Always accept voluntary service with the slight acknowledgment that suffices to indicate your consciousness of it, nor deem it unworthy of one pilgrim upon the great highway of life to cheer another upon whom the toil and burden falls heaviest, by a smile or a word of encouragement. The language of request is, as a rule, in better taste than that of command, and, in most instances, elicits more ready, as well as cheerful obedience. Scott makes Queen Elizabeth say, on a momentous occasion, "Suss.e.x, I entreat; Leicester, I command!" "But,"

adds the author, "the entreaty sounded like a command, and the command was uttered in a tone of entreaty." Can you make only a lesson in elocution out of this; or will it also ill.u.s.trate our present theme?

Few persons who have not had their attention called to this subject, have any just conception of the real benefits that may be conferred upon those beneath us in station by a _pleasant word uttered in a pleasant tone_. Like animals and young children, uneducated persons are peculiarly susceptible to all external influences. They are easily amused, easily gratified--shall I add, easily _satisfied_, mentally?

The comparatively vacant mind readily admits an impression from without; hence, he who "whistles for want of thought," will whistle more cheerily for the introduction of an agreeable remembrance, into the unfurnished "chambers of imagery," and the humble plodder who relieves us of a portion of the dead weight that oppresses humanity, will go on his way rejoicing; ofttimes for many a weary mile, impelled by a single word of encouragement from his superior officer in the "Grand Army" of life. But I hear you say, "Uncle Hal grows military--'the ruling pa.s.sion strong'

even in letter-writing. Like the dying Napoleon, his last words will be '_Tete d'Armee!_'"--Well, well, boys! pardon an old man's diffuseness!--his twilight dullness!

There are occasions when to _talk_ to servants and other employes, make part of a humane bearing towards them. To converse with them in relation to _their_ affairs rather than our own, is the wiser course, and to mingle a little appropriate instruction withal, may not be amiss.

Remember, too, how easily undisciplined persons are frightened by an imperious, or otherwise injudicious, manner on the part of their superiors, out of the self-possession essential to their comprehension of our wants and language.

I believe even the American author who has long concentrated his mental energies in elaborating the literary apotheosis of _Napoleon le Grand_, has not ascribed to his idol excessive _refinement of manner_. His attempts at playfulness always degenerated into buffoonery, and his habitual bearing towards women, in whatever relation they stood to him, was unmistakable evidence of his utter want of nicety of perception on this point.

Holding a reception, on one occasion, in a gallery of the Tuileries for his relatives, his mother was present, with others of his family. The emperor proffered his hand to each in turn to kiss. Last of all, his venerable parent approached him. As before, he proffered his hand. With an air worthy of the severe dignity of a matron of early Grecian days, "Madame Mere" waved it aside, and, extending her own, said, "You are the king, the emperor, of all the rest, but you are _my son_!" Would a man imbued with

"The fair humanities of old religion"

have needed such a rebuke, from such a source, think you?

Bonaparte was quite as stringent in his enforcement of court rules, in regard to dress and all matters of detail, as Louis XIV.

himself, and often quite as absurd as the "_Grand Monarque_" in his requisitions.--Abruptly approaching a high-born lady of the old _regime_, one of the members of Josephine's household, who from illness (and, perhaps, disgust commingled) had disobeyed an edict commanding _full dress_ at an early hour on a particular morning, as she leaned against a window in this same gallery of the Tuileries, the First Consul contemptuously kicked aside her train, at the same time addressing the wearer in an outburst of coa.r.s.e vituperation.

Madame Junot records a characteristic ill.u.s.tration of Napoleon's unmanly disregard of the const.i.tutional timidity of his first wife, as well as of his manner towards her in general.

As they were about to cross a turbulent stream upon an insecure-looking bridge, in a carriage, the Empress expressed a wish to alight. Napoleon forcibly interfered, but permitted the fair narrator of the incident, who was in the carriage with them, to do so, upon her informing him with the _navete_ of a true French-woman, that there was a special reason for her avoiding a fright! Josephine wept in helpless terror, even when the ordeal was safely pa.s.sed. By-and-by, the whole _cortege_ stopped, and every one alighted; the imperial tyrant rudely seizing the empress by the arm, dragged her towards the destination of the party, in a neighboring wood, saying, as he urged her forward: "You look ugly when you cry!"

One of Napoleon's biographers has said of him that many pa.s.sages in his letters to Josephine were such as no decent Englishman would address to his 'lady light o' love,' and it is well known that his earliest intercourse with the proud daughter of the House of Hapsburg--the shrinking representative of the hereditary refinement of a long line of high-bred women--was marked by the merest brutality. It was left to a citizen of our Republic to discover, in the year of our Lord one thousand, eight hundred and fifty-five, that this man was the "_Washington of France!_" and to communicate the marvellous fact to the present occupant of the imperial throne of the Great Captain--who is, by the way, _the grandson of the repudiated Josephine_!

