marks your manner to your _mother_, the indescribable tenderness and
rendering back of care and watchfulness that betokens remembrance of
her love in earlier days. No other woman should ever induce you to
forget this truest, most disinterested friend, nor should your manner
ever indicate even momentary indifference to her wishes or her
affection. Permit me again to refer you to the example of _our country's
pride_ in this regard. You will all remember his marked attention,
through life, to his only parent, and the fact that his first appearance
in public, on a festive occasion, after the triumph of Yorkstown, was in
attendance upon his mother at the ball given at Fredericksburgh, in
celebration of that event. A fair friend of mine, who has written the
most enthusiastically-appreciative description of this memorable scene
that I remember to have read, characterizes the manner of Washington as
illustrating the _moral sublime_, to a degree that filled all beholders
with admiration. But no one needs the examples of history, or the
promptings of friendship, to convince him of a duty to which the
impulses of nature unmistakably direct him: all that I, for a moment,
suppose you require, is to be reminded that no thoughtlessness should
permit your _manner_ to do injustice to your feelings, in this sacred
relation of life.
The familiarity of domestic intercourse should never degenerate into a
rude disregard for the restraints imposed by refinement, nor an
unfeeling indifference to the feelings of others. With brothers and
sisters even, the sense of equality should be tempered by habitual
self-restraint and courtesy. "No man is great to his _valet de
chambre_"--no man grows, by the superior gifts of nature, or by the
power of circumstance, beyond the genial familiarity of domestic
intercourse. You may be older and wiser than your _brothers_, but no
prerogatives of birthright, of education, or of intellect can excuse
assumption, or make amends for the rupture of the natural tie that is
best strengthened by affectionate consideration and respect.
To his _sisters_, every man owes a peculiar obligation arising from the
claim nature gives them to his protection, as well as to his love and
sympathy. Nor is this relative claim wholly abrogated even by their
being older than he. The attributes and the admitted rights of our sex
give even younger brothers the privilege,--and such every well
constituted man will consider it,--of assuming towards such relations
the position of a friend, confidant and guardian. And the manner of _a
gentleman_ will always indicate, unmistakably, the delicacy, the
consideration and the respect he considers due to them. I will not
assume the possibility of your being indifferent to their love and
interest; suffice it to say, that both will be best deserved and
preserved by a careful admingling of the observances of politeness
practised towards other women, with the playful freedom sanctioned by
consanguinity. The world will give you no substitutes for the friends
nature provides--they are bound to you by all ties unitedly. Be ever
mindful that no rude touch of yours, sunders or even weakens the
tenderest chords of the heart.
Since
----"modest the manners by Nature bestowed
On Nature's most exquisite child,"
a man's conduct towards his _wife_ should always indicate respect as
well as politeness. No rude familiarity should outrage the delicacy that
veils femininity, no outward indifference or neglect betoken disregard
of the sacred claims of the woman, whom, next to his mother, every man
is bound in honor, to distinguish beyond all others, by courteous
observance. If you consider the affection you doubtless took some pains,
originally, to win, worth preserving, if you think it of any moment to
retain the attributes ascribed to you by the object of that affection,
while you made the endeavor to do full justice to yourself in the eyes
of your _mistress_,[4] would it be wise to prefer no further claims to
such characteristics by your manner to your _wife_? I have never
forgotten the impression made upon me in youth by an exquisite letter in
one of Addison's Spectators, purporting to be written by an old woman,
in regard, if I remember, to the very point we are now discussing. It
contains, as inclosed to the Solon of polite laws in that day, a note
represented to have been written to her, by the husband of the lady,
from a London coffee-house, upon some emergency, which is the very
embodiment of gentle courtesy, and concluding with a respectful apology
for the coarse paper, and other unseemly appliances of the
communication. "Could you see the withered hand that indites this, dear
Mr. Spectator," says the correspondent of Addison, "you would be still
more impressed by the gallantry that remains thus unimpaired by time,"
or words to that effect. I have not the original to transcribe from, and
the copy in my _mental tablets_ is a little dimmed by the wear of years.
But though the exact phraseology of the number I allude to is
indistinct, I repeat that I have a thousand times recalled the substance
with the same pure pleasure and admiration. I have not half done justice
to it, and, indeed, I am almost ashamed to have so poorly sketched a
picture whose beauty you may best appreciate by personal inspection. No
tyro should attempt a copy of the production of an _old
master_--especially when the mental magician fails to place the original
before his mind's eye,
"Pictured fair, in memory's mystic glass."
But if you do not despise such old-fashioned literature as the writings
of the English classic authors--and certainly, without undue prejudice
in their favor, I may venture, I think, to say, that a knowledge of the
writings of such men as Johnson, Goldsmith, Burke, and Addison, should
make part of the education of every gentleman--if you will look up this
elegant essay, and read it for yourselves, I can safely promise you
ample remuneration for your trouble.
[4] I shall take the liberty to use the word "_mistress_," throughout
these letters, in the sense appropriated to it by Addison, Johnson, and
other English classic authors. _Sweetheart_ is too old-fashioned.
"_Lady-love_" suits the style of my fashionable nieces, better than
mine. _Mistress_ is an authorized Saxon word, of well-defined meaning,
though, like some others, perverted to a bad use, at times.
Do not degrade your own ideal by a too minute scrutiny, nor forget that
the shrine of the _Lares_, though it may be approached with the simplest
offerings, is desecrated by even a momentary forgetfulness that its
votaries should be
"_Content to dwell in decencies, forever!_"
The chosen friend of your life, the presiding genius of your home, the
mother of your children, then, not only claims the high place of trust
and confidence, but _the proof afforded by manner_ of the existence and
dominance of these sentiments.
