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<pre>

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The American Gentleman's Guide to
Politeness and Fashion, by Henry Lunettes

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: The American Gentleman's Guide to Politeness and Fashion
       or, Familiar Letters to his Nephews

Author: Henry Lunettes

Release Date: February 28, 2012 [EBook #39005]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN'S GUIDE ***




Produced by Julia Miller, Linda Hamilton, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)






</pre>


<a name="Page_i" id="Page_i"></a>

<h1 style="padding-top:1em;padding-bottom:1em;">
<span style="font-size:.5em;line-height:2em;">THE</span><br>
<span style="font-size:.75em;line-height:2em;">AMERICAN GENTLEMAN'S</span><br>
<span style="font-size:1em;line-height:2em;">GUIDE TO POLITENESS</span><br>
<span style="font-size:.3em;line-height:2em;">AND</span><br>
<span style="font-size:1em;line-height:2em;">FASHION.</span>

</h1>


<a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii"></a>


<div class="linearound newpg"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii"></a>

<h1 style="padding-top:1.5em;padding-bottom:.5em;">
<span style="font-size:.5em;line-height:2em;">THE</span><br>
<span style="font-size:.75em;line-height:2em;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">AMERICAN</span> GENTLEMAN'S</span><br>
<span style="font-size:1em;line-height:2em;">GUIDE TO POLITENESS</span><br>
<span style="font-size:.3em;line-height:2em;">AND</span><br>
<span style="font-size:.9em;line-height:2em;">FASHION;</span><br>
<span style="font-size:.3em;line-height:2em;">OR,</span><br>
<span style="font-size:.7em;line-height:2em;">FAMILIAR LETTERS TO HIS NEPHEWS.</span><br>

</h1>


<p class="center" style="padding-top:.2em;padding-bottom:1em;font-weight: bold;font-size: 1.5em;">BY HENRY LUNETTES.</p>

<p class="center" style="padding-top:.2em;padding-bottom:.5em;font-size:.75em;">
The good old name of <span class="smcap">Gentleman</span>.<br>
<span class="smcap" style="padding-left:11em;">Tennyson.</span></p>

<p style="font-size:.75em;margin-right:10%;margin-left:10%;padding-top:.5em;">People sometimes complain of writers who
talk of "I, I." * * * * When I speak to you of myself, I am speaking to you
of yourself, also. Is it possible that you do not feel that it is so? <span class="keepright smcap">Victor Hugo.</span></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p class="center" style="padding-top:1.5em;padding-bottom:.1em;font-size:1em;">NEW EDITION, CAREFULLY REVISED BY THE AUTHOR.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="padding-bottom:1em;padding-top:1.75em;">
<img src="images/line1.png" alt="" title="" width="200" height="11"></div>

<p class="center" style="padding-top:1.5em;padding-bottom:.1em;font-size:1em;">
PHILADELPHIA:</p>

<p class="center" style="padding-bottom:.1em;font-size:1.25em;letter-spacing:.3em;">
J. B. LIPPINCOTT &amp; CO.</p>
<p class="center" style="padding-bottom:1.5em;font-size:1.25em;letter-spacing:.3em;">
1864.</p>

</div>

<div style="margin-left:10%;margin-right:10%;">
<hr style="width: 100%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv"></a>
<p class="center" style="font-size:.9em;">Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by</p>
<p class="center" style="font-size:1em;letter-spacing:.3em;">J. B. LIPPINCOTT &amp; CO.,</p>
<p class="center" style="font-size:.9em;">in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Eastern District
of Pennsylvania.</p>
<hr style="width:100%;">
</div>

<a name="Page_v" id="Page_v"></a>
<p class="center newpg" style="font-size:1em;font-weight:bold;margin-bottom:1em;">TO</p>
<p class="center" style="font-size:1.5em;font-weight:bold;margin-bottom:2.5em;">HIS YOUNG COUNTRYMEN,</p>
<p class="center" style="font-size:.9em;font-weight:bold;margin-bottom:2.5em;">THIS UNPRETENDING VOLUME, IS, WITH AFFECTIONATE PRIDE,</p>
<p class="center" style="font-size:.9em;font-weight:bold;margin-bottom:1em;">INSCRIBED BY</p>
<p class="center" style="font-size:1.5em;font-weight:bold;">THE AUTHOR.</p>

<a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi"></a>

<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii"></a>
<h2 style="letter-spacing:.3em;margin-bottom:1.25em;">INTRODUCTION.</h2>
<div class="figcenter" style="padding-bottom:2em;padding-top:1em;">
<img src="images/line5.png" alt="" title="" width="118" height="13"></div>

<div class="poem">
<span class="iaa"><span class="firstwords">"I lang</span> ha'e thought, my youthful friends,<br></span>
<span class="i2">A something to have sent you,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Tho' it may serve no other end<br></span>
<span class="i2">Than just a kind memento:<br></span>
<span class="i0">But how the subject-theme may gang<br></span>
<span class="i2">Let time and chance determine;<br></span>
<span class="i0">Perhaps it may turn out a sang,<br></span>
<span class="i2">Perhaps turn out a <a name="tn_png_007"></a><!--TN: Period added after "sermon"-->sermon."</span>
</div>
<a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii"></a>




<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix"></a>
<h2 style="margin-bottom:1em;">TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2>
<div class="figcenter" style="padding-bottom:2em;padding-top:1em;">
<img src="images/line3.png" alt="" title="" width="200" height="13"></div>

<p class="tocchapter">LETTER I.</p>
<p class="tochead">DRESS.</p>

<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter I Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Propriety</span> of conforming to Fashion, with a due Regard for individual Peculiarities
of Appearance&mdash;Eccentricity of Taste in Dress&mdash;Obedience to the Laws
of Convention&mdash;The vagaries of Genius, in this respect&mdash;Absurdity and
Affectation originated by the Example of Byron&mdash;All indifference and neglect
to be avoided, with regard to Dress&mdash;Anecdote of Dr. Johnson and the Siddons&mdash;Porson,
the Greek Scholar&mdash;Horace Greeley&mdash;Aphorism&mdash;Habits of a
distinguished Parisian <i>savant</i>&mdash;Example and opinion of Washington with
reference to Dress&mdash;Partiality of Americans for Black, as the color of dress-clothes&mdash;Practice
of Men in other Countries, in the selection of Colors&mdash;Morning
Costume of an English Gentleman&mdash;Every English Gentleman usefully
employed during a Portion of each Day&mdash;Dr. Johnson's Test of good
Taste in Dress&mdash;The golden mean in Matters of Dress&mdash;Ceremonious Costume
of a Gentleman&mdash;Mode of wearing the Hair and Beard&mdash;Necessity for artistic
Taste in one's Barber&mdash;All extremes of Fashion in bad Taste&mdash;Various Absurdities
in this respect, inconsistent with the "keeping" of modern Costume&mdash;Collars,
their size, shape, &amp;c.&mdash;Sleeve-buttons&mdash;Bad taste of wearing flash
Stones&mdash;Use of Diamonds In Dress&mdash;Simplicity in the Appendages of Dress,
the characteristic of true refinement&mdash;Signet-rings&mdash;Distinctive Points of
difference between the exterior of a Gentleman and of a Loafer&mdash;All staring
patterns in Gentlemen's clothes exceptionable&mdash;A white suit throughout, for
warm Weather&mdash;Thin Cravats&mdash;Body Linen&mdash;Kotzebue's test of high-breeding&mdash;Strength
and Comfort the essential Characteristics of working Garments&mdash;Fitness
and propriety even in matters of Dress, indicative of a well-regulated
Mind&mdash;Every American should aim to be a true Gentleman&mdash;Importance
of Trifles, when viewed in the aggregate&mdash;Influence of Dress, etc., upon
Character and Manner&mdash;Wearing Gloves in Dancing&mdash;White Gloves alone
unexceptionable for ceremonious Evening Occasions&mdash;Gloves suitable for the
Street and Morning Visits&mdash;Bright-colored Gloves in bad <i>ton</i>&mdash;Illustrative
Anecdote&mdash;Over-Garments&mdash;Variety sanctioned by Fashion&mdash;Becomingness
of different Styles&mdash;Inconvenience and ill-appearance of Shawls&mdash;When
Suitable&mdash;South American Poncho&mdash;Anecdote&mdash;New reading of Lord <a name="Page_x" id="Page_x"></a>Nelson's
celebrated Naval Orders&mdash;Difference between Talking and Writing,
the Author's Apology for numerous Defects&mdash;The Mill-boy of the Slashes&mdash;The
Author unacquainted with the Elegancies of modern Fashionable
Nomenclature&mdash;Terms of agreement between the Author and his Correspondents,
</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<p class="tocchapter">LETTER II.</p>
<p class="tochead">DRESS&mdash;(<i>Continued.</i>)</p>
<p class="tocsubhead">STORIES AND ANECDOTES ILLUSTRATIVE OF DRESS.</p>