Steaming along the Ohio, some years ago, I had the good-fortune to fall in with the most agreeable companions, a father and son, Kentuckians, of education and good-breeding. The father had won high public honors in his native State, and the son was just entering upon a career demanding the full exercise of his fine natural gifts. I was particularly attracted by the cordial confidence and affection these gentlemen manifested towards each other, and by the manly deference rendered by the youth to his venerable sire.

A storm drove us all into the cabin, in the evening, and, while the elder of my two new friends and I pursued a quiet conversation in one part of the room, his son joined a group of young men at some distance from us. Gradually the mirth of those youngsters became so roisterous as to disturb our talk. Hot and hotter waged their sport, loud and louder grew their laughter, until our voices were fairly drowned, at intervals.

More than once, I saw the punctilious gentleman of the old school glance towards the merry party, of which, by the way, his son was one of the least boisterous. At length he spoke, and his clear, calm voice rang like a trumpet-note through the apartment:

"Frederick!"--there was an instant lull in the storm, and the faces of each of the group turned to us--"make a little less noise, if you please."

The youth rose immediately and advanced towards us: "Gentlemen," said he, with a heightened color and a respectful bow, "I beg your pardon! I really was not aware of being so rude."

I said something about the very natural buoyancy of youthful spirits; but I did _not_ say that this little scene had the effect upon me that might be produced by unexpectedly meeting, in the log-hut of a back-woodsman, with a painting by an old master, representing some fine incident of cla.s.sical or chivalrous history--as, for instance, the youthful Roman restoring the beautiful virgin prisoner to her friends with the words, "far be it from Scipio to purchase pleasure at the expense of virtue!"

My pleasure in observing the intercourse of these amiable relatives in some degree prepared me for the enjoyment in store for the favored guest, who, at the earnest instance of both father and son, a few days afterwards, turned aside in his journey to seek them, _at home_. It was a scene worthy the taste and the pen of Washington Irving himself, that quaint-looking old family mansion,--in the internal arrangements of which there was just enough of modern comfort and adornment to typify the softened conservatism of the host,--and the family group that welcomed the stranger, with almost patriarchal simplicity and hospitality. Really it was a strange episode in busy American life. My venerable friend sat, indeed, "under the shadow of his own vine and fig-tree, with none to make him afraid," reaping the legitimate reward of an honorable, well-spent life, and beside him the friend who had kept her place through the heat and burden of the day, and now shared the serene repose of the evening of his life. What placid beauty still lingered in that matron face, what "dignity and love" marked every action! And the fair daughters of the house, who, like Desdemona, "ever and anon would come again and gather up our discourse," in the intervals of household duty, or social obligation--they seemed to vie with each other and with their brother in every thoughtful and graceful observance towards their parents and towards me, and the n.o.ble boy--for he really was scarcely more, even reckoned by the estimate of this "fast"

age--unspoiled by the dangerous prerogatives of an only son, manifestly regarded the bright young band of which he still made one, with the mingled tenderness and pride that would ever shield them from

"The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune."

These all surrounded my venerable host and hostess, as they gently and calmly turned their feet towards the downward path of life, with intertwining hearts and hands--like a garland of roses enwreathing time-worn twin-trees--ever on the watch to lighten each burden they would fain have wholly a.s.sumed, and with loving care striving to put far off for them the evil day when the "gra.s.shopper shall be a burden."

But I essay a vain task when I would picture such a scene for you, my friends. If I may hope that I have made _a study_, from which you will catch a pa.s.sing suggestion for future use, in the limning of your own life-portraits, it is well.

Chancellor K----, who was my life-long friend, retained, even in the latest years of his lengthened life, an almost youthful sprightliness of feeling and manner. His son, himself a learned and distinguished son of the law, thought no duty more imperative, even in the prime of his manhood and in mid career in his honorable profession, than that of devotion to his father, in his declining years. He fixed his residence near, or with, his venerable parent, and, like the son of ancient Priam, long sustained the failing steps of age. Few things have impressed me more favorably, in my intercourse with the world, than this n.o.ble self-sacrifice.

No one unacquainted with my vivacious friend can appreciate the full expressiveness of his characteristic remark to me, on an occasion when his son happened to be the theme of conversation between us. "_I like that young man amazingly!_" said the chancellor.

I still remember the impression made on me, when a boy, by meeting, in the streets of my native city, a stalwart young sailor, arrayed in holiday dress, and walking with his mother, a little, withered old woman, in a decent black dress, hanging upon his arm. How often that powerful form, the impersonation of youth, health, and physical activity, has risen up before my mind's eye, in contrast with the little, tremulous figure he supported with such watchful care, and upon which such protecting tenderness breathed from every feature of his honest, weather-embrowned face.

