A man ought to carry himself in the world as an orange tree would if it could
walk up and down in the garden, swinging perfume from every little
censer it holds up to the air.
Henry Ward Beecher
He looked like an Italian, was dressed like an Englishman, and had the independent air of an American - a combination which caused sundry pairs of feminine eyes to look approvingly after him, and sundry dandies in black velvet suits, with rose-colored neckties, buff gloves, and orange flowers in their buttonholes, to shrug their shoulders, and then envy him his inches.