<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter II Contents" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Hero of the Ball-Room.</span>&mdash;The Author's Liking for Mass Meetings&mdash;A
Fęte&mdash;Louis Philippe and the Militia Officer&mdash;A real Soldier conquered by
the Fair!&mdash;The "Observed of all Observers"&mdash;A Morning Visit&mdash;Dissection>
of the "Observed of all Observers"&mdash;The Hero of the Ball-Room is consigned
to the "Tomb of the Capulets" in a bright, pea-green, thin Muslin
Shooting-Jacket!</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Anecdote of Bulwer, the Novelist,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Green Mountain Boy and his New Cloak,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Count Orloff at the "Peace Convention,"</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Fashionable Hat.</span>&mdash;A Young Clergyman resolves to Visit "the City"&mdash;His
Plans for Economy&mdash;A new Black Coat&mdash;A Secret Design&mdash;Fashionable
Ridicule&mdash;The Young Clergyman makes the mortifying Discovery that he is
wearing a "Shocking Bad Hat"&mdash;Reluctantly determines to buy a New One&mdash;A
Traveller in an Old "Kossuth"&mdash;Test of what is Admissible in the Dress
of the Clergy&mdash;Reflections of a "Sadder and a Wiser" Man&mdash;The Uncle and
his Little Nephew&mdash;"Bradbrook's" and the "Pretty Coat"&mdash;Another Secret
"Design&mdash;The Tyrant of Social Life,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Chief Justice&mdash;and the Travelling Gloves of an Exquisite,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Gov. Marcy and the Parisians.</span>&mdash;The American Secretary of Legation at St.
Cloud, at a Court Dinner&mdash;Address of the Turkish Ambassador&mdash;The Distinctive
Mark of a Gentleman,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Red Cornelian <a name="tn_png_010"></a><!--TN: "Paté" changed to "Pâté"-->Pâté</span>&mdash;Sketch of an Elegant leaning upon a Bass-viol&mdash;Poetry
of the Female Voice&mdash;An Alpine Party&mdash;A Lady's Avowal&mdash;Coxcombs&mdash;A
Mysterious Stranger&mdash;My Lundy-Lane Sword&mdash;A Figure of
Speech appropriate to a Sportsman's Daughter&mdash;The "Weed" and the Shawl&mdash;An
Apple&mdash;The "Tug of War"&mdash;The Pitiable Finger! and the Cranberry
Pâté&mdash;Design of the "Mysterious Stranger"&mdash;Jack the Giant-Killer and his
Victim&mdash;A Revelation&mdash;The Dove and the Vulture,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Postscript to Letter II.&mdash;Letter to the Author from a Distinguished Man of
Fashion&mdash;Directions for the Details of Gentlemen's Dress, on various Occasions&mdash;Wedding
Costume&mdash;Morning and Evening&mdash;Evening Dress&mdash;Dress
for Morning Visits&mdash;Costume for Bachelors' Dinner-Parties&mdash;General Remarks
upon Colors, etc.&mdash;Effect of Black Dress&mdash;Blue&mdash;Brown&mdash;Anecdote of
Beau Brummel&mdash;Opinion of a French Critic&mdash;Importance of the "Cut" of
Garments&mdash;Ease the First Essential&mdash;An Artistic Air&mdash;Wadding, or Stuffing,
to be used in moderation&mdash;Sensible Observations of a Man of Discriminating
Taste,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi"></a>
<p class="tocchapter">LETTER III</p>
<p class="tochead">MANNER.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter III Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Aphorism</span> of a Celebrated Observer of Human Nature&mdash;Manner indicative of
Character&mdash;Benefits of Care and Attention in Youth&mdash;The Fashionable Manner
of the Day&mdash;Danger of Affectation in Manner&mdash;Americans too often
Caricature their European Models&mdash;Good Sense and Manly Independence
the best Guides in the Formation of Manner&mdash;True Politeness&mdash;Elegant
definition of Politeness by a celebrated Author&mdash;Good Breeding inseparable
from the Character of a Gentleman&mdash;Sir Philip Sidney, a Christian Gentleman&mdash;Manner
the proper expression of Mental Qualities&mdash;The Laws of
Convention&mdash;Their proper Use and Applicability&mdash;Conduct towards Superiors
in Age and Station one Test of Good Breeding&mdash;Example of Washington
in this respect&mdash;Polished Manners of the Men of Revolutionary Days&mdash;Bad
Taste of Slang Language and Disrespectful Familiarity in speaking of
Superiors or Parents&mdash;Reverence rendered to Age by the Ancients&mdash;Rudeness
of "Young America" in this respect&mdash;The Law of Kindness a sure
Correction&mdash;Possibility of Benefit to be derived from the consideration of
those who have seen the World&mdash;Disadvantages of early Neglect of Manner&mdash;Improvement
always possible, at any age&mdash;Benefit of the early Acquisition
of Habits of Self-Control and Self-Possession&mdash;Advantage of proper
Examples in this respect,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td>
</tr>

<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Handsome Engineer.</span>&mdash;A Railroad Dépót and a Dilemma&mdash;The Field-Book
and Soiled Boots&mdash;The Blessings of Civilization&mdash;An Honest Saxon
Word&mdash;The Charge&mdash;The Arrival&mdash;A Recognition&mdash;A Metamorphosis&mdash;The
Economy of driving in Dress-Boots&mdash;A Whisper&mdash;The Secret of the Charm
of Manner,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">An After-Dinner Coterie.</span>&mdash;The St. Nicholas Hotel and Santa Claus&mdash;A Pleasant
Meeting&mdash;A Social Re-Union&mdash;The <i>Dramatis Personć</i> of the Occasion&mdash;A
Sketch&mdash;"Willard's," at Washington&mdash;The weary Child&mdash;The Courteous
Strangers&mdash;A Grateful Tribute&mdash;Charge against American Ladies&mdash;Southern
Manner&mdash;The Stupid Porter and the <i>contre-temps</i>&mdash;An Inference&mdash;A
Scene in a Country Tavern&mdash;A French-Woman and a Yankee-Woman&mdash;Jonathan
and the Snuff-box&mdash;A Tooth-ache and a Rocking-chair&mdash;Sympathy
and Vivacity&mdash;The Climax of Impatience!</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">A Polite Young Irelander</span>,&mdash;A Fight&mdash;An Exclamation&mdash;A Fair Vision,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<p class="tocchapter">LETTER IV.</p>

<p class="tochead">MANNER&mdash;(<i>Continued.</i>)</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter IV Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Practical Directions.</span>&mdash;Senator Sumner's appropriate Sentence&mdash;Primary
importance of Manner at Home&mdash;A reiterated Charge&mdash;Manner to Parents&mdash;Unvarying
confidence and reverence due to a Father&mdash;Tenderness of Manner
to a Mother&mdash;Example of Washington&mdash;A Revolutionary Ball&mdash;Nature
the best Teacher of Duty&mdash;Too great familiarity, even with Relations, <a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii"></a>objectionable&mdash;Manner
to Brothers and Sisters&mdash;No assumption of superiority
justified by Birthright, or Circumstances&mdash;Every Man the Guardian of his
Sisters&mdash;A Sister's Love&mdash;Manner to a Wife&mdash;The preservation of her Affection&mdash;The
"Spectator," and a Sketch of an Old-School Husband&mdash;Impressive
Teaching&mdash;A Plea for Old-Fashioned Authors&mdash;Reverence for the <i>Lares</i>
should be inviolate&mdash;The Graces of Manner always discerned by the Gentler
Sex&mdash;The Sensibility of Woman&mdash;Domestic Politeness&mdash;Cheerful Manner in
conferring Favors&mdash;Importance of Trifles, in this respect&mdash;The true nobleness
of Manhood&mdash;Aphorism of the Latinists&mdash;Manner to Children&mdash;Their Innocence
and Susceptibility&mdash;The Influence of Example in this regard&mdash;Children
judges of Character&mdash;Power of the Law of Love over the Young&mdash;Supremacy
of Moral Obligation&mdash;Manner not to be regarded as insignificant by the
Christian Gentleman&mdash;Manner to the Unfortunate&mdash;Towards Servants and
Inferiors&mdash;Arrogance to be avoided&mdash;Mode of addressing Domestics&mdash;Queen
Elizabeth and her Courtiers&mdash;Effect of a pleasant Word and a pleasant Tone&mdash;Peculiar
sensitiveness of the Uneducated In this respect&mdash;The professional
figure of an old Soldier!&mdash;Manifestations of Sympathy for Inferiors in Station&mdash;Readily
instructed by a kind Manner,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<p class="tocsubhead">ANECDOTES AND TALES, ILLUSTRATIVE OF MANNER.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter IV Anecdotes and Tales Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Emperors not always well-bred.</span>&mdash;Manner of Napoleon le Grand to Women&mdash;A
Family Levee&mdash;Reply of the Mother of Bonaparte to her Son&mdash;Napoleon's
stringent enforcement of Court Rules&mdash;The First Consul and the Lady's
Train&mdash;Josephine's timidity and her Husband's brutality&mdash;Maria Louise's
Bridal-Scene&mdash;An almost sacrilegious Misnomer,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">A Father's Rebuke.</span>&mdash;A Steamer on the Ohio&mdash;The two Friends&mdash;Cabin-Chit-chat&mdash;Youthful
mirth reproved&mdash;The effect of a Scene&mdash;The fortunate Guest&mdash;A
Family Mansion and Family Group&mdash;A "Study,"</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Moral Sublime: An Anecdote,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Sailor and his Mother,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Brothers.</span>&mdash;Early Separation&mdash;Home Meetings&mdash;The pomposity of the
Alderman&mdash;A Family Quarrel&mdash;The respectful Son&mdash;The Recording Angel&mdash;Charley
visits the City&mdash;A Morning Call&mdash;Its Result,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Washington Irving's Sketch of an old English Gentleman,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Poet Rogers and his Man Friday,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Family Green-Room, or Life Behind the Scenes.</span>&mdash;An old Soldier
Weather-bound&mdash;A Morning Sortie&mdash;An Invitation&mdash;Youthful Hospitality&mdash;A
Nursery Fixture&mdash;The "Eldest Son and Hope of the House"&mdash;A playful
Salutation&mdash;The "Land of Promise"&mdash;An Armful&mdash;Lunch&mdash;An unexpected
Interposition&mdash;An Overland Journey&mdash;A Catastrophe&mdash;Rubicon Crossing&mdash;The
Dolphin&mdash;The baked Apple&mdash;A "Poor Man"&mdash;The "Cup of Cold Water"&mdash;A
Stick for each&mdash;Spectacled Reconnoitering&mdash;Cheerful Words&mdash;Devotional
Scene&mdash;Scientific Inquiry&mdash;A Capture&mdash;Escape by Stratagem&mdash;Almost a
Martyr&mdash;The old Soldier re-visits the "Mess" of his Camp-ground&mdash;A dangerous
Invader&mdash;Green-room Asides&mdash;A Rehearsal&mdash;College Comforts&mdash;A
Sketch by one of 'em&mdash;A Stage-Trick&mdash;Anecdote of John Kemble, the Actor&mdash;A
Disclaimer and a Commentary&mdash;Exit of a "Star"&mdash;Table-Talk,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii"></a><p class="tocchapter">LETTER V.</p>

