98. Avoid the filthy habit of which foreigners in this country so justly complain--I mean spitting.

99. If any one bows to you in the street, return the bow. It may be an acquaintance whose face you do not immediately recognize, and if it is a stranger who mistakes you for another, your courteous bow will relieve him from the embarra.s.sment arising from his mistake.

100. The following hints on conversation conclude the chapter:-- "Conversation may be carried on successfully by persons who have no idea that it is or may be an art, as clever things are sometimes done without study. But there can be no certainty of good conversation in ordinary circ.u.mstances, and amongst ordinary minds, unless certain rules be observed, and certain errors be avoided.

"The first and greatest rule unquestionably is, that all must be favorably disposed towards each other, and willing to be pleased. There must be no sullen or uneasy-looking person--no one who evidently thinks he has fallen into unsuitable company, and whose sole aim it is to take care lest his dignity be injured--no one whose feelings are of so morose or ascetic a kind that he cannot join without observable pain and hesitation in the playfulness of the scene--no matter-of-fact person, who takes all things literally, and means all things literally, and thinks it as great a crime to say something in jest as to do it in earnest. One of any of these cla.s.ses of persons is sufficient to mar the enjoyments of a hundred. The matter-of-factish may do very well with the matter-of-factish, the morose with the morose, the stilted with the stilted; and they should accordingly keep amongst themselves respectively. But, for what is generally recognized as agreeable conversation, minds exempted from these peculiarities are required.

"The ordinary rules of politeness are, of course, necessary--no rudeness, no offence to each other's self-esteem; on the contrary, much mutual deference is required, in order to keep all the elements of a company sweet. Sometimes, however, there is a very turbid kind of conversation, where there is no want of common good breeding. This, most frequently, arises from there being too great a disposition to speak, and too small a disposition to listen. Too many are eager to get their ideas expressed, or to attract attention; and the consequence is, that nothing is heard but broken s.n.a.t.c.hes and fragments of discourse, in which there is neither profit nor entertainment. No man listens to what another has to say, and then makes a relative or additionally ill.u.s.trative remark. One may be heard for a minute, or half a minute, but it is with manifest impatience; and the moment he is done, or stops to draw breath, the other plunges in with what he had to say, being something quite of another strain, and referring to another subject. He in his turn is interrupted by a third, with the enunciation of some favorite ideas of his, equally irrelative; and thus conversation becomes no conversation, but a contention for permission to speak a few hurried words, which n.o.body cares to hear, or takes the trouble to answer. Meanwhile, the modest and weak sit silent and ungratified. The want of regulation is here very manifest. It would be better to have a president who should allow everybody a minute in succession to speak without interruption, than thus to have freedom, and so monstrously to abuse it. The only remedy, as far as meetings by invitation are concerned, is to take care that no more eager talkers are introduced than are absolutely necessary to prevent conversation from flagging. One to every six or eight persons is the utmost that can be safely allowed.

"The danger of introducing politics, or any other notoriously controversial subject, in mixed companies, is so generally acknowledged, that conversation is in little danger--at least in polite circles--from that source. But wranglements, nevertheless, are apt to arise. Very frequently the company falls together by the ears in consequence of the starting of some topic in which facts are concerned--with which facts no one chances to be acquainted.

"Conversation is often much spoilt through slight inattentions or misapprehensions on the part of a particular member of the company. In the midst of some interesting narrative or discussion, he suddenly puts all to a stop, in order that some little perplexity may be explained, which he could never have fallen into, if he had been paying a fair degree of attention to what was going on. Or he has some precious prejudice jarred upon by something said, or supposed to be said, and all is at a stand, till he has been, through the united exertions of a vexed company, re-a.s.sured and put at his ease. Often the most frivolous interruption from such causes will disconcert the whole strain of the conversation, and spoil the enjoyment of a score of people.

"The eager speakers, already alluded to, are a different cla.s.s from those who may be called the determinedly loquacious. A thoroughly loquacious man has no idea of anything but a constant outpouring of talk from his own mouth. If he stops for a moment, he thinks he is not doing his duty to the company; and, anxious that there should be no cause of complaint against him on that score, he rather repeats a sentence, or gives the same idea in different words, or hums and haws a little, than allow the least pause to take place. The notion that any other body can be desirous of saying a word, never enters his head. He would as soon suppose that a beggar was anxious to bestow alms upon him, as that any one could wish to speak, as long as he himself was willing to save them the trouble. Any attempt to interrupt him is quite hopeless. The only effect of the sound of another voice is to raise the sound of his own, so as to drown it. Even to give a slight twist or turn to the flow of his ideas, is scarce possible. When a decided attempt is made to get in a few words, he only says, with an air of offended feeling, set off with a tart courtesy, 'Allow me, sir,' or, 'When you are done, sir;' as if he were a man whom n.o.body would allow, on any occasion, to say all he had to say. If, however, he has been permitted to talk on and on incessantly a whole evening, to the complete closing of the mouths of the rest, he goes away with all the benevolent glow of feeling which arises from a gratified faculty, remarking to the gentleman who takes his arm, 'What a great deal of pleasant conversation we have had!' and chatters forth all the way home such sentences as, 'Excellent fellow, our host,' 'charming wife,' 'delightful family altogether,' 'always make everybody so happy.'

