The nearer the element of mortality in him corresponds to the heel
measure of Achilles, the better his chance as hero. The Egyptian and
Greek heroes were invariably demi-gods on the paternal or maternal side.
Few actual historic heroes have escaped popular scandal concerning their
origin, because the savage logic in us demands lions from a lion; that
Theseus shall trace to Mars; that courage shall spring from courage.

Another most excellent thing about the ideal hero is that the immortal
quality enables him to go about the business of his heroism without
bothering his head with the rights or wrongs of it, except as the
prevailing sentiment of social honor (as distinguished from the inborn
sentiment of honesty) requires at the time. Of course, there is a lower
grade of measly, "moral heroes," who (thank heaven and the innate sense
of human justice!) are usually well peppered with sorrow and punishment.
The hero of romance is a different stripe; Hyperion to a Satyr. He
doesn't go around groaning page after page of top-heavy debates as to
the inherent justice of his cause or his moral right to thrust a tallow
candle between the particular ribs behind which the heart of his enemy
is to be found--balancing his pros and cons, seeking a quo for each
quid, and conscientiously prowling for final authorities. When you
invade the chiropodical secret of the real hero's fine boot, or brush
him in passing--if you have looked once too often at a certain lady, or
have stood between him and the sun, or even twiddled your thumbs at him
in an indecorous or careless manner--look to it that you be prepared
to draw and mayhap to be spitted upon his sword's point, with honor.
Sdeath! A gentlemen of courage carries his life lightly at the needle
end of his rapier, as that wonderful Japanese, Samsori, used to make the
flimsiest feather preside in miraculous equilibration upon the tip of
his handsome nose.