<p class="tochead">MANNER IN DETAIL.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter V Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Manner in the Street</span>&mdash;Upon Meeting a Friend or Acquaintance&mdash;Proper Mode
of Salutation&mdash;"Drawing" Gloves&mdash;Stopping to Talk&mdash;Tact and Ease&mdash;Leaving
a Companion in the Street&mdash;Manner to Inferiors in the Street&mdash;Rule,
when meeting a Gentleman-Acquaintance walking with Ladies whom you do
not know&mdash;When you are acquainted with both Ladies and Gentlemen
whom you may meet&mdash;Shaking Hands with Ladies in the Street at Meeting
or at Parting&mdash;Courteous Phrases&mdash;Parting Ceremonies&mdash;Precedence in the
Street&mdash;Taking the Arm of another Man&mdash;Walking with Ladies&mdash;Proper
relative Position&mdash;Opening Doors, etc.&mdash;When meeting Ladies&mdash;Upon being
stopped by a Lady&mdash;Manner to a Stranger Lady&mdash;When you wish to Speak
with a Lady in the Street&mdash;When wishing to join a Lady in her Promenade&mdash;Proper
Caution in this respect&mdash;Rule respecting the Recognition of a Lady&mdash;An
Awkward Third&mdash;Considerations due to Ladies in case of Street-Accidents&mdash;Courtesy
to Ladies who are alighting from a Carriage&mdash;Custom of
offering the Arm to Ladies in the Street, when ascending Steps, etc.&mdash;On
entering Church, etc., with Ladies&mdash;As one of a Travelling-Party, etc.&mdash;Gait
in walking with elderly Persons or Ladies generally&mdash;Staring at Ladies in
Public Places&mdash;Manner to Ladies entering an Opera House, at a Pump-Room,
etc.&mdash;Audible Comments upon Strangers,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p class="tocsubhead">SKETCHES ILLUSTRATIVE OF MANNERS.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter V Sketches Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The "Cut" Portuguese.</span>&mdash;Newspapers and Coffee&mdash;West Point and a Discussion&mdash;A
Foreigner's Revenge,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Broken Fan: a Lady's Lament,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The "Iron Duke," and Youthful Reminiscences,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Unexpected Rencontre&mdash;A Stroll and a Compliment&mdash;A Gentleman of the Old
School in the Street&mdash;A Tribute&mdash;A Daughter's Boast&mdash;A Wedding&mdash;The
Bridal Tour&mdash;The Rail-Car&mdash;An Intruder&mdash;True Politeness&mdash;The Glass of
Medical-water&mdash;The Denouement,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Letter-Box.</span>&mdash;An Exciting Exclamation&mdash;A Group for a Painter&mdash;A
Query&mdash;Entreaties&mdash;An Explanatory Prelude&mdash;The Fruitless Search&mdash;The
Appeal&mdash;A Dialogue&mdash;An Admission&mdash;Musical Sounds&mdash;A Prosy Inquiry&mdash;The
Summing up&mdash;The Damper&mdash;The Wish of a True Woman&mdash;An Insinuation&mdash;A
Description drawn from Life&mdash;A Valuable Portrait&mdash;A Tribute to
American Gentlemen&mdash;An Illustration&mdash;Stage Politeness to a Lady&mdash;Acted
Poetry: the Poetry of Real Life!</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Prisoner of the Colliseum.</span>&mdash;A Moonlight Walk&mdash;A Secret Appeal&mdash;The
Fair Epicurean&mdash;The Recitation&mdash;An Apparition&mdash;The Lasso&mdash;A Witty
Reply&mdash;The Guerdon&mdash;The Clarion-note&mdash;A Brilliant&mdash;Horseback on the
Campagnia of Rome&mdash;The Pope's Cortčge&mdash;A Recognition&mdash;A Denouement&mdash;A
Confession and the Retort Courteous&mdash;A Sudden Transformation&mdash;The
Beautiful Arm&mdash;Powers' Studio&mdash;The Artist's Discovery&mdash;An Intimation,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv"></a><p class="tocchapter">LETTER VI.</p>
<p class="tochead">MANNER&mdash;(<i>Continued.</i>)</p>
<p class="tocsubhead">RULES TO BE OBSERVED IN MAKING MORNING VISITS, AND IN SOCIETY GENERALLY.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter VI Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Aversion to Ceremonious Morning Visits&mdash;Proper Hours&mdash;Suitable Brevity&mdash;Character
of Conversation&mdash;Card of Announcement&mdash;Visits made at Hotels&mdash;Precautionary
Rules&mdash;Mode of entering a Drawing-Room&mdash;Drawing-Room
Rules&mdash;When Meeting other Visitors&mdash;When interrupted&mdash;When wishing
to leave a Message or make an Appointment, etc.&mdash;Proper Courtesy
when Visitors are taking Leave&mdash;Short Visits of mere Ceremony&mdash;Attendance
upon Ladies making Morning Visits&mdash;Attentions Suitable&mdash;Introducing&mdash;Ladies
to take precedence in rising to go away&mdash;Gentlemen calling together&mdash;Dress,
etc.,&mdash;When awaiting Ladies in a Public Parlor&mdash;Standing when
Ladies are Standing&mdash;Offering the Arm&mdash;Suitable Gait&mdash;Minutia of Politeness&mdash;Morning
Wedding-Receptions&mdash;Whom you should Congratulate&mdash;General
Directions&mdash;Tact and Good Taste&mdash;Leaving Cards&mdash;Visits on New-Year's Day&mdash;Ceremonious
Intercourse with Superiors&mdash;Manner at Church&mdash;Mrs.&nbsp;Chapone's
Rule&mdash;Self-possession one of the Distinctive Characteristics of Good-Breeding&mdash;Whispering,
Laughing, Staring, etc., to be avoided&mdash;Retaining
the Hat not admissible&mdash;Salutations at Church&mdash;Attending Ladies at Concerts,
Lectures, Opera, etc. etc.&mdash;Propriety of Retaining the Seat you take on
Entering&mdash;Incommoding Others&mdash;Courtesy due to Those near you&mdash;Manner
of well-bred Persons in a Picture Gallery, etc.,&mdash;Reverence due to the
Beautiful and the Good&mdash;Partaking of Refreshments in Public Places&mdash;Discourtesy
of any Semblance of Intrusiveness&mdash;Etiquette in Joining a Party&mdash;Politeness
not to be laid aside in Business-intercourse&mdash;Elaborate ceremony
unsuitable, at times&mdash;The Secret of Popularity&mdash;Manner at a Public
Table&mdash;Courtesy to Others&mdash;Self-importance a Proof of Vulgarity&mdash;"Fast"
Feeding&mdash;Pardonable Luxuriousness&mdash;Staring&mdash;Listening to Private Conversations&mdash;Rudeness
of Loud Talking and Laughing, Shrugs, Glances, or
Whispers&mdash;Courtesy due to a Lady entering a Dining-Room&mdash;To Older Persons&mdash;Meeting
or passing Ladies in Public Houses&mdash;Influence of Trifles in
the Formation of Character&mdash;Frequent Discourtesy in ignoring the Presence
of Ladies in Public Parlors, etc. etc.&mdash;Politeness due to Women, in Practical
Emergencies&mdash;Nocturnal Peccadilloes&mdash;Travelling&mdash;True Rules&mdash;Courtesy
to Ladies, to Age, to the Suffering&mdash;Indecorum of using Tobacco, etc. etc.,
in Public Conveyances&mdash;Ceremony a Shield, but not an Excuse&mdash;A Challenge
Extraordinary&mdash;Anecdote of P&mdash;&mdash;, the Poet&mdash;Practice and Tact essential
to secure Polish of Manner&mdash;Life-long Stumbling&mdash;Practical Rules, the
result of Annoying Experience&mdash;Carriage Hire&mdash;Driving with Ladies, etc.,&mdash;Manner
in Social Intercourse&mdash;As Host&mdash;Etiquette of Dinners at Home&mdash;Precedence&mdash;Distinguished
Guests&mdash;A Lady&mdash;A Gentleman&mdash;Reception and
Introduction of Guests&mdash;True Hospitality as Host, better than mere Ceremony&mdash;Manner
towards those unacquainted with Conventional Rules&mdash;Manner
at Routs, at Home&mdash;Attention to Guests compatible with good <i>ton</i>&mdash;Anecdote&mdash;Respect