"Another cla.s.s of spoilers of conversation are the loud talkers or bl.u.s.terers. They are not numerous, but one is enough to destroy the comfort of thirty people for a whole evening. The least opposition to any of his ideas makes the bl.u.s.terer rise in his might, and bellow, and roar, and bellow again, till the whole company is in something like the condition of aeneas's fleet after Eolus has done his worst. The society enjoyed by this kind of man is a series of first invitations.

"While bl.u.s.terers and determinedly loquacious persons are best left to themselves, and while endless worryings on unknown things are to be avoided, it is necessary both that one or two good conversationists should be at every party, and that the strain of the conversation should not be allowed to become too tame. In all invited parties, eight of every ten persons are disposed to hold their peace, or to confine themselves to monosyllabic answers to commonplace inquiries. It is necessary, therefore, that there should be some who can speak, and that fluently, if not entertainingly--only not too many. But all engrossing of conversation, and all turbulence, and over-eagerness, and egotism, are to be condemned. A very soft and quiet manner has, at last, been settled upon, in the more elevated circles, as the best for conversation. Perhaps they carry it to a pitch of affectation; but, yet, when we observe the injurious consequences of the opposite style in less polite companies, it is not easy to avoid the conclusion that the great folks are, upon the whole, right. In the courtly scene, no one has his ears offended with loud and discordant tones, no one is condemned to absolute silence. All display in conversation will not depend on the accidental and external quality of strength of voice, as it must do where a loud and contentious style of talking is allowed; the soft-toned and the weak-lunged will have as good a chance as their more robust neighbors; and it will be possible for all both to speak and to hear. There may be another advantage in its being likely to produce less mental excitement than the more turbulent kind of society. But regulation is, we are persuaded, the thing most of all wanted in the conversational meetings of the middle cla.s.ses. People interrupt each other too much--are too apt to run away into their own favorite themes, without caring for the topic of their neighbors--too frequently wrangle about trifles. The regularity of a debating society would be intolerable; but some certain degree of method might certainly be introduced with great advantage. There should, at least, be a vigorous enforcement of the rule against more than one speaking at a time, even though none of those waiting for their turn should listen to a word he says. Without this there may be much talk, and even some merriment, but no conversation."

CHAPTER XII.

PARTIES.

Now, there are many different kinds of parties. There are the evening party, the matinee, the reading, dancing, and singing parties, the picnic, the boating, and the riding parties; and the duties for each one are distinct, yet, in many points, similar. Our present subject is:-- THE EVENING PARTY.

These are of two kinds, large and small. For the first, you will receive a formal card, containing the compliments of your hostess for a certain evening, and this calls for full dress, a dress coat, and white or very light gloves. To the small party you will probably be invited verbally, or by a more familiar style of note than the compliment card. Here you may wear gloves if you will, but you need not do so unless perfectly agreeable to yourself.

If you are to act as escort to a lady, you must call at the hour she chooses to name, and the most elegant way is to take a carriage for her. If you wish to present a bouquet, you may do so with perfect propriety, even if you have but a slight acquaintance with her.

When you reach the house of your hostess for the evening, escort your companion to the dressing-room, and leave her at the door. After you have deposited your own hat and great-coat in the gentlemen's dressing-room, return to the ladies' door and wait for your companion. Offer her your right arm, and lead her to the drawing-room, and, at once, to the hostess, then take her to a seat, and remain with her until she has other companions, before you seek any of your own friends in the room.

There is much more real enjoyment and sociability in a well-arranged party, than in a ball, though many of the points of etiquette to be observed in the latter are equally applicable to the former. There is more time allowed for conversation, and, as there are not so many people collected, there is also more opportunity for forming acquaintances. At a soiree, par excellence, music, dancing, and conversation are all admissible, and if the hostess has tact and discretion this variety is very pleasing. As there are many times when there is no pianist or music engaged for dancing, you will do well, if you are a performer on the piano-forte, to learn some quadrilles, and round dances, that you may volunteer your services as orchestra. Do not, in this case, wait to be solicited to play, but offer your services to the hostess, or, if there is a lady at the piano, ask permission to relieve her. To turn the leaves for another, and sometimes call figures, are also good natured and well-bred actions.

There is one piece of rudeness very common at parties, against which I would caution you. Young people very often form a group, and indulge in the most boisterous merriment and loud laughter, for jests known only to themselves. Do not join such a group. A well-bred man, while he is cheerful and gay, will avoid any appearance of romping in society.

If dancing is to be the amus.e.m.e.nt for the evening, your first dance should be with the lady whom you accompanied, then, invite your hostess, and, if there are several ladies in the family you must invite each of them once, in the course of the evening. If you go alone, invite the ladies of the house before dancing with any of your other lady friends.

Never attempt any dance with which you are not perfectly familiar. Nothing is more awkward and annoying than to have one dancer, by his ignorance of the figures, confuse all the others in the set, and certainly no man wants to show off his ignorance of the steps of a round dance before a room full of company.

Do not devote yourself too much to one lady. A party is meant to promote sociability, and a man who persists in a tete-a-tete for the evening, destroys this intention. Besides you prevent others from enjoying the pleasure of intercourse with the lady you thus monopolize.

