their importance can not be too largely magnified when we consider that
they are the outward expressions of an inward virtue. Social courtesies
should emanate from the heart, for remember always that the worth of
manner consists in being the sincere expression of feelings. Like the
dial of a watch they should indicate that the works within are good and
true. True civility needs no false lights to show its points. It is the
embodiment of truth, the mere opening out of the inner self. The arts
and artifices of a polished exterior are well enough, but if they are
any thing more or less than a fair exponent of inward rectitude their
hollowness can not long escape detection.
The cultivation of manner, though in excess it is foppish and foolish,
is highly necessary in a person who has occasion to negotiate with
others in matters of business. Affability and good-breeding may even be
regarded as essential to the success of a man in any eminent station and
enlarged sphere of life, for the want of it has not unfrequently been
found, in a great measure, to neutralize the results of much industry,
integrity, and honesty of character. There are, no doubt, a few strong,
tolerant minds which can bear with defects and angularities of manner,
and look only to the more genuine qualities; but the world at large is
not so forbearant, and can not help forming its judgments and likings
mainly according to outward conduct.
It has been well remarked that whoever imagines legitimate manners can
be taken up and laid aside, put on and off, for the moment, has missed
their deepest law. A noble and attractive every-day bearing comes of
goodness, of sincerity, of refinement, and these are bred in years, not
moments. It is the fruit of years of earnest, kindly endeavors to
please. It is the last touch, the crowning perfection of a noble
character; it has been truly described as the gold on the spire, the
sunlight on the corn-field, and results only from the truest balance and
harmony of soul.
[Illustration: SOCIABILITY.]
[Illustration]
Society has been apply compared to a heap of embers, which, when
separated, soon languish, darken, and expire, but, if placed together,
glow with a ruddy and intense heat, a just emblem of the strength,
happiness, and security derived from society. The savage who never knew
the blessings of combination, and he who quits society from apathy or
misanthropic spleen, are like the separate embers, dark, dead, useless;
they neither give nor receive heat, neither love nor are beloved.
From social intercourse are derived some of the highest enjoyments of
life. Where there is a free interchange of opinion, the mind acquires
new ideas, and, by a frequent exercise of its powers, the understanding
gains fresh vigor. The true sphere of human virtue is found in society.
This is the school of human faith and trials. In social, active life
difficulties will perpetually be met with. Restraints of many kinds will
be necessary, and studying to behave right in respect to these is a
discipline of the human heart useful to others and improving to itself.
It is good to meet in friendly intercourse and pour out that social
cheer which so vivifies the weary and desponding heart. It elevates the
feelings, and makes us all the better for the world.
Society is the balm of life. Should any one be entirely excluded from
all human intercourse he would be wretched. Men were formed for society.
It is one important end for which they were made rational creatures. No
man was made solely for himself, and no man is capable of living in the
world totally independent of others. The wants and weaknesses of mankind
render society necessary for their convenience, safety, and support. God
has formed men with different powers and faculties, and placed them
under different circumstances, that they might be able to promote each
others' good. Some are wiser, richer, and stronger than others that they
may direct the conduct, supply the wants, and bear the burdens of
others. Some are formed for one and some are formed for another
employment, and all are qualified for some useful business, conducive to
the general good of society. The whole frame and texture of mankind make
it appear that they were designed to live in society. The longer men
live in society the more terrible is the thought of being excluded from
it.
Society is the only field where the sexes meet on the terms of equality,
the arena where character is formed and studied, the cradle and the
realm of public opinion, the crucible of ideas, the world's university,
at once a school and a theater, the spur and the crown of ambition, the
tribunal which unmasks pretensions and stamps real merit, the power that
gives government leave to be, and outruns the Church in fixing the moral
sense of the people.
Many young men fail for years to get hold of the idea that they are
subject to social duties. They act as though the social machinery of the
world were self-operating. They see around them social organizations in
active existence. The parish, the Church, and other bodies that embrace
in some form of society all men, are successfully operated, and yet they
take no part nor lot in the matter. They do not think it necessary for
them to devote either time or money to society. Sometimes they are apt
to get into a morbid state of mind, which disinclines them to social
intercourse. They become so devoted to business that all social
intercourse is irksome. They go out to tea as if they were going to
jail, and drag themselves to a party as to an execution. This
disposition is thoroughly selfish, and is to be overcome by going where
you are invited, always and at any sacrifice of mere feeling. Do not
shrink from contact with any thing except bad morals. Men who affect
your unhealthy mind with antipathy will prove themselves very frequently
on mature acquaintance your best friends and wisest counselors.