to be rendered to all one's <a name="tn_png_014"></a><!--TN: "Aquaintances" changed to "Acquaintances"-->Acquaintances in General
Society&mdash;To Married Ladies&mdash;To Strangers&mdash;The Distinction thus Exhibited
between the Under-bred and the genuine Man of the World&mdash;No one entitled
to Self-Excuses in this <a name="tn_png_15"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Regard"-->Regard,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv"></a><p class="tocsubhead">ANECDOTES, SKETCHES, ETC.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter VI Acecdotes and Sketches Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">A Prophesy.</span>&mdash;Table-Talk&mdash;A Rescue and a Lady's Gratitude&mdash;Jealousy Disarmed&mdash;Backwoodsmen&mdash;Cordiality&mdash;Costume
and Courtesy&mdash;Retort Courteous&mdash;An
Interpolation and a Protest&mdash;Mr.&nbsp;Clay's Popularity with the Fair&mdash;Secret
of his Success in Society&mdash;Mr.&nbsp;Clay and the <i>Belle Esprit</i>&mdash;A Definition
of Politeness&mdash;A Comical Illustration&mdash;A Pun&mdash;A well-turned Compliment&mdash;Unconsciousness
of Self&mdash;A Stranger's Impressions&mdash;A Poetic
<a name="tn_png_15a"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Tribute"-->Tribute,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Devotee of the Beautiful.</span>&mdash;A Morning Drive&mdash;Anticipation&mdash;Spiritual
Enjoyment&mdash;Discord&mdash;A Disappointment,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Soldier's Wife and the Ghoul.</span>&mdash;A Journey&mdash;The truly Brave&mdash;The
Arrival&mdash;A Chapter of Accidents&mdash;Self-Reproach&mdash;The Ghoul&mdash;The Calmness
of Despair&mdash;The Versatility of Woman&mdash;But a Step from the Sublime to
the Ridiculous&mdash;The Ghoul again&mdash;A Defiant Spirit&mdash;Punctilious Ceremony,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">A Fair Champion.</span>&mdash;A Query and its Solution&mdash;A Sketch&mdash;Raillery&mdash;A Tęte-ŕ-Tęte&mdash;An
Interruption&mdash;"Fashionable" Hospitality&mdash;Genuine Hospitality&mdash;A
Mother's Advice&mdash;An indignant Spirit&mdash;Rebellion,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Man of One Idea.</span>&mdash;An Object for Worship&mdash;A Soirée&mdash;A Polite Colloquy&mdash;The
Host at Ease&mdash;A pleasing Hostess&mdash;The Climax,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Young America&mdash;an Anecdote,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Practical Philosopher.</span>&mdash;A handsome Aristocrat&mdash;An Accusation&mdash;A
Courteous Neighbor&mdash;Fall of a "Fixed Star"&mdash;Favorite Aphorism of Mrs.
Combe&mdash;The Daughter of the Siddons,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p class="tocchapter">LETTER VII.</p>
<p class="tochead">HEALTH.</p>
<p class="tocsubhead">THE TOILET, AS CONNECTED WITH HEALTH.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter VII Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The True Basis of Health&mdash;Temperance an inclusive Term&mdash;Foundation of the
Eminence of J.&nbsp;Q.&nbsp;Adams&mdash;His Life a Model for the Young&mdash;His early Habits&mdash;Vigorous
Old Age&mdash;Example of Franklin in regard to Temperance&mdash;Illustrations
afforded by our National History&mdash;The Bath&mdash;Varying Opinions
and Constitutions&mdash;Imprudent use of the Bath&mdash;Bishop Heber&mdash;General
Directions&mdash;The Art of Swimming&mdash;Sponging&mdash;Deficiencies of the
Toilet in England&mdash;Collateral Benefits arising from habitual Sponge-bathing&mdash;The
Hair&mdash;All Fantastic Dressing of the Hair in bad taste&mdash;Use of
Pomades&mdash;Vulgarity of using Strong Perfumes&mdash;The Teeth&mdash;Use of Tobacco&mdash;Smoke
Dispellers&mdash;The Nails&mdash;The Feet&mdash;A complete Wardrobe essential
to Health&mdash;Early Rising&mdash;Its manifold Advantages&mdash;Example of Washington,
Franklin, etc., in this respect&mdash;Daniel Webster's Eulogy upon Morning&mdash;Retiring
early&mdash;Truth of a Medical Dogma&mdash;Opposition of Fashion and
Health&mdash;Early Hours essential to the Student&mdash;Importance of the early Acquisition
of Correct Habits in this Regard&mdash;Illustration&mdash;A combination of<a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi"></a>
Right Habits essential to Health&mdash;Exercise&mdash;Walking&mdash;Pure Air&mdash;The Lungs
of a City&mdash;Superiority of Morning Air&mdash;An Erect Carriage of the Body in
Walking&mdash;Periodical Exercise&mdash;Necessary Caution&mdash;The Unwise Student&mdash;A
Warning&mdash;A Knowledge of Dietetics and Physiology requisite to the Preservation
of Health&mdash;Suitable Works on these Subjects&mdash;Riding and Driving
the Accomplishments of a Gentleman&mdash;A Horse a desirable Possession&mdash;Testimony
of Dr. Johnson&mdash;The Pride of Skill&mdash;Needful Caution&mdash;Judicious
Selection of <i>Locale</i> for these Modes of Exercise&mdash;Dr. Beatie's Tribute to
Nature&mdash;Importance of Temperance in Eating and Drinking, as regards
Health&mdash;The Cultivation of Simple Tastes in Eating&mdash;Proper Preparation of
Food Important to Health&mdash;Re-action of the Human Constitution&mdash;Effect of
Bodily Health upon the Mind&mdash;The pernicious Use of Condiments, etc., <a name="tn_png_016"></a><!--TN: Dash added after
"etc."-->etc.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Young Ambition's Ladder.</span>&mdash;Hours for Meals&mdash;Dining Late&mdash;Injurious Effects
of Prolonged Abstinence&mdash;The Stimulus of Distension&mdash;Repletion&mdash;Necessity
of deliberate and thorough Mastication&mdash;Judicious Use of Time in
Eating&mdash;The Use of Wine, Tobacco, etc.&mdash;The truly Free!&mdash;Dr. Johnson's
Opinion&mdash;Novel Argument against the Habits of Smoking and Drinking&mdash;Advice
of Sir Walter Raleigh to the Young&mdash;Then and Now&mdash;Council of a
"Looker-on" in this Utilitarian Age&mdash;Erroneous Impressions&mdash;Authority
of a celebrated Writer&mdash;Social Duties&mdash;The unbent Bow&mdash;Rational Enjoyment
the wisest Obedience to the Natural Laws&mdash;A determined Pursuit in
Life essential to Happiness and Health&mdash;Too entire Devotion to a Single
Object of Pursuit, unwise&mdash;Arcadian Dreams&mdash;Attainable Realities&mdash;Truisms&mdash;Decay
of the Social and Domestic Virtues&mdash;Human Sacrifices&mdash;Relaxations
and Amusements requisite to Health&mdash;Superiority of Amusements in
the Open Air for Students and Sedentary Persons generally&mdash;Benefits of
Cheerful Companionship&mdash;Objection to Games, etc., that require Mental
Exertion&mdash;Converse Rule&mdash;Fashionable Watering-places ill adapted to
Health&mdash;Avocations of the Farmer, Tastes as a Naturalist, Travel, Sporting,
etc., recommended&mdash;Depraved Public Taste&mdash;Slavery to Fashion&mdash;Habits
of Europeans, in this respect, superior to our own&mdash;Modern Degeneracy&mdash;Folly
thralled by Pride,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<p class="tocsubhead">ILLUSTRATIVE SKETCHES AND ANECDOTES.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter VII Illustrative Sketches and Anecdotes Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">To Give Eternity To Time.</span>&mdash;The Senate-Chamber and the Dying Statesman&mdash;The
Moral Sublime,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td>
</tr>