Avoid any affectation of great intimacy with any lady present; and even if you really enjoy such intimacy, or she is a relative, do not appear to have confidential conversation, or, in any other way, affect airs of secrecy or great familiarity.

Dance easily and gracefully, keeping perfect time, but not taking too great pains with your steps. If your whole attention is given to your feet or carriage, you will probably be mistaken for a dancing master.

When you conduct your partner to a seat after a dance, you may sit or stand beside her to converse, unless you see that another gentleman is waiting to invite her to dance.

Do not take the vacant seat next a lady unless you are acquainted with her.

After dancing, do not offer your hand, but your arm, to conduct your partner to her seat.

If music is called for and you are able to play or sing, do so when first invited, or, if you refuse then, do not afterwards comply. If you refuse, and then alter your mind you will either be considered a vain c.o.xcomb, who likes to be urged; or some will conclude that you refused at first from mere caprice, for, if you had a good reason for declining, why change your mind?

Never offer to turn the leaves of music for any one playing, unless you can read the notes, for you run the risk of confusing them, by turning too soon or too late.

If you sing a good second, never sing with a lady unless she herself invites you. Her friends may wish to hear you sing together, when she herself may not wish to sing with one to whose voice and time she is unaccustomed.

Do not start a conversation whilst any one is either playing or singing, and if another person commences one, speak in a tone that will not prevent others from listening to the music.

If you play yourself, do not wait for silence in the room before you begin. If you play well, those really fond of music will cease to converse, and listen to you; and those who do not care for it, will not stop talking if you wait upon the piano stool until day dawn.

Relatives should avoid each other at a party, as they can enjoy one another's society at home, and it is the constantly changing intercourse, and complete sociability that make a party pleasant.

Private concerts and amateur theatricals are very often the occasions for evening parties, and make a very pleasant variety on the usual dancing and small talk. An English writer, speaking of them, says: "Private concerts and amateur theatricals ought to be very good to be successful. Professionals alone should be engaged for the former, none but real amateurs for the latter. Both ought to be, but rarely are, followed by a supper, since they are generally very fatiguing, if not positively trying. In any case, refreshments and ices should be handed between the songs and the acts. Private concerts are often given in the 'morning,' that is, from two to six P. M.; in the evening their hours are from eight to eleven. The rooms should be arranged in the same manner as for a reception, the guests should be seated, and as music is the avowed object, a general silence preserved while it lasts. Between the songs the conversation ebbs back again, and the party takes the general form of a reception. For private theatricals, however, where there is no special theatre, and where the curtain is hung, as is most common, between the folding-doors, the audience-room must be filled with chairs and benches in rows, and, if possible, the back rows raised higher than the others. These are often removed when the performance is over, and the guests then converse, or, sometimes, even dance. During the acting it is rude to talk, except in a very low tone, and, be it good or bad, you would never think of hissing."

If you are alone, and obliged to retire early from an evening party, do not take leave of your hostess, but slip away unperceived.

If you have escorted a lady, her time must be yours, and she will tell you when she is ready to go. See whether the carriage has arrived before she goes to the dressing-room, and return to the parlor to tell her. If the weather was pleasant when you left home, and you walked, ascertain whether it is still pleasant; if not, procure a carriage for your companion. When it is at the door, join her in the drawing-room, and offer your arm to lead her to the hostess for leave-taking, making your own parting bow at the same time, then take your companion to the door of the ladies' dressing-room, get your own hat and wait in the entry until she comes out.

When you reach your companion's house, do not accept her invitation to enter, but ask permission to call in the morning, or the following evening, and make that call.

CHAPTER XIII.

COURTESY AT HOME.

There are many men in this world, who would be horror struck if accused of the least breach of etiquette towards their friends and acquaintances abroad, and yet, who will at home utterly disregard the simplest rules of politeness, if such rules interfere in the least with their own selfish gratification. They disregard the pure and holy ties which should make courtesy at home a pleasure as well as a duty. They forget that home has a sweet poetry of its own, created out of the simplest materials, yet, haunting, more or less, the secret recesses of every human heart; it is divided into a thousand separate poems, which should be full of individual interest, little quiet touches of feeling and golden recollections, which, in the heart of a truly n.o.ble man, are interwoven with his very being. Common things are, to him, hallowed and made beautiful by the spell of memory and a.s.sociation, owing all their glory to the halo of his own pure, fond affection. The eye of a stranger rests coldly on such revelations; their simple pathos is hard to be understood; and they smile oftentimes at the quaintness of those pa.s.sages which make others weep. With the beautiful instinct of true affection, home love retains only the good. There were clouds then, even as now, darkening the horizon of daily life, and breaking tears or wild storms above our heads; but he remembers nothing save the sunshine, and fancies somehow that it has never shone so bright since! How little it took to make him happy in those days, aye, and sad also; but it was a pleasant sadness, for he wept only over a flower or a book. But let us turn to our first poem; and in using this term we allude, of course, to the poetry of idea, rather than that of the measure; beauty of which is so often lost to us from a vague feeling that it cannot exist without rhythm. But pause and listen, first of all, gentle reader, to the living testimony of a poet heart, brimful, and gushing over with home love:--"There are not, in the unseen world, voices more gentle and more true, that may be more implicitly relied on, or that are so certain to give none but the tenderest counsel, as the voices in which the spirits of the fireside and the hearth address themselves to human kind!"