Bob and Charley grew side by side, like two fine young saplings in a wood, for some years. After awhile, however, the brothers were separated. Bob went to a large city, became a merchant, grew rich, lived in a fine house, was a Bank Director, and an Alderman. His younger brother, pursuing a more modest, but equally manly and elevated career, seldom met Bob during some years, and then only briefly at their father's house, when there was a family gathering at Thanksgiving, or on some other similar occasion.

Once, when I chanced to see these young men together, thus, I remarked that, while the sisters of each clung round the neck of the una.s.suming, but true-hearted, right-minded Charley, at his coming, and lost no opportunity of being with him, the repellant manner of the elder brother held all more or less aloof, though none failed in polite observance towards him. Egotistical and pompous, he seemed to regard those about him as belonging to an inferior race. As his brother and I sat talking together near a table upon which were refreshments, he actually had the rudeness to reach between us for a gla.s.s, without the slightest word or token of apology, with his arm so near to his brother's face as almost to touch it! There was more of shame than indignation expressed in that fine, ingenuous countenance when it again met my un.o.bstructed gaze, and I thought I detected a slight tremor in the sentence he uttered next in the order of our conversation.

Before my visit that day was at an end, I found myself exceedingly embarra.s.sed as an unwilling auditor of a political discussion between Bob and his father, which grew, at length, into an angry dispute, little creditable to, at least, the younger of the two word-combatants.

As I stood in the hall that night, awaiting my carriage, I saw Charley advance to the door of the library, opening near, and knock lightly. The voice of his aged father bade him enter. Opening the door, the young man, taking his hat quite off, and bowing almost reverentially, said only, "I bid you good night, sir," and quietly closed it again. When they turned towards me, there was almost a woman's softness in eyes that would have looked undimmed upon the fiercest foe or the deadliest peril.--Think you the Recording Angel flew up to Heaven's high Chancery with a testimony of that day's deeds and words?

Once, after this, Charley had occasion to visit the city where Bob resided. Breakfast over, at his hotel, he sallied forth to call on Bob, at his own house, and attend, subsequently, to other matters.

He was shown into an elegant drawing-room, where the master of the mansion sat reading a newspaper. Without rising, he offered his hand, coldly, and before inviting his visitor to sit, took occasion to say that his wife's having an engagement to spend the day out of town would prevent his inviting his brother to dine!

As Charley descended the steps of his brother's stately mansion, at the termination of his brief call that day, he silently registered a vow never again to cross his threshold, unless impelled by imperative duty.

And yet Bob is not only a rich merchant, an Alderman, and a Bank Director, but a _man of fashion_!

One of the most discriminating and truthful delineators of life and manners whom we boast among our native authors, prominent among the characteristic traits he ascribes to an old English gentleman, of whom he gives us an exquisite portraiture, is that of such considerate kindness towards an old servant as to make him endure his peevishness and obstinacy with good humor, and affect to consult and agree with him, until he gains an important practical point with "time-honored age."

Ill.u.s.trative of our subject is one of the anecdotes recorded of the poet Rogers, in his recently published life:

"Mr. Rogers," said the body-servant, who had long attended him in his helpless years, "_we_ are invited to dine with Miss Coutts." The italicizing is mine. Is it not suggestive?

You remember the rest of the anecdote; Rogers had the habit, during the latter years of his life, of writing, when able to use his pen, notes to be dated and directed as occasion required, in this established form "Pity me, I am engaged." So, on this occasion, the careful attendant added: "The _pity-me's_ are all gone!"

Weather-bound during the long, cold winter of 18--, by a protracted snow-storm and a severe cold, in the house of an old friend, I left my comfortable private quarters one morning for a little walk up and down the corridor into which my own apartment and those of the family opened.

By and by the active step of my hostess crossed my sauntering way.

"Perhaps it may amuse you to come into the nursery, a little while, colonel," said she, "it will be a novelty, at least, to you, to see behind the scenes."

"I feel myself honored by the permission, I a.s.sure you; the _green-room_ always has an interest for me!" returned I; and I was soon ensconced in a large, cushioned-chair, in a cozy corner, near the open, old-fashioned "franklin" in which blazed a cheerful wood-fire. The rosy-cheeked juveniles among whom I found myself vied with each other in efforts to promote my comfort. One brought her own little chair, and placed it to support my feet; another climbed up and stuffed a soft cushion greatly larger than his own rotund, dumpling of a figure, between me and the chair-back, a.s.suring me with a grave shake of the head, in which I saw the future Esculapius, "it is so nice ven your head do ache--mamma say so, ven I put him on her always!" and bright-eyed little Bessie, between whom and me a very good understanding already existed, crowned the varied hospitalities of my initiatory visit by offering me the use of her tiny m.u.f.f!