<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Jonathan's Sins and a Foreigner's Peccadillo.</span>&mdash;Celebrities&mdash;Dinner-table
Sallies&mdash;Grave Charges&mdash;Yankee Rejection of Cold Meats&mdash;Self-Preservation
the First Law of Nature!&mdash;A Mystery Solved&mdash;National Impartiality&mdash;Anecdote&mdash;Storming
a Fort&mdash;Successful Defence, by a Lady, of herself!&mdash;A
Stratagem&mdash;The Daughter of a Gun&mdash;An Explanation&mdash;The Tortures of
Outraged Modesty,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td>
</tr>

<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Dr. Abernethy and his Yankee Patient,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Cosmopolitan Chit-Chat.</span>&mdash;A Heterogeneous Party&mdash;The Golden Horn&mdash;Contemplations
in a Turkish Caique&mdash;A Discussion&mdash;"Christian Dogs" and
the Dogs of Constantinople&mdash;An unpleasant Discovery&mdash;A Magical Touch&mdash;The
Song of the Caidjis&mdash;A National Example,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii"></a>The Imperturbable Guest.</span>&mdash;A Dinner-Table Scene,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Youth and the Philosopher: Lines by Whitehead,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p class="tocchapter">LETTER VIII.</p>
<p class="tochead">LETTER-WRITING.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter VIII Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Importance of this Branch of Education&mdash;Its Frequent Neglect&mdash;Usual Faults
of the Epistolary Style&mdash;Applicability of the rule of the Lightning-Tamer&mdash;Variety
of Styles appropriate to varying Subjects and Occasions&mdash;Impossibility
of laying down all-inclusive General Rules&mdash;Requisites of Letters of
Business&mdash;Legibility in Caligraphy&mdash;Affectation in this respect&mdash;Avoidance
of Servile Imitation&mdash;Advantage of possessing a good Business-hand&mdash;Time-saving
Importance of Rapidity&mdash;Letters of Introduction&mdash;Form Suitable for
Ordinary Purposes&mdash;Specimen of Letters Introducing a Person in Search of
a Business Situation, Place of Residence, etc., etc.&mdash;Introduction of Artists,
Professional Men, etc.&mdash;Presenting a Celebrity by Letter&mdash;Proper Attention
to Titles, Modes of abbreviating Titles, etc., etc.&mdash;Letters of Introduction to
be unsealed&mdash;Manner of Delivering Letters of Introduction&mdash;Cards, Envelopes,
Written Messages, etc., proper on such Occasions&mdash;Appointments and
due Courtesy, etc.&mdash;Form of Letter to a Lady of Fashion&mdash;Etiquette in regard
to Addresses&mdash;Letters Presenting Foreigners&mdash;Personal Introductions&mdash;Common
Neglect of Etiquette in this respect&mdash;Proper Mode of Introducing
Young Persons, or those of inferior social position&mdash;Of Introducing Men to
Women, very Young Ladies, etc.&mdash;Voice and Manner on such Occasions&mdash;Explanations
due to Strangers&mdash;Common Social Improprieties&mdash;American
Peculiarity&mdash;Hotel Registers, etc.&mdash;Courtesy due to Relations as well as to
Strangers&mdash;Impropriety of indiscriminate Introductions&mdash;Preliminary Ceremonies
among Men&mdash;In the Street&mdash;At Dinners&mdash;Evening-Parties&mdash;Receptions&mdash;Conventional
Rules subject to Changes, dictated by good-sense&mdash;Supremacy
of the Law of Kindness&mdash;Visiting Cards&mdash;European Fashion of
Cards&mdash;Style usual in America&mdash;Place of Residence&mdash;Phrases for Cards&mdash;Business
Cards: Ornaments, Devices, Color, Size, Legibility, etc.&mdash;Letters of
Recommendation&mdash;Moral Characteristic&mdash;Proper Style of Letters of Condolence&mdash;Form
of Letters of Congratulation&mdash;Admissibility of Brevity&mdash;Letters
to Superiors&mdash;Ceremonious Form for such Communications&mdash;Proper Mode of
Addressing Entire Strangers&mdash;Common Error in this respect&mdash;Punch's Sarcasm&mdash;Diplomats
and Public Functionaries should be Models in Letter-writing&mdash;An
Enigma&mdash;Diplomatic Letters&mdash;Letters of Friendship and Affection&mdash;General
Requisites of Epistolary Composition&mdash;Letters a Means of conferring
and Receiving Pleasure&mdash;Distinctive Characteristic of the Epistolary Style&mdash;Peccadilloes&mdash;Aids
facilitating the Practice in this Accomplishment&mdash;Notes
of Invitation, Acceptance, Regret&mdash;Observance of Usage&mdash;Simplicity the
best <i>ton</i> and taste&mdash;Etiquette with regard to Invitations to Dinner&mdash;Courtesy
in Matters of Social Life&mdash;Error of an American Author&mdash;Ceremony properly
preceding taking an uninvited Friend to a Party&mdash;Abstract good-breeding
the best Test of Propriety&mdash;Proper form of Ceremonious Notes of Invitation&mdash;Use
of the Third Person in writing Notes&mdash;Mailed Letters&mdash;Local<a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii"></a>
Addresses, Form of Signature, etc., etc.&mdash;Requisites of Letter-Superscription&mdash;Writing-Materials&mdash;Small
Sheets, Margins, etc.&mdash;Colored Paper, Fanciful
Ornaments, Initials, &amp;c.&mdash;Envelopes and Superscription&mdash;Wax, Seals, etc.&mdash;European
Letters&mdash;Rule&mdash;Promptitude in Letter-writing&mdash;Study of Published
Models beneficial to the Young&mdash;Scott, Byron, Moore, Horace Walpole,
Washington&mdash;Sir W.&nbsp;W.&nbsp;Pepys, etc.&mdash;Curiosities of the Epistolary Style&mdash;Anticipated
Pleasure,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p class="tocsubhead">ILLUSTRATIONS.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter VIII Illustrations Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">