The man who shows his contempt for these holy ties and a.s.sociations by pulling off his mask of courtesy as soon as his foot pa.s.ses his own threshold, is not really a gentleman, but a selfish tyrant, whose true qualities are not courtesy and politeness, but a hypocritical affectation of them, a.s.sumed to obtain a footing in society. Avoid such men. Even though you are one of the favored ones abroad who receive their gentle courtesy, you may rest a.s.sured that the heartless egotism which makes them rude and selfish at home, will make their friendship but a name, if circ.u.mstances ever put it to the test. Above all, avoid their example.

In what does the home circle consist? First, there are the parents who have watched over your infancy and childhood, and whom you are commanded by the Highest Power to "honor." Then the brothers and sisters, the wife who has left her own home and all its tender ties for your sake, and the children who look to you for example, guidance, and instruction.

Who else on the broad earth can lay the same claim to your gentleness and courtesy that they can? If you are rude at home, then is your politeness abroad a mere cloak to conceal a bad, selfish heart.

The parents who have anxiously watched over your education, have the first right to the fruits of it, and all the gentleman should be exerted to repay them for the care they have taken of you since your birth. All the rules of politeness, of generosity, of good nature, patience, and respectful affection should be exerted for your parents. You owe to them a pure, filial love, void of personal interest, which should prompt you to study all their tastes, their likes, and aversions, in order to indulge the one and avoid the other; you owe to them polite attention, deference to all their wishes, and compliance with their requests. Every joy will be doubled to them, if you show a frank pleasure in its course, and no comfort can soothe the grief of a parent so much as the sympathizing love of a dutiful son. If they are old, dependent upon you for support, then can you still better prove to them that the tender care they lavished upon you, when you depended upon their love for everything, was not lost, but was good seed sown upon fruitful ground. Nay, if with the infirmities of age come the crosses of bad temper, or exacting selfishness, your duty still lies as plainly before you. It is but the promptings of natural affection that will lead you to love and cherish an indulgent parent; but it is a pure, high virtue which makes a son love and cherish with an equal affection a selfish, negligent mother, or a tyrannical, harsh father. No failure in their duty can excuse you if you fail in yours; and, even if they are wicked, you are not to be their judge, but, while you detest and avoid their sin, you must still love the sinner. Nothing but the grossest and most revolting brutality could make a man reproach his parents with the feebleness of age or illness, or the incapacity to exert their talents for support.

An eminent writer, in speaking of a man's duties, says: "Do all in your power to render your parents comfortable and happy; if they are aged and infirm, be with them as often as you can, carry them tokens of your love, and show them that you feel a tender interest in their happiness. Be all to your parents, which you would wish your children to be to you."

Next, in the home circle, come your brothers and sisters, and here you will find the little courtesies, which, as a gentleman, should be habitual to you, will ensure the love a man should most highly prize, the love of his brother and sister. Next to his filial love, this is the first tie of his life, and should be valued as it deserves.

If you are the eldest of the family, you may, by your example, influence your brothers to good or evil, and win or alienate the affections of your little sisters. There is scarcely a more enthusiastic affection in the world than that a sister feels for an elder brother. Even though he may not repay the devotion as it deserves, she will generally cherish it, and invest him with the most heroic qualities, while her tender little heart, though it may quiver with the pain of a harsh word or rude action, will still try to find an excuse for "brother's" want of affection. If you show an interest in the pursuits of the little circle at whose head your age ent.i.tles you to stand, you will soon find they all look up to you, seek your advice, crave your sympathy, and follow your example. The eldest son holds a most responsible position. Should death or infirmity deprive him of a father's counsel, he should be prepared to stand forth as the head of the family, and take his father's place towards his mother and the younger children.

Every man should feel, that in the character and dignity of his sisters his own honor is involved. An insult or affront offered to them, becomes one to him, and he is the person they will look to for protection, and to prevent its repet.i.tion. By his own manner to them he can ensure to them the respect or contempt of other men whom they meet when in his society. How can he expect that his friends will treat his sisters with gentleness, respect, and courtesy, if they see him constantly rude, disrespectful, and contemptuous towards them? But, if his own manner is that of affectionate respect, he need not fear for them rudeness from others, while they are under his protection. An American writer says:-- "Nothing in a family strikes the eye of a visitor with more delight than to see brothers treat their sisters with kindness, civility, attention, and love. On the contrary, nothing is more offensive or speaks worse for the honor of a family, than that coa.r.s.e, rude, unkind manner which brothers sometimes exhibit."

The same author says:-- "Beware how you speak of your sisters. Even gold is tarnished by much handling. If you speak in their praise--of their beauty, learning, manners, wit, or attentions--you will subject them to taunt and ridicule; if you say anything against them, you will bring reproach upon yourself and them too. If you have occasion to speak of them, do it with modesty and few words. Let others do all the praising and yourself enjoy it. If you are separated from them, maintain with them a correspondence. This will do yourself good as well as them. Do not neglect this duty, nor grow remiss in it. Give your friendly advice and seek theirs in return. As they mingle intimately with their s.e.x, they can enlighten your mind respecting many particulars relating to female character, important for you to know; and, on the other hand, you have the same opportunity to do them a similar service. However long or widely separated from them, keep up your fraternal affection and intercourse. It is ominous of evil when a young man forgets his sister.

