical "law of honor," which draws a sharp
line between the personally responsible class of "gentlemen" and the
unnamed multitude of those who are not expected to risk their lives for
an abstraction,--whatever be the cause, we have no such aristocracy here
as that which grew up out of the military systems of the Middle Ages.

What we mean by "aristocracy" is merely the richer part of the community,
that live in the tallest houses, drive real carriages, (not "kerridges,")
kidglove their hands, and French-bonnet their ladies' heads, give parties
where the persons who call them by the above title are not invited, and
have a provokingly easy way of dressing, walking, talking, and nodding to
people, as if they felt entirely at home, and would not be embarrassed in
the least, if they met the Governor, or even the President of the United
States, face to face. Some of these great folks are really well-bred,
some of them are only purse-proud and assuming,--but they form a class,
and are named as above in the common speech.

It is in the nature of large fortunes to diminish rapidly, when
subdivided and distributed. A million is the unit of wealth, now and
here in America. It splits into four handsome properties; each of these
into four good inheritances; these, again, into scanty competences for
four ancient maidens,--with whom it is best the family should die out,
unless it can begin again as its great-grandfather did. Now a million is
a kind of golden cheese, which represents in a compendious form the
summer's growth of a fat meadow of craft or commerce; and as this kind of
meadow rarely bears more than one crop, it is pretty certain that sons