<span class="tocfirst">The Warning&mdash;a Sketch of Nile-travel.</span>&mdash;A Group and a Dialogue amid
the Ruins of Thebes&mdash;Mustapha Aga and the Temple of Karnac&mdash;The Arrival&mdash;The
Distribution&mdash;Delights, Disappointments, and Despair,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Anecdote of the Mighty Wizard of the North,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">A Drawing-room Coterie of Criticism.</span>&mdash;The Library and the Intruder&mdash;Paternal
Authority&mdash;Condemnation&mdash;Comments and Criticisms&mdash;A Compliment&mdash;A
fair Bevy&mdash;Wit and Wisdom&mdash;Sport and Seriousness&mdash;A Model Note
and a Fair Eulogist&mdash;Paternal Approbation&mdash;What American Merchants
should be&mdash;An Anecdote&mdash;Discoveries and Accessions&mdash;<i>Apropos</i>&mdash;Fair Play
and a <i>Ruse</i>&mdash;A Group of Critics&mdash;An Invitation&mdash;A Rival&mdash;An Explanation
and an Admission&mdash;A Rescue and Retreat&mdash;An Old Man's Privilege&mdash;Seventeen
and Eighty-two&mdash;May and December,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The First Billet-Doux,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<p class="tocchapter">LETTER IX.</p>
<p class="tochead">ACCOMPLISHMENTS.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter IX Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Comparative Importance of Accomplishments&mdash;Difference between Europeans
and Americans in this regard&mdash;Self-Education the most Useful&mdash;Peculiar
Incentives to Self-Culture possessed by Americans&mdash;Cultivation of a Taste
for the Ideal Arts&mdash;Desirableness of a Knowledge of Drawing&mdash;Incidental
Benefit resulting from the Practice of this Art&mdash;A Taste for Music&mdash;Mistaken
Conceptions of the Importance of this Accomplishment&mdash;Advantage of learning
Dancing&mdash;Desirableness of Riding and Driving&mdash;Various Athletic Exercises&mdash;A
ready and graceful Elocution of great Importance&mdash;A Source of
Social Enjoyment&mdash;The Art of Conversation&mdash;Use of Slang Phrases&mdash;Disadvantages
of Occasional Lenity towards the Corruptions of Language&mdash;The
only Safe Rule&mdash;Common want of Conversational Power&mdash;The Superiority
of the French over all other People in this Respect&mdash;The Salons of Paris&mdash;Pleasures
of the <i>Canaille</i>&mdash;French Children&mdash;Practice essential to Success&mdash;The
Embellishments of Conversation&mdash;Habits of a Celebrated Talker&mdash;Anecdote
of Sheridan&mdash;Some Preparation not Unsuitable before going into
Society&mdash;Qualities most essential to secure Popularity in General Society&mdash;The
"Guilt of giving Pain"&mdash;Avoidance of Personalities&mdash;The Language
of Compliment&mdash;Two Good Rules&mdash;Reprehensibleness of the Habit of
indulging in Gossip, Scandal, or Puerile Conversation&mdash;The Records of
"Heaven's High Chancery"&mdash;Importance of Exact Truthfulness in Conversation&mdash;The
Capacity of adapting Language to Occasions of <a name="tn_png_018"></a><!--TN: Dash added after "Importance"-->Importance&mdash;<a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix"></a>Use of Foreign Phrases or Words&mdash;Tact and Good-Breeding the Safest
Guides in such Matters&mdash;Advantage of the Companionship of Cultivated
Persons, in Promoting Conversational Skill&mdash;Misuse of Strong Language&mdash;Conversational
Courtesies&mdash;Aphorism by Mr.&nbsp;Madison&mdash;Modesty Proper to
the Young in this Respect&mdash;Bad taste of talking of one's self in Society&mdash;The
World an Unsuitable Confidant&mdash;Quotation from Carlyle&mdash;Sympathy with
Others&mdash;The softer graces of Social Intercourse&mdash;Cheerfulness universally
Agreeable&mdash;A Glee in which Everybody can join&mdash;Anecdote&mdash;Human Sunbeams&mdash;Judicious
selection of Conversational Topics&mdash;Avoidance of
Assumption and Dictatorialness&mdash;Proper Regard for the Right of Opinion&mdash;Courtesy
due to Ladies and Clergymen&mdash;Folly of Promulgating Peculiarities
of Religious Opinion&mdash;Rudeness of manifesting Undue Curiosity respecting
the Affairs of Others&mdash;Boasting of Friends&mdash;Anecdote&mdash;Quickness at Repartee,
one of the Colloquial Graces&mdash;Dean Swift and his "fellow"&mdash;Anecdote
of the Elder Adams&mdash;A Ready and Graceful Reply to a Compliment not
to be Disregarded among the Elegancies of Conversation&mdash;The Retort
Courteous&mdash;Lady Hamilton and Lord Nelson&mdash;Specimens of Polite Phraseology&mdash;General
Conversation with Ladies&mdash;Essential Characteristics of
Light Conversation&mdash;Improprieties and Familiarities&mdash;Disagreeable Peculiarities&mdash;A
Dismal Character&mdash;Anecdote of Cuvier&mdash;Tact in Avoiding Personal
Allusions&mdash;Peculiarity of American Society&mdash;Ages of the Loves and
Graces&mdash;A Young Jonathan and an English Girl&mdash;Violation of Confidence&mdash;Sacredness
of Private Conversations&mdash;Politeness of a Ready Compliance
with the Wishes of Others in <a name="tn_png_19"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Society"-->Society,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<p class="tocsubhead">ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES AND SKETCHES.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter IX Illustrative Anecdotes and Sketches Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Sang Froid and Sandwiches.</span>&mdash;A Ride with a Duke&mdash;The eager young Sportsman&mdash;A
Rencontre&mdash;A Query and a Response&mdash;A substantial <i>Bonne <a name="tn_png_19a"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Bouche"-->Bouche</i>,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
A Frenchman's <a name="tn_png_19b"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Relaxation"-->Relaxation,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_314">314</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Polemics and Politeness&mdash;Watering-place Society&mdash;Omnibus Orations&mdash;Sulphur-water
and Sacrifices&mdash;Religionists, Ladies and License, Reaction and
<a name="tn_png_19c"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Remorse"-->Remorse,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_315">315</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
An unexpected Declaration&mdash;Parisian <i>furore</i>&mdash;The unknown Patient&mdash;Practice
and <a name="tn_png_19d"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Pathos"-->Pathos,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_317">317</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Three Graces&mdash;Honor to whom Honor was Due&mdash;A Group for a Sculptor&mdash;Woman's
<a name="tn_png_19e"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Wit"-->Wit,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_318">318</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Scene in a <a name="tn_png_19f"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Drawing-room"-->Drawing-room,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_320">320</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Musical Mania&mdash;Guitar playing and the play of <a name="tn_png_19g"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Intellect"-->Intellect,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_321">321</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
A Fair <a name="tn_png_19h"></a><!--TN: Comma moved from mid-line to immedately after "Discussion"-->Discussion,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
National Dialect&mdash;A <a name="tn_png_19i"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Bagatelle"-->Bagatelle,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
A Murillo and a Living Study&mdash;A Morning in the Louvre with a congenial
Friend&mdash;A Painter's Advice&mdash;True <a name="tn_png_19j"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Epicureanism"-->Epicureanism,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_326">326</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Ready Elocution and Ready Wit&mdash;A Congressional <a name="tn_png_19k"></a><!--TN: Period changed to a comma after "Sketch"-->Sketch,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_327">327</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx"></a><p class="tocchapter">LETTER X.</p>
<p class="tochead">HABIT.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter X Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Habit</span> always Indicative of Character&mdash;Its Importance not properly estimated
by the Young&mdash;Rudeness and Republicanism too often Synonymous&mdash;Fashion
not always Good-breeding&mdash;Social American Peculiarities&mdash;Manners
of Americans abroad&mdash;Rowdyism at the Tuileries&mdash;The Propriety of
Learning from Older Nations the lighter Elegancies of Life&mdash;Madame Soulé
and the Queen of Spain&mdash;The tie of a Cravat and the Affairs of "Change"&mdash;George
Peabody a Model American&mdash;The distinctive name of Gentleman&mdash;Great
Importance of Suitable Associates&mdash;Spanish Proverb&mdash;The true Social
Standard&mdash;Safeguard against Eccentricity&mdash;Habits of Walking, Standing,
Sitting&mdash;Directions&mdash;Aaron Burr and De Witt Clinton&mdash;Bachelor Privileges&mdash;Decorum
in the presence of Ladies&mdash;Carrying the Hat, ease of Attitude, etc.&mdash;Benefits
of habitual Self-Restraint&mdash;Habits at Table&mdash;Eating with a Knife&mdash;Soiling
the Lips, Picking the Teeth, etc., etc.&mdash;Nicety In Matters of Detail&mdash;Courtesy
due to others&mdash;Manner to Servants in Attendance at Table&mdash;Avoidance
of Sensuousness of Manner&mdash;French Mode of Serving Dinners&mdash;The
Art of Carving&mdash;Helping Ladies at Table&mdash;Rule in Carving Joints of
Meat&mdash;Changing the Plate&mdash;Proper Mode of Taking Fish&mdash;Game&mdash;Butter at
Dinner&mdash;English Custom&mdash;Details of Habit at Table&mdash;Rights of Freemen&mdash;A
Just Distinction&mdash;Unhealthfulness of drinking too much at Dinner&mdash;Fast
Eating of Fast Americans&mdash;Sitting upon two Legs of a Chair&mdash;Anecdote&mdash;Habits
of using the Handkerchief&mdash;Toying with the Moustache, etc., etc.&mdash;Ladies
careful Observers of Minutić&mdash;Belief of the Ancient Gauls respecting
Women&mdash;Habits of Swaggering in Public Places&mdash;General Suggestions&mdash;Ladies
and Invalids in Terror of a Human War-Horse&mdash;Courtesy due while
playing Chess and other Games&mdash;Self-control in Sickness&mdash;Premature adoption
of Eye-Glasses&mdash;Affectation in this respect&mdash;Proper Attitude while
Reading or Studying&mdash;Habits of Early Rising&mdash;A Poetic Superstition unwarranted
by Health and Truth&mdash;Variance between Health and Fashion in
regard to Early Hours&mdash;Aphorism by Gibbon&mdash;Habit of taking Nostrums&mdash;Avoidance
of Quacks&mdash;Habit of acting as the Protectors of the Dependent
Sex&mdash;Effect of Trifling Habits upon the Opinions formed of us by Women&mdash;Habits
of handling Prints, Bijouterie, and Boquets, of Smoking, Whispering
and Ogling, to be shunned&mdash;Importance of Methodical Habits of Reading
and Studying&mdash;Value of the Gold Dust of Time&mdash;Anecdote&mdash;True Rule for
Reading to Advantage&mdash;Habit of Reading aloud&mdash;Great Importance of a
Habit of Industry&mdash;The Superiors of mere Genius&mdash;Habits of Cheerfulness
and Contentment not to be overlooked by the Young&mdash;Cultivation of Habitual
Self-Respect&mdash;Pride and Poverty not Necessarily Antagonistic&mdash;Self-Respect
a Shield against the Shafts of Calumny&mdash;True Honor not affected by
Occupation or Position&mdash;Benefits of a Habit of Self-Examination&mdash;The habitual
Study of the Scriptures recommended&mdash;<span class="smcap">Christ</span>, the Great Model of Humanity&mdash;Ungentlemanly
Habit of being late at Church, etc.&mdash;Pernicious
<a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi"></a>Effects of prevalent Materialism&mdash;Personal Enjoyment resulting from habitually
idealizing all Mental Associations with Women&mdash;Defencelessness an
Impassable Barrier to Oppression from true Manhood&mdash;Impropriety of
speaking loudly to Ladies in public Places, of attracting Attention to them,
their Names and Prerogatives&mdash;Safe Rule in this regard&mdash;The Habit of Sympathy
with Human Suffering a Christian duty&mdash;Mistaken Opinion of Young
Men in this respect&mdash;The Examples presented by the Lives of the Greatly
Good&mdash;Mighty Achievements in the Cause of Humanity in the Power of a
Few&mdash;Habits of Good-Humor, Neatness, Order and Regularity due to others&mdash;Fastidious
Nicety in Matters of the Toilet, demanded by proper respect for
our daily Associates&mdash;The Importance of Habits of Exercise, Temperance
and Relaxation&mdash;Economy to be Cultivated as a Habit&mdash;Economy not Degrading&mdash;Habit
of Punctuality&mdash;Slavery to mere System condemned&mdash;Remark
of Sir Joshua Reynolds&mdash;Habit of Perseverance&mdash;Value of the
Habit of putting Ideas into Words&mdash;Of Habits of Reflection and Observation&mdash;Of
rendering Respect to Age, etc.&mdash;Culture of Esthetical Perceptions&mdash;American
Peculiarity&mdash;Curiosity not tolerated among the well-bred&mdash;The
inestimable value of Self-Possession&mdash;Its Natural Manifestations&mdash;Concluding
Advice,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_329">329</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p class="tocsubhead">ILLUSTRATIONS.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter X Illustrations Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">