"If you are living at home with them, you may do them a thousand little services, which will cost you nothing but pleasure, and which will greatly add to theirs. If they wish to go out in the evening--to a lecture, concert, a visit, or any other object,--always be happy, if possible, to wait upon them. Consider their situation, and think how you would wish them to treat you if the case were reversed."

A young man once said to an elderly lady, who expressed her regret at his having taken some trouble and denied himself a pleasure to gratify her:-- "Madam, I am far away from my mother and sisters now, but when I was at home, my greatest pleasure was to protect them and gratify all their wishes; let me now place you in their stead, and you will not have cause again to feel regret, for you can think 'he must love to deny himself for one who represents his mother.'"

The old lady afterwards spoke of him as a perfect gentleman, and was contradicted by a younger person who quoted some fault in etiquette committed by the young man in company. "Ah, that may be," said her friend; "but what I call a gentleman, is not the man who performs to the minutest point all the little ceremonies of society, but the one whose heart prompts him to be polite at home."

If you have left the first home circle, that comprising your parents, brothers, and sisters, to take up the duties of a husband and father, you must carry to your new home the same politeness I have advised you to exert in the home of your childhood.

Your wife claims your courtesy more now, even, than when you were courting her. She has given up, for your sake, all the freedom and pleasures of her maidenhood, and to you she looks for a love that will replace them all. Can you disappoint that trusting affection? Before your marriage you thought no stretch of courtesy too great, if the result was to afford her pleasure; why, then, not strive to keep her love, by the same gentle courtesy you exerted to win it?

"A delicate attention to the minute wants and wishes of your wife, will tend, more than anything else, to the promotion of your domestic happiness. It requires no sacrifices, occupies but a small degree of attention, yet is the fertile source of bliss; since it convinces the object of your regard, that, with the duties of a husband, you have united the more punctilious behaviour of a lover. These trivial tokens of regard certainly make much way in the affections of a woman of sense and discernment, who looks not to the value of the gifts she receives, but perceives in their frequency a continued evidence of the existence and ardor of that love on which the superstructure of her happiness has been erected. The strongest attachment will decline, if you receive it with diminished warmth."

Mrs. Thrale gives the following advice, which is worth the consideration of every young man: "After marriage," she says, "when your violence of pa.s.sion subsides, and a more cool and tranquil affection takes its place, be not hasty to censure as indifferent, or to lament yourself as unhappy; you have lost that only which it is impossible to retain; and it were graceless amidst the pleasures of a prosperous summer, to regret the blossoms of a transient spring. Neither unwarily condemn your bride's insipidity, till you have recollected that no object, however sublime, no sound, however charming, can continue to transport us with delight, when they no longer strike us with novelty. The skill to renovate the powers of pleasing is said, indeed, to be possessed by some women in an eminent degree, but the artifices of maturity are seldom seen to adorn the innocence of youth. You have made your choice and ought to approve it.

"To be happy, we must always have something in view. Turn, therefore, your attention to her mind, which will daily grow brighter by polishing. Study some easy science together, and acquire a similarity of tastes, while you enjoy a community of pleasures. You will, by this means, have many pursuits in common, and be freed from the necessity of separating to find amus.e.m.e.nt; endeavor to cement the present union on every side; let your wife never be kept ignorant of your income, your expenses, your friendships, or your aversions; let her know your very faults, but make them amiable by your virtues; consider all concealment as a breach of fidelity; let her never have anything to find out in your character, and remember that from the moment one of the partners turns spy upon the other, they have commenced a state of hostility.

"Seek not for happiness in singularity, and dread a refinement of wisdom as a deviation into folly. Listen not to those sages who advise you always to scorn the counsel of a woman, and if you comply with her requests p.r.o.nounce you to be wife-ridden. Think not any privation, except of positive evil, an excellence; and do not congratulate yourself that your wife is not a learned lady, or is wholly ignorant how to make a pudding. Cooking and learning are both good in their places, and may both be used with advantage. With regard to expense, I can only observe, that the money laid out in the purchase of luxuries is seldom or ever profitably employed. We live in an age when splendid furniture and glittering equipage are grown too common to catch the notice of the meanest spectator; and for the greater ones, they can only regard our wasteful folly with silent contempt or open indignation.

"This may, perhaps, be a displeasing reflection; but the following consideration ought to make amends. The age we live in pays, I think, a peculiar attention to the higher distinctions of wit, knowledge, and virtue, to which we may more safely, more cheaply, and more honorably aspire.

"The person of your lady will not grow more pleasing to you; but, pray, let her not suspect that it grows less so. There is no reproof, however pointed, no punishment, however severe, that a woman of spirit will not prefer to neglect; and if she can endure it without complaint, it only proves that she means to make herself amends by the attention of others for the slights of her husband. For this, and for every other reason, it behoves a married man not to let his politeness fail, though his ardour may abate; but to retain, at least, that general civility towards his own lady which he is willing to pay to every other, and not show a wife of eighteen or twenty years old, that every man in company can treat her with more complaisance than he who so often vowed to her eternal fondness.