It is to be noticed with what apparent ease some men enter society, and
how others remain away always. Such are apt to think that society has
not discharged its duties as to them. But all social duties are
reciprocal. Society is far more apt to pay its dues to the individual
than the individual to society. Have you, who complain of the cold
selfishness of society, done any thing to give you a claim to social
recognition? What kind of coin do you propose to pay in the discharge of
the obligations which come upon you with social recognition? In other
words, as a return for what you wish society to do, what will you do for
society? Will you be a member of society by right or by courtesy? If you
have so mean a spirit as to be content to be a beneficiary of society,
to receive favors and confer none, you have no business in the social
circle to which you aspire.
The spirit of life is society; that of society is freedom; that of
freedom the discreet and modest use of it. A man may contemplate virtue
in solitude and retirement; but the practical part consists in its
participation and the society it hath with others; for whatever is good
is better for being communicated. As too long a retirement weakens the
mind, so too much company dissipates it. Too much society is nearly as
bad as none. A man secluded from company can have none but the devil and
himself to tempt him; but he that converses much in the world has almost
as many snares as he has companions. The great object of society is
refreshment of spirit. This is not to be obtained by luxury or by the
cankerous habit of speaking against others, but by a bright and easy
interchange of ideas on subjects which, even in their brightest and most
playful aspects, are worthy to engage the thoughts of men.
There is an essential vulgarity in one phase of social life,—that which
considers the welfare of the guest's stomach to be the essential part of
the host's duty, and the great question of the guests to relate to the
decorating of their own backs. Such views elevate nobody; they refine
nobody; they inspire and instruct nobody; they satisfy nobody. This view
loses sight of the great end and aim of society, which is to refine and
elevate mankind, not to feed them upon dainties, or to enable them to
show off good clothes. Dean Swift had a better relish for good society
than for choice viands. When invited to the houses of great men he
sometimes insisted upon knowing what persons he was likely to meet. "I
don't want your bill of fare, but your bill of company."
It is this losing sight of the true end of society which causes it to
present so many strange anomalies. Yet with all its defects it is
well-nigh indispensable to one who would wield power and influence in
the world's arena. There is no way to act out the promptings of your
better nature, and to move men in the right direction, so potential as
that offered to the social man. You can not move men until you show
yourself one among them. You can not know their wants and needs until
you have mingled with them. By refusing to cast your lot with others
socially, you are as powerless to do good as the mountain peak is to
raise tropical flowers.
It is the manner of some to forego meeting others socially. There will
certainly come a time when they will regret it; for the human heart is
like a millstone in a mill: When you put wheat under it, it turns and
bruises the wheat into flour. If you put no wheat in it, it still grinds
on; but then it grinds away itself. In society the sorrows and griefs of
others are the object from which we extract the flour of charity and
loving kindness; but to the hermit from society his own griefs and
sorrows have the effect to render him cold and selfish. Man in society
is like a flower-bud on its native stalk. It is there alone his
faculties, expanded in full bloom, shine out; there only reach their
proper use. "It is not safe for man to be alone." In the midst of the
loudest vauntings of philosophy, nature will have her yearning for
society and friendship. A good heart wants something to be kind to; and
the best part of our nature suffers most when deprived of congenial
society.
It becomes all men to seek the general good of society in return for the
benefits they receive from it. Though the general good of society
sometimes requires the individual members to give up private good for
that of the public, yet it is always to be supposed that individuals
receive more advantage than disadvantage from society, on the whole.
Indeed, there is scarcely any comparison in this case. The public
blessings are always immensely great and numerous. They are more in
number than can be reckoned up, and greater in worth than can be easily
described.
The most independent individuals in society owe their principal
independence to society, and the most retired and inactive persons feel
the happy influence of society, though they may seem to be detached from
it. No man can reflect upon that constant stream of good which is
perpetually flowing down to him from well-regulated society, without
feeling his obligation to maintain and support it. Should this stream of
happiness cease to flow, the most careless and indifferent would feel
their loss, and feel a sense of their duty to uphold the good of
society. Let the head of society cease to direct and the hands to
execute, and the other members of the public body would soon find
themselves in a forlorn and wretched state.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: DIGNITY.]
"The dignity of man into your hands is given,
Oh keep it well, with you it sinks or lifts itself to heaven."
—SCHILLER.
[Illustration]
Dignity denotes that propriety of mien and carriage which is appropriate
to the different walks and ranks of life. In regard to our intercourse
with men we should often reflect, not only whether our conduct is proper
and correct, but whether it is urbane and dignified. Dignity of carriage
is nearly always associated with high endowments; the reverse is, at any
rate, true, that high endowments are associated with dignity. "A
trifling air and manner bespeaks a thoughtless and silly mind," saith a
Chinese proverb, "but a grave and majestic outside is, as it were, the
palace of the soul."