<a name="tn_png_021"></a><!--TN: [**use sc]"onathan" changed to "Jonathan"--><span class="tocfirst">Jonathan and Queen Victoria.</span>&mdash;A Stroll through the World's Palace&mdash;A
Royal Party&mdash;The Yankee Enthroned&mdash;A Confession,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Damon and Pythias Modernized.</span>&mdash;A Family Council&mdash;A Celebrity and a
Hotel Dinner&mdash;A Discovery&mdash;A Sketch&mdash;Telegraphing and Triumph&mdash;Beer
and a Break-down&mdash;Drawing-room Chit-chat&mdash;A Young Lady's Eulogy&mdash;Retort
Courteous&mdash;A New Acquaintance&mdash;An Explanation&mdash;Dinner the
Second&mdash;Sense and Sensibility&mdash;A Ruse&mdash;A Request and Appointment&mdash;A
Contrast&mdash;Catastrophy&mdash;A Note and a Disappointment&mdash;Fair Frankness&mdash;An
Unexpected Rencontre&mdash;The Re-union&mdash;Pictures and Pleasantries&mdash;The
Protector of the Helpless,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">A Visit To Abbotsford.</span>&mdash;Sir Walter Scott as Colonel of Dragoons, Sheriff of
the County, Host, Friend, and Author&mdash;Mrs.&nbsp;Hemans and Little "Charley"&mdash;Courteous
Hospitality&mdash;At Driburg with Mr.&nbsp;Lockhart&mdash;Solution of a
Mystery&mdash;Sir Walter's favorite "Lieutenant,"</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_382">382</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Confession of a Celebrated Orator,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_385">385</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Lemon and the Carnation.</span>&mdash;A Stage-Coach Adventure&mdash;A fair Passenger&mdash;Churlishness
and Cheerfulness&mdash;A Comic Duet&mdash;Stage-Sickness&mdash;An
impromptu Physician&mdash;Offerings&mdash;Acknowledgments&mdash;A Docile Patient&mdash;Welcome
Home&mdash;Arrival&mdash;A Family Group&mdash;A Discovery&mdash;Recognition&mdash;An
Invitation&mdash;Hospitality&mdash;Sunday Evening at the Rectory&mdash;The Honorable
Occupation of Teaching Young Ladies&mdash;A Prophesy&mdash;Family Jars&mdash;A
Compliment,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_386">386</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
A Notability and his Newfoundland Dog,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_400">400</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Extremes Meet.</span>&mdash;European Travelling-Companion&mdash;A cool Place and a
"cool" Character&mdash;A Foreigner's Criticism&mdash;Fair Commentators&mdash;Dinner-table
Sketch&mdash;Three Parties in a Rail-Car&mdash;Sunshine and Showers&mdash;An <a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii"></a>Earth-Angel&mdash;Anecdote
of Thorwalsden, the Danish Sculptor&mdash;A Scene&mdash;Gentlemanly
Inquiries&mdash;Paddy's Explanation,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_401">401</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Have You Been Impatient?</span>&mdash;A Broken Engagement&mdash;About a Horse&mdash;Charley's
Orphan Cousin&mdash;Ideas of Luxury&mdash;Novel Experiences&mdash;The freed Bird&mdash;Bless
God for Flowers and Friends!&mdash;A Recoil&mdash;A Tirade&mdash;The Bird Re-caged&mdash;Self-Examination&mdash;Retrospection
and Resolution&mdash;A Note and a
Boquet&mdash;A Blush Transfixed,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_412">412</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<p class="tocchapter">LETTER XI.</p>
<p class="tochead">MENTAL AND MORAL EDUCATION.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter XI Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Author's Conscious Incapacity&mdash;Education within the Power of All&mdash;Americans
not Socially Trammelled&mdash;The Two Attributes of Mind essential
to Self-Culture&mdash;Prospective Discernment&mdash;The most enlightened System of
Education&mdash;Duty of Cultivating the Moral as well as the Intellectual Nature&mdash;The
Acquisition of Wealth not to be regarded as the highest Human
Attainment&mdash;Definition of Self-Culture&mdash;Reading for Amusement only,
Unwise&mdash;"Aids and Appliances" of Judicious Reading&mdash;Example of a
Great Man&mdash;Fictitious Literature&mdash;Pernicious Effects often resulting from
a Taste for Light Reading&mdash;Condemnation of Licentious Novels&mdash;Advantages
of Noting Choice Passages in Reading&mdash;Carlyle's Criticism of Public Men&mdash;The
Study of History of Great Importance&mdash;Benefits resulting from the
Perusal of well-selected Biographies&mdash;Enumeration of celebrated Works of
this Character&mdash;Newspaper and Magazine Reading&mdash;A Cultivated Taste in
Literature and Art the result of thorough Mental Training&mdash;Affectation and
Pretention in this regard to be avoided&mdash;Critical Assumption condemned&mdash;Impressions
produced upon observing Judges by a Pretentious Manner&mdash;"The
World's Dread Laugh"&mdash;Advantages of Foreign Travel&mdash;Misuse of
this Advantage&mdash;Knowledge of Modern Languages essential to a complete
Education&mdash;False Impression prevalent on this point&mdash;Philosophic Wisdom&mdash;Wise
Covetousness&mdash;Tact the Result of General Self-Culture&mdash;An Individual
Moral Code of advantage&mdash;Example of Washington&mdash;Education not completed
by a Knowledge of Books&mdash;Definition of True Education&mdash;The Development
of the Moral Perceptions promotive of Intellectual Advancement&mdash;Undue
Exaltation of Talent over Virtue&mdash;Religious Faith the legitimate
Result of rightly-directed Education&mdash;Needful Enlightenment of Conscience&mdash;The
Life of Jesus Christ the best Moral Guide-Book&mdash;Charity to the Faults
of others the Result of Self-Knowledge&mdash;The Golden Rule of the Great
Teacher&mdash;The highest Aim of Humanity&mdash;Reverence for the Spiritual Nature
of Man the Result of Self-Culture&mdash;Danger of Self-Indulgence in regard to
trifling Errors&mdash;Caution against the Infidel Philosophy of the Times&mdash;The
establishment of Fixed Principles of Action&mdash;The True Mode of computing
Life,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_423">423</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Apollo turned Author: a Bagatelle,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_438">438</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Attainment of Knowledge under Difficulties&mdash;Necessity the Nurse of True
Greatness&mdash;The Learned Blacksmith&mdash;The Wagoner&mdash;The Mill-Boy of the
Slashes&mdash;Franklin and Webster,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_439">439</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii"></a>A Peep at Passers-by, from the "Loopholes of Retreat,"</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_440">440</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Force of Genius&mdash;A Man about Town&mdash;Anecdote&mdash;Manly Indignation,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_441">441</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">