Many men, with the kindest feelings and the clearest perceptions of
duty, are, from mere inadvertency, unobservant of the fact that they
habitually give pain to those dependent on them for consideration, by
neglecting those _graces of manner_ that lend a charm to the most
trifling actions. Remember, while you are forming habits, in this
respect, how sensitively constituted are the gentler sex, how easily
pained, how easily pleased. The more discriminating and affectionate is
woman, the more readily is she wounded. Like a harp of a thousand
strings, her nature, if rudely approached, is jarred responsively, while
the gentlest touch elicits an harmonious thrill. The delightful
_abandon_ that constitutes one of the most exquisite enjoyments of home,
is not augmented, for a man of true refinement, by a total disregard of
ceremony and self-restraint. Selfishness, ill-humor, and a spirit of
petty tyranny, rest assured, though their manifestation be confined to
home intercourse, and borne in silence there, will gradually undermine
character and essentially diminish domestic happiness.
Earnestly, therefore, do I admonish my youthful relatives to cultivate a
careful observance of the requisitions of what has been well designated
as "_domestic politeness_." Confer favors with ready cheerfulness, or,
if necessary, refuse them with an expression of regret, or a polite
explanation. Never repel solicitations, much less caresses, with
impatience, nor allow your bearing to indicate the reluctant discharge
of a duty that should also be a pleasure. A smile, an intonation of
affection, a glance of appreciation or acknowledgment--small artillery
all, I grant, my boys, but they will suffice to make a _feu-de-joie_ in
a loving heart, that will, each and every one of them, cause you to be
followed in the thorny path of daily life by a blessing that will not
harm you; they will secure you a welcome, when, world-worn, you shall
'homeward plod your weary way,' worth all the gold you have gathered,
and well rewarding all the toil you have encountered.
I will only add, in this connection, that manhood is ennobled by the
habitual exercise of delicate forbearance towards _helplessness_ and
_dependence_, and that a high test of character is the right _use of
power_. Those, then, whom nature teaches to look to you for affection,
as well as for care and protection--your mother, wife, sisters--should
invariably derive from your _manner_ evidence of the steadfastness of
your interest and regard for them.
Like most of the aphorisms of the ancients for subtle wisdom, is the
saying, "We should reverence the presence of children." Fresh from the
creating hand of Deity, they are committed to us. While yet unstained by
the pollutions of the world, should we not render a certain homage to
their pristine purity and innocence? Should we not hesitate by
exhibitions of such qualities of our nature as are happily still dormant
in them, to force them into precocious development? The silent _teaching
of example_ tells most effectively upon the young for the reason that
they are insensibly forming in imitation of the models before them,
without the disadvantages of previous habit, or of diminished
impressibility. It is no light sin, then, either in our manner towards
them, or towards others in their presence, to obtrude a false standard
of propriety upon their notice. If manner be, as we have assumed, active
manifestation of character, the ductile minds of these nice observers
and ceaseless imitators must be indeed seriously under its influences.
That careful study of individual peculiarities which paternal duty
imperatively demands, will readily suggest the proper modification of
manner demanded by each different child in a household. It is said that
children are never mistaken judges of character. Certain it is, at
least, that they instinctively discern their true friends, and that of
the "Kingdom of Heaven," as by divine assertion they are--the _Law of
Love_, attempered in its administration by practical good sense, is the
most effective influence that can be brought to bear upon them. Permit
me to recall to your remembrance the _tenderness_ that distinguished the
manner of Christ towards little children.
Pre-supposing as I have done, thus far in this letter, and as I shall
continue to do, throughout our correspondence, that you regard moral
obligation as the grand incentive to the correct discipline even of the
outer man, arrogating to myself only the office of the lapidary,--that
of endeavoring to polish, not create, the priceless jewel of
_principle_, I shall make no apology for the suggestion, that manner
should not be regarded as beneath the attention of a Christian
gentleman, in his intercourse with such inmates of his household as may
from any circumstance be peculiarly sensitive to indications of
negligent observance. The _aged_, the _infirm_, the _insignificant_, the
_dependent_; all, in short, who are particularly afflicted "in mind,
body, or estate," are suitable recipients of the most expressive
courtesies of manner.
Perhaps no single phase of _manner at home_ more correctly illustrates
nice mental and moral perceptions than the treatment of _servants_ and
_inferiors_ generally. One may be just to the primary obligations
evolved by this relation to others, and yet always receive the service
of fear rather than of affection. All needless assumption of authority
or superiority, in connection with this position, is indicative of
inherent vulgarity, and is at as great a remove from a true standard as
is undue familiarity. Never to manifest pleasure even by a smile, never
to make an acknowledgment in words, of the kindly offices that money
cannot adequately reward, may be very grand and stately, but such
sublime elevation above one's fellow-creatures raises the heart to
rather an Alpine attitude--to a height at which the _milk of human
kindness_ even, may congeal!
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, "Sussex, 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 illustrate 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 passion 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 coarse vituperation.
Madame Junot records a characteristic illustration of Napoleon's unmanly
disregard of the constitutional 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 _naivete_ 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 passed. 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 passages 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 classical 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 noble 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 assumed, and with loving care striving to put far
off for them the evil day when the "grasshopper 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 passing 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 noble
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.
* * * * *