True dignity is never gained by place, and never lost when honors are
withdrawn. There may be dignity in a hovel as well as in a court; in one
who depends on the sweat of his brow as well as one who is placed, by
reason of his wealth, in a position of independence. In all ranks and
classes it is equally acceptable and worthy of esteem. True dignity is
without arms. It does not deal in vain and ostentatious parade. In
proportion as we gratify our own self-esteem by a love of display we
commonly forfeit to the same degree the respect of those whose good
opinion is worth possessing. A dignified manner is not necessarily an
imposing manner; for true dignity is but the outward expression of
inherent worth of character, but an imposing manner is generally
ostentatious in degree, and as such may be taken as an evidence of
imposition. That dignity which seeks to make an ostentatious display is
often only a veil between us and the real truth of things. It is only
the false mask of appearance put on to conceal inherent defects.
The ennobling quality of all politeness is dignity. Have you not noticed
that there are some persons who possess an inexpressible charm of
manner—a something which attracts our love instantaneously, when they
have neither wealth, position, nor talents? You will find that a dignity
of manner characterizes their actions, and that a spirit of dignity
hovers around them. On the other hand, have you not seen persons of
wealth who were surrounded by luxury and all the comforts of affluence,
yet, in lacking a spirit of dignity, lacked the essential to render
their lives influential for good? Where there is an inherent want of
dignity in the character, how many distinguished and even noble
acquisitions are required to supply its place! But when a natural
dignity of character exists, what a prepossession does it enlist in its
favor, and with how few substantial and real excellencies are we able to
pass creditably through the world!
There are three kinds of dignity which either adorn or deface human
character. There is the dignity of etiquette and good manners, which is
often of an artificial kind, and is a creature of rules and ceremonies,
and not of the heart. The second is the dignity of pride and arrogance.
This is a presumptuous dignity arising from self-conceit and egotism. It
is thoroughly selfish in its nature. It is more a spirit of haughtiness
and cold reserve than of true dignity. Then there is the dignity of
compassion and kindness. This is that true dignity which ennobles life.
It arises, not from selfishness, but from kindness of heart, and from a
sense of the importance of life.
Some men find it almost impossible to discover the line which separates
dignity from conceit. Dignity is a splendid personal quality if it be of
the right sort. To possess it is to be above meanness, above cringing,
above any thing that is low and unseemly. It holds up its head, even
among poverty and outward shabbiness, and looks the world bravely in the
face. It is innate manliness that outward garb can not change. But
conceit is a very different quality, and its possessor is very far from
being dignified, though he doubtlessly considers himself to be so. He
looks upon himself as the grand center of his social system, and upon
all others as satellites, whose particular business is to revolve around
him. The assumption may not take shape in words, but it comes out in his
manner all the same. Let him undertake to be amiable, and there is a
sort of royal condescension; he takes the attitude of stooping rather
than that of one reaching out friendly hands to his equals. All this
would be offensive and somewhat exasperating were it not ridiculous. But
we laugh in charitable good nature, and pity his absurdities. There is
little use in trying to point them out to him. He is so hoodwinked by
his overshadowing self-esteem that he can not see. True dignity does not
consist in haughty self-assurance. In resolving to be dignified let us
see to it that we strive for the true kind.
In counseling dignity we advise no spirit of cold hauteur and pride, but
we do counsel such outward walk and conversations as shall become one
who has a just appreciation of life and its possibilities. One who is
always given to light and flippant remarks, and always assuming a free
and easy style in his demeanor, can not carry such an impression of
power as one who bears about him the impression of a man among men by
his dignified and decorous bearing. True dignity exists independent of—
"Studied gestures or well-practiced smiles."
Its seat should be in the mind, and then it will not be found wanting in
the manner. It is often strikingly and eloquently displayed in the
bearings of those utterly unacquainted with the strict rules of
etiquette. If one has a modest consciousness of his own worth, and a
sincere desire to be of worth to others, he must necessarily display
true dignity in his manner and bearing towards others.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: AFFABILITY.]
[Illustration]
Affability is a real ornament, the most beautiful dress that man or
woman can wear, and worth far more as a means of winning favor than the
finest clothes and jewels ever were. The exercise of affability creates
an instantaneous impression in your behalf, while the opposite quality
excites as quick a prejudice against you. So true is this that were we
asked to name any one quality which, aside from mere mental powers,
contributed largely to success, we would mention affability.
Apart from its worth as an agreeable trait of character, affability is a
valuable commodity. Every one who has business to transact should add
this to his stock in trade. It costs nothing, while it vastly
facilitates trade and profit. There are business men and women who make
fortunes simply by their affable and polite manners. Their wares or
their services are no better, perhaps, than the stock in trade of their
crusty neighbors; but having undertaken a business or adopted a
profession, they are wise enough to know that whatever is to be done
successfully must be done in a pleasing manner and with a good will.