"It is not my opinion that a young woman should be indulged in every wild wish of her gay heart, or giddy head; but contradiction may be softened by domestic kindness, and quiet pleasures subst.i.tuted in the place of noisy ones. Public amus.e.m.e.nts, indeed, are not so expensive as is sometimes imagined; but they tend to alienate the minds of married people from each other. A well-chosen society of friends and acquaintances, more eminent for virtue and good sense than for gaiety and splendor, where the conversation of the day may afford comment for the evening, seems the most rational pleasure that can be afforded. That your own superiority should always be seen, but never felt, seems an excellent general rule.

"If your wife is disposed towards jealousy of you, let me beseech you be always explicit with her, never mysterious. Be above delighting in her pain in all things."

After your duty to your wife comes that towards the children whom G.o.d lends to you, to fit them to return pure and virtuous to him. This is your task, responsibility, and trust, to be undertaken prayerfully, earnestly, and humbly, as the highest and most sacred duty this life ever can afford you.

The relationship between parent and child, is one that appears to have been ordained by Providence, to bring the better feelings of mankind and many domestic virtues into active exercise. The implicit confidence with which children, when properly treated, look up to their elders for guidance is not less beautiful than endearing; and no parents can set about the work of guiding aright, in real earnest, without deriving as much good as they impart. The feeling with which this labor of love would be carried forward is, as the poet writes of mercy, twice blessed:-- "It blesses him that gives and him that takes."

And yet, in daily life and experience, how seldom do we find these views realized! Children, in too many instances, are looked on as anything but a blessing; they are treated as inc.u.mbrances, or worse; and the neglect in which they are brought up, renders it almost impossible for them, when they grow older, to know anything properly of moral or social duties. This result we know, in numerous cases, is not willful, does not arise from ill intentions on the part of parents, but from want of fixed plans and principles. There are hundreds of families in this country whose daily life is nothing better than a daily scramble, where time and place, from getting up in the morning to going to bed at night, are regarded as matters of chance. In such homes as these, where the inmates are willing to do well, but don't know how, a word in season is often welcome. "Great principles," we are told, "are at the bottom of all things; but to apply them to daily life, many little rules, precautions, and insights are needed."

The work of training is, in some degree, lightened by the fact, that children are very imitative; what they see others do, they will try to do themselves, and if they see none but good examples, good conduct on their part may naturally be looked for. Children are keen observers, and are very ready at drawing conclusions when they see a want of correspondence between profession and practice, in those who have the care of them. At the age of seven, the child's brain has reached its full growth; it seldom becomes larger after that period, and it then contains the germ of all that the man ever accomplishes. Here is an additional reason for laying down the precept:--be yourselves what you wish the children to be. When correction is necessary, let it be administered in such a way as to make the child refrain from doing wrong from a desire to do right, not for the sole reason that wrong brings punishment. All experience teaches us that if a good thing is to be obtained, it must be by persevering diligence; and of all good things, the pleasure arising from a well-trained family is one of the greatest. Parents, or educators, have no right to use their children just as whim or prejudice may dictate. Children are smaller links in the great social chain, and bind together in lasting ties many portions which otherwise would be completely disjointed; their joyousness enlivens many a home, and their innocence is a powerful check and antidote to much that is evil. The implicit obedience which is required of them, will always be given when called forth by a spirit of forbearance, self-sacrifice, and love:-- "Ere long comes the reward, And for the cares and toils we have endured, Repays us joys and pleasures manifold."

If you cherish and honor your own parents, then do you give your children the most forcible teaching for their duty, example. And your duty to your children requires your example to be good in all things. How can you expect counsel to virtue to have any effect, if you constantly contradict it by a bad example? Do not forget, that early impressions are deep and lasting, and from their infancy let them see you keep an upright, n.o.ble walk in life, then may you hope to see them follow in your footsteps.

Justice, as a sentiment, is inborn, and no one distinguishes its niceties more quickly than a child. Therefore in your rewards and punishments examine carefully every part of their conduct, and judge calmly, not hastily, and be sure you are just. An unmerited reward will make a child question your judgment as much as an unmerited punishment.

Guard your temper. Never reprove a child in the heat of pa.s.sion.

If your sons see that you regard the rules of politeness in your home, you will find that they treat their mother and sisters with respect and courtesy, and observe, even in play, the rules of etiquette your example teaches; but if you are a domestic tyrant, all your elder and stronger children will strive to act like "father," by ill-treating or neglecting the younger and weaker ones.

Make them, from the moment they begin to talk, use pure and grammatical language, avoid slang phrases, and, above all, profanity. You will find this rule, enforced during childhood, will have more effect than a library full of books or the most unwearied instruction can accomplish, after bad habits in conversation have once been formed.

Make them, from early childhood, observe the rules of politeness towards each other. Let your sons treat your daughters as, when men, you would have them treat other females, and let your daughters, by gentleness and love, repay these attentions. You may feel sure that the brothers and sisters, who are polite one to another, will not err in etiquette when abroad.