Their acts appear to be based on the conviction that every body may be
made a friend, which is every way preferable to acting as if every body
were an intruder. They do not treat people as though they were in a
hurry to be done with them, but as though they might be cultivated into
an acquaintance and grow into a friend. To neglect the small courtesies
of life is to insure neglect for yourself. And the reason that some
persons are successful where others fail is that they invite strangers
to become friends by civility, while the others repel even friends by
the want of courtesy.
The world at best is extremely selfish. We are too much taken up with
our own personal aims to notice how others are thriving. We little think
how others may be wishing for some friendly recognition, how far with
them the friendly shake of the hand may go. The world is full of
suffering and sorrow, and it is at these seasons that kindly words come
with far more than their usual force. The human heart was formed for
sympathy as naturally as the flower for sunshine. Hence it is no wonder
that the man of affable and kind manners should be the one who would
make friends wherever he goes.
It is good to meet in friendly intercourse, and pour out that social
cheer which so vivifies the weary and desponding heart. Give to all the
hearty grasp and the sunny smile. They send sunshine to the soul, and
make the heart leap as with new life and joy. Thus may we become
brothers in every good word and deed, and peace and good-will spread in
the world. We long for friendly intercourse, and when deprived of the
society of others we pine and grow sick at heart, we become misanthropic
and gloomy. The Summer of the heart changes to dreary Winter, and our
lives seem overcast and gloomy.
We are not well enough acquainted each with each, and all with all. We
are not social enough. We are not found often enough at one another's
houses. We are especially delinquent in the duty of calling upon such as
come among us and connect themselves with us. We do not welcome them,
and seek to make their stay as pleasant as possible. We do not take the
kindly notice we should of such as come to our places of public and
social gatherings. This is wrong. It is incumbent on us as members of
society to cultivate a spirit of affability, to strive to make all
within our influence happy by our kind solicitude for their welfare.
Says Daniel Webster: "We should make it a principle to extend the hand
of fellowship to every man who discharges faithfully his duties and
maintains good order, who manifests a deep interest in the general
welfare of society, whose deportment is upright, and whose mind is
intelligent, without stopping to ascertain whether he swings a hammer or
draws a thread."
As there is nothing to be lost and so much to be gained by the exercise
of affability, it is deeply to be regretted that so few use it. To be
affable does not imply an indiscriminate taking into confidence, and
imparting to third persons the secrets of your business, at the same
time expecting to be informed of his. To do thus is mere simplicity, and
is an utter disregard of all cautious rules. But the friendly
conversation, the hearty grasp of the hand, the feeling of kindness and
good-will which finds expression in the tones, the willingness to do a
favor cheerfully,—these constitute true affability, which is not only
of value to the possessor, but may almost claim a place among the
Christian graces.
How many there are who are not in want of assistance of material things,
but who are yearning for social recognition, who feel themselves shut
out from intercourse with their fellow-beings by the spirit of
selfishness which shows itself in a refusal of social privileges! It is
so easy to become thoughtless in this matter that each one should strive
against the feeling, and should constantly strive to make all around him
feel that he recognizes in them the man or woman, an equal being with
himself, and to meet them with kindness by no means devoid of dignity,
but to let them see that he is moved by a spirit of good-will towards
all, and desires, as far as possible, to do away with the distinction of
rank or wealth, and to meet with them on the plane of equality.
In urging affability we do not ignore the fact that there are many to be
found in every walk of life with whom the less one has to do the better,
that you would as soon think of taking a serpent into the bosom of your
family as some people who infest society. But this lamentable fact does
not lessen the claims of affability, since, because you are fond of
fruit, you are not required to eat indiscriminately all kinds of fruits,
the good and also the bad, the nutritious as well as the poisonous, but
you are to exercise a judicious elimination. So you are not required to
be frank, open-hearted, and sociable with villains and blacklegs, the
depraved and licentious. To do this is to sink yourself to their level.
But a man may be a gentleman, and as such entitled to recognition,
though his coat be not of broadcloth or of the most fashionable make.
And a real lady, though clad in calico, is as worthy of frank and
courteous treatment as though robed in silk and satins.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE TOILET.]
"Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not expressed in fancy;
Rich, not gaudy,
For the apparel oft proclaims the man."
—SHAKESPEARE.
[Illustration]
As the index tells us the contents of books, and directs to the
particular chapter, even so does the outward habit and superficial order
of garment denote the spirit and demonstratively point out, like to a
marginal note, the internal qualities of the soul.