In the home circle may very properly be included the humble portion, whose onerous duties are too often repaid by harshness and rudeness; I mean the servants. A true gentleman, while he never allows familiarity from his servants, will always remember that they are human beings, who feel kindness or rudeness as keenly as the more favored ones up stairs. Chesterfield says:-- "There is a certain politeness due to your inferiors, and whoever is without it, is without good nature. We do not need to compliment our servants, nor to talk of their doing us the honor, &c., but we ought to treat them with benevolence and mildness. We are all of the same species, and no distinction whatever is between us, except that which arises from fortune. For example, your footman and cook would be your equals were they as rich as you. Being poor they are obliged to serve you. Therefore, you must not add to their misfortunes by insulting or ill-treating them. If your situation is preferable to theirs, be thankful, without either despising them or being vain of your better fortune. You must, therefore, treat all your inferiors with affability and good manners, and not speak to them in a surly tone, nor with harsh expressions, as if they were of a different species. A good heart never reminds people of their inferiority, but endeavors to alleviate their misfortunes, and make them forget them."

"Example," says Mrs. Parkes, "is of the greatest importance to our servants, particularly those who are young, whose habits are frequently formed by the first service they enter. With the mild and good, they become softened and improved, but with the dissipated and violent, are too often disorderly and vicious. It is, therefore, not among the least of the duties inc.u.mbent on the head of the family, to place in their view such examples as are worthy their imitation. But these examples, otherwise praiseworthy, should neither be rendered disagreeable, nor have their force diminished by any accompaniment of ill humor. Rather by the happiness and comfort resulting from our conduct towards our domestics, should they be made sensible of the beauty of virtue. What we admire, we often strive to imitate, and thus they may be led on to imitate good principles, and to form regular and virtuous habits."

CHAPTER XIV.

TRUE COURTESY.

Politeness is the art of pleasing. It is to the deportment what the finer touches of the pencil are to the picture, or what harmony is to music. In the formation of character, it is indispensably requisite. "We are all," says Locke, "a kind of chameleons, that take a tincture from the objects which surround us." True courtesy, indeed, chiefly consists in accommodating ourselves to the feelings of others, without descending from our own dignity, or denuding ourselves of our own principles. By constant intercourse with society, we acquire what is called politeness almost intuitively, as the sh.e.l.ls of the sea are rendered smooth by the unceasing friction of the waves; though there appears to be a natural grace about the well-bred, which many feel it difficult to attain.

Religion itself teaches us to honor all men, and to do unto others as we would others do unto us. This includes the whole principle of courtesy, which in this we may remark, a.s.similates to the principle of justice. It comprises, indeed, all the moral virtues in one, consisting not merely in external show, but having its principle in the heart. The politeness which superficial writers are fond of describing, has been defined as "the appearance of all the virtues, without possessing one of them;" but by this is meant the mere outward parade, or that kind of artificial adornment of demeanor, which owes its existence to an over-refinement of civility. Anything forced or formal is contrary to the very character of courtesy, which does not consist in a becoming deportment alone, but is prompted and guided by a superior mind, impelling the really polite person to bear with the failings of some, to overlook the weakness of others, and to endure patiently the caprices of all. Indeed, one of the essential characteristics of courtesy is good nature, and an inclination always to look at the bright side of things.

The princ.i.p.al rules of politeness are, to subdue the temper, to submit to the weakness of our fellow men, and to render to all their due, freely and courteously. These, with the judgment to recommend ourselves to those whom we meet in society, and the discrimination to know when and to whom to yield, as well as the discretion to treat all with the deference due to their reputation, station, or merit, comprise, in general, the character of a polite man, over which the admission of even one blot or shade will throw a blemish not easily removed.

Sincerity is another essential characteristic of courtesy; for, without it, the social system would have no permanent foundation or hope of continuance. It is the want of this which makes society, what it is said to be, artificial.

Good breeding, in a great measure, consists in being easy, but not indifferent; good humored, but not familiar; pa.s.sive, but not unconcerned. It includes, also, a sensibility nice, yet correct; a tact delicate, yet true. There is a beautiful uniformity in the demeanor of a polite man; and it is impossible not to be struck with his affable air. There is a golden mean in the art, which it should be every body's object to attain, without descending to obsequiousness on the one hand, or to familiarity on the other. In politeness, as in everything else, there is the medium betwixt too much and too little, betwixt constraint and freedom; for civilities carried to extreme are wearisome, and mere ceremony is not politeness, but the reverse.

The truly pious people are the truly courteous. "Religion," says Leighton, "is in this mistaken sometimes, in that we think it imprints a roughness and austerity upon the mind and carriage. It doth, indeed, bar all vanity and lightness, and all compliance;" but it softens the manners, tempers the address, and refines the heart.

Pride is one of the greatest obstacles to true courtesy that can be mentioned. He who a.s.sumes too much on his own merit, shows that he does not understand the simplest principles of politeness. The feeling of pride is, of itself, highly culpable. No man, whether he be a monarch on the throne, or the meanest beggar in his realm, possesses any right to comport himself with a haughty or discourteous air towards his fellow men. The poet truly says: "What most enn.o.bles human nature, Was ne'er the portion of the proud."

It is easy to bestow a kind word, or a.s.sume a gracious smile; these will recommend us to every one; while a haughty demeanor, or an austere look, may forfeit forever the favor of those whose good opinion we may be anxious to secure. The really courteous man has a thorough knowledge of human nature, and can make allowances for its weaknesses. He is always consistent with himself. The polite alone know how to make others polite, as the good alone know how to inspire others with a relish for virtue.

Having mentioned pride as being opposed to true politeness, I may cla.s.s affectation with it, in that respect. Affectation is a deviation from, at the same time that it is an imitation of, nature. It is the result of bad taste, and of mistaken notions of one's own qualities. The other vices are limited, and have each a particular object; but affectation pervades the whole conduct, and detracts from the merit of whatever virtues and good dispositions a man may possess. Beauty itself loses its attraction, when disfigured by affectation. Even to copy from the best patterns is improper, because the imitation can never be so good as the original. Counterfeit coin is not so valuable as the real, and when discovered, it cannot pa.s.s current. Affectation is a sure sign that there is something to conceal, rather than anything to be proud of, in the character and disposition of the persons practicing it.

In religion, affectation, or, as it is fitly called, hypocrisy, is reprehensible in the highest degree. However grave be their deportment, of all affected persons, those who, without any real foundation, make too great pretensions to piety, are certainly the most culpable. The mask serves to conceal innumerable faults, and, as has been well remarked, a false devotion too often usurps the place of the true. We can less secure ourselves against pretenders in matters of religion, than we can against any other species of impostors; because the mind being biased in favor of the subject, consults not reason as to the individual. The conduct of people, which cannot fail to be considered an evidence of their principles, ought at all times to be conformable to their pretensions. When G.o.d alone is all we are concerned for, we are not solicitous about mere human approbation.

Hazlitt says:--"Few subjects are more nearly allied than these two--vulgarity and affectation. It may be said of them truly that 'thin part.i.tions do their bounds divide.' There cannot be a surer proof of a low origin or of an innate meanness of disposition, than to be always talking and thinking of being genteel. One must feel a strong tendency to that which one is always trying to avoid; whenever we pretend, on all occasions, a mighty contempt for anything, it is a pretty clear sign that we feel ourselves very nearly on a level with it. Of the two cla.s.ses of people, I hardly know which is to be regarded with most distaste, the vulgar aping the genteel, or the genteel constantly sneering at and endeavoring to distinguish themselves from the vulgar. These two sets of persons are always thinking of one another; the lower of the higher with envy, the more fortunate of their less happy neighbors with contempt. They are habitually placed in opposition to each other; jostle in their pretensions at every turn; and the same objects and train of thought (only reversed by the relative situations of either party) occupy their whole time and attention. The one are straining every nerve, and outraging common sense, to be thought genteel; the others have no other object or idea in their heads than not to be thought vulgar. This is but poor spite; a very pitiful style of ambition. To be merely not that which one heartily despises, is a very humble claim to superiority; to despise what one really is, is still worse.

"Gentility is only a more select and artificial kind of vulgarity. It cannot exist but by a sort of borrowed distinction. It plumes itself up and revels in the homely pretensions of the ma.s.s of mankind. It judges of the worth of everything by name, fashion, opinion; and hence, from the conscious absence of real qualities or sincere satisfaction in itself, it builds its supercilious and fantastic conceit on the wretchedness and wants of others. Violent antipathies are always suspicious, and betray a secret affinity. The difference between the 'Great Vulgar and the Small' is mostly in outward circ.u.mstances. The c.o.xcomb criticises the dress of the clown, as the pedant cavils at the bad grammar of the illiterate. Those who have the fewest resources in themselves, naturally seek the food of their self-love elsewhere. The most ignorant people find most to laugh at in strangers; scandal and satire prevail most in country-places; and a propensity to ridicule every the slightest or most palpable deviation from what we happen to approve, ceases with the progress of common sense. True worth does not exult in the faults and deficiencies of others; as true refinement turns away from grossness and deformity instead of being tempted to indulge in an unmanly triumph over it. Raphael would not faint away at the daubing of a sign painter, nor Homer hold his head the higher for being in the company of the poorest scribbler that ever attempted poetry. Real power, real excellence, does not seek for a foil in inferiority, nor fear contamination from coming in contact with that which is coa.r.s.e and homely. It reposes on itself, and is equally free from spleen and affectation. But the spirit of both these small vices is in gentility as the word stands in vulgar minds: of affected delight in its own would-be qualifications, and of ineffable disdain poured out upon the involuntary blunders or accidental disadvantages of those whom it chooses to treat as inferiors.

"The essence of vulgarity, I imagine, consists in taking manners, actions, words, opinions on trust from others, without examining one's own feelings or weighing the merits of the case. It is coa.r.s.eness or shallowness of taste arising from want of individual refinement, together with the confidence and presumption inspired by example and numbers. It may be defined to be a prost.i.tution of the mind or body to ape the more or less obvious defects of others, because by so doing we shall secure the suffrages of those we a.s.sociate with. To affect a gesture, an opinion, a phrase, because it is the rage with a large number of persons, or to hold it in abhorrence because another set of persons very little, if at all, better informed, cry it down to distinguish themselves from the former, is in either case equal vulgarity and absurdity. A thing is not vulgar merely because it is common. 'Tis common to breathe, to see, to feel, to live. Nothing is vulgar that is natural, spontaneous, unavoidable. Grossness is not vulgarity, ignorance is not vulgarity, awkwardness is not vulgarity; but all these become vulgar when they are affected, and shown off on the authority of others, or to fall in with the fashion or the company we keep. Caliban is coa.r.s.e enough, but surely he is not vulgar. We might as well spurn the clod under our feet, and call it vulgar.