Old-Fashioned Honor,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_442">442</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Webster on Biblical Studies,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_443">443</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
The Young Frenchman and the Pyramids,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_443">443</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Peccadilloes and Punctiliousness</span>.&mdash;Extract&mdash;Sir Humphrey Davy&mdash;Tribute
to Religion,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_446">446</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<p class="tocchapter">LETTER XII.</p>
<p class="tochead1">CHOICE OF COMPANIONS AND FRIENDS.&mdash;SELECTION OF A PURSUIT
IN LIFE.&mdash;COURTSHIP.&mdash;MARRIAGE.&mdash;HOUSEKEEPING.&mdash;PECUNIARY
MATTERS.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter XII Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">Rule</span> to be observed in the Selection of Associates&mdash;Advantage of the Companionship
of Persons of more Experience than Ourselves&mdash;False Sentiments
entertained by Lord Byron regarding Friendship&mdash;Self-Consciousness
affords the best Contradiction to these Erroneous Opinions&mdash;Value of
Friendship&mdash;Importance of the Judicious Selection of Confidants&mdash;Folly of
demanding Perfection in one's Friends&mdash;Selection of Employment&mdash;The first
Consideration in this Relation&mdash;Thorough Education should not be confined
to Candidates for the Learned Professions&mdash;The Merchant Princes of
America&mdash;Avenues for Effort&mdash;All Honest Occupations dignified by Right
Conduct&mdash;The Pursuit of Wealth as an End&mdash;Freedom the Prerogative of
the Worker&mdash;A Professional Manner Condemned&mdash;Individual Insignificance&mdash;Advantages
of Early Marriage&mdash;Cause of prevalent Domestic Unhappiness&mdash;Each
Individual the best Judge of his own Conjugal Requisites&mdash;Health,
Good-Temper, and Education essential in a Wife&mdash;Accomplishments not
essential to Domestic Happiness&mdash;Disadvantages resulting from a previous
Fashionable Career&mdash;A True Wife&mdash;Respect due to the proper Guardians
of a Lady by her Suitor&mdash;Advantages of a Friendship with a Married Lady&mdash;Reserve
and Respect of Manner due to Female Friends&mdash;Manly Frankness
as a Suitor the only Honorable Course&mdash;Attachment to one Woman no Excuse
for Rudeness to others&mdash;The Art of Pleasing&mdash;Presents, Complimentary
Attentions, etc.&mdash;Nicety of Perception usual in Women&mdash;Power of the Law
of Kindness in Home-Life&mdash;The Slightest Approach to Family Dissension to
be carefully avoided&mdash;The Duty of a Husband to exert a Right Influence
over his Wife&mdash;Union of Spirit the only Satisfying Bond&mdash;More than Roman
Sternness assumed by some&mdash;Sacredness of all the Better Emotions of the
Human Heart&mdash;Expressive Synonymes&mdash;Pecuniary Matters&mdash;The Pernicious
Effects of Boarding&mdash;An Old Man's Advice&mdash;Household Gods&mdash;Propriety of
Providing for Future Contingencies&mdash;Slavery Imposed by Pride and Poverty&mdash;Comfort
and Refinement <a name="tn_png_023"></a><!--TN: "compatable" changed to "compatible"-->compatible with Moderate Resources&mdash;Books and
Works of Art to be preferred to Fine Furniture&mdash;Importance of Cherishing
the Esthetical Tastes of Children&mdash;"Keeping" a great Desideratum in Social
and Domestic Life,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_447">447</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<a name="Page_xxiv" id="Page_xxiv"></a><p class="tocsubhead">ILLUSTRATIVE SKETCHES, ETC.</p>
<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" summary="Letter XII Illustrative Sketches Contents" style="margin-top:1.25em;margin-bottom:1.25em;" align="center">
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Mooted Point.</span>&mdash;A Morning Visit and Morning Occupations&mdash;Macaulay
and the Blanket Coat&mdash;Curate's Daughters and the Daughters of New-England&mdash;A
Sybarite&mdash;A Disclaimer and a Witticism&mdash;Not a Gentleman&mdash;"Trifles
make the sum of Human Things"&mdash;The Slough of Despond&mdash;A Gift&mdash;Reading
Poetry&mdash;A Soldier's Tactics&mdash;The "Unpardonable Sin"&mdash;A Fair
Champion and a Noble Sentiment,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_463">463</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Anecdotes of a British Minister, an Ex-Governor, and an American Statesman,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_470">470</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Chief-Justice Marshall and the Young Man of Fashion,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_472">472</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Habits of Early Friends,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_478">478</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
<span class="tocfirst">The Prophecy Fulfilled.</span>&mdash;A Denouement&mdash;Cupid turned Carrier&mdash;Wedding-Cards
and Welcome News&mdash;A True Woman's Letter,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_478">478</a></td>
</tr>
<tr valign="bottom">
<td style="width: 90%;" class="toctext">
Uncle Hal's Farewell,</td>
<td class="tocnum" style="width: 10%;"><a href="#Page_480">480</a></td>
</tr>
</table>



<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a>
<h1 style="line-height:150%;"><span style="font-size:.7em;">THE</span><br>AMERICAN GENTLEMAN'S GUIDE.</h1>


<div class="figcenter" style="padding-bottom:1.5em;padding-top:1.5em;">
<img src="images/line2.png" alt="" title="" width="150" height="12"></div>
<h2><a name="LETTER_I" id="LETTER_I"></a>LETTER I.</h2>

<p class="chapterhead">DRESS.</p>


<p class="chapterstart">My dear young Friends:&mdash;</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="firstwords">As</span> you are already, to some extent,
acquainted with the design and scope of the Letters
I propose to address to you, there is no necessity
for an elaborate prelude at the commencement
of the series.</p>

<p>We will, with your permission, devote our attention
first to <i>Dress</i>&mdash;to the external man&mdash;and advance, in
accordance with the true rules of Art, gradually,
towards more important subjects.</p>

<p>Whatever may be the abstract opinions individually
entertained respecting the taste and regard for
comfort evinced in the costume now, with trifling
variations, almost universally adopted by men in all<a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a>
civilized lands, few will dispute the practical utility
of conforming to the general requisitions of Fashion.</p>

<p>Happily for the gratification of fancy, however, the
all-potent goddess, arbitrary and imperative as are her
laws, permits, at least to some extent, such variations
from her general standard as personal convenience,
physical peculiarities, or varying circumstances may
require.</p>

<p>But a due regard for these and similar considerations
by no means involves the exhibition of <i>eccentricity</i>,
which I hold to be inconsistent with good
taste, whether displayed in dress or manner.</p>

<p>A violation of the established rules of Convention
cannot easily be defended, except when required by
our obligations to the more strenuous requirements
of duty. Usually, however, departures from conventional
propriety evince simply an ill-regulated character.
The Laws of Convention, like all wise laws,
are instituted to promote "the greatest good of the
greatest number." They constitute a <i>Code of Politeness
and Propriety</i>, adapted to the promotion of
social convenience, varying somewhat with local circumstances,
it may be, but everywhere substantially
the same. It is common to talk of the eccentricities
of genius, as though they are essential concomitants
of genius itself. Nothing can be more unfounded
and pernicious than this impression. The eccentricities
that sometimes characterize the intellectually
gifted, are but so many humiliating proofs of the
imperfection of human nature, even when exhibiting
its highest attributes. Hence the affectation of such<a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a>
peculiarities simply subjects one to ridicule, and, in
many instances, to the contempt of sensible people.</p>

<p>Some years since, when Byron was the "bright,
particular star" worshipped by young Sophs, it was
quite a habit among our juvenile collegians to drink
gin, wear their collars <i>ŕ la mode de Byron</i>, cultivate
misanthropy upon system, and manifest the most
concentrated horror of seeing women eat! In too
many instances, the sublimity of genius was meagerly
illustrated by these aspirants for notoriety.
In place of catching an inspiration, they only caught
cold; their gloomy indifference to the hopes, the
enjoyments, and pursuits of ordinary life, distressed
no one, save, perhaps, their <i>ci-devant</i> nurses, or the
"most tender of mothers;" their "killing" peculiarities
of costume were scarcely daguerreotyped even
upon the impressible hearts of the school-girls whose
smiling observance they might chance passingly to
arrest; women of sense and education pertinaciously
adhered to a liking for roast beef, with variations,
and manifested an equally decided partiality for the
society and attention of men who were not indebted
for the activity of their intellects to the agency of
the juniper berry! Falling into such absurdities as
these, a man cannot hope to escape the obnoxious
imputation of being <i>very young</i>!</p>

<p>But while care is taken to avoid the display of
undue attention to the adornment of the outer man,
everything approaching to indifference or neglect, in
that regard, should be considered equally reprehensible.
No one entertains a more profound respect<a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a>
for the prodigious learning of Dr. Johnson, from
knowing that he often refused to dine out rather than
change his linen; nor are we more impressed by the
gallant tribute to kindred genius that induced his
attending Mrs.&nbsp;Siddons to her carriage, when she
visited him in the third-floor rooms he continued to
occupy even in his old age, because his trunk-hose
were dangling about his heels, as he descended the
stairs with his fair guest. One does not envy Porson,
the greatest of modern Greek scholars, his habitually
dirty and shabby dress, because it is forever
associated with his learned celebrity! Neither is
Greeley a better, or more influential editor, that he
is believed to be invisible to mortal eyes except
when encased in a long drab-colored overcoat. He,
however, seems to have adopted an axiom laid down
in a now almost-forgotten novel much admired in my
youth&mdash;"Thaddeus of Warsaw," I think&mdash;"Acquire
the character of an oddity, and you seat yourself in
an easy-chair for life." The supposition of monomania
most charitably explains the indulgence in
habits so disgusting as those well-known to have characterized
the distinguished <i>savant</i> &mdash;&mdash;, who died
recently at Paris. Had he slept in a clean bed, and
observed the decencies of life, generally, the race
would have been equally benefited by his additions
to scientific lore, and his country the more honored
that he left a name in no degree in <i>bad odor</i> with
the world!</p>

<p>But to return:&mdash;No better uninspired model for
young Americans exists than that afforded, in the<a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>
most minute details, of the life and character of
Washington; and even upon a point comparatively
so insignificant as that we are at present discussing,
he has left us his recorded opinion: "Always," he
writes to his nephew, "have your clothes made of
the best materials, by the most accomplished persons
in their business, whose services you can command,
and in the prevailing fashion."</p>

<p>With such illustrious authority for the advice, then,
I unhesitatingly counsel you to dress <i>in the fashion</i>.</p>

<p>To descend to particulars designed to include all
the minutić of a gentleman's wardrobe, were as futile
as useless; but a few hints upon this point, may,
nevertheless, not be wholly out of place in epistles
so frank, practical and familiar as these are intended
to be.</p>

<p>The universal partiality of our countrymen for
<i>black</i>, as the color of dress clothes, at least, is frequently
remarked upon by foreigners. Among the
best dressed men on the continent, as well as in England,
black, though not confined to the clergy, is in
much less general use than here. They adopt the
darker shades of blue, brown and green, and for undress
almost as great diversity of colors as of fabrics.
An English gentleman, for instance, is never seen in
the morning (which means abroad all that portion of
the twenty-four hours devoted to business, out-door
amusements and pursuits, &amp;c.;&mdash;it is always <i>morning</i>
until the late dinner hour has passed) in the half-worn
coat of fine black cloth, that so inevitably gives a
man a sort of shabby-genteel look; but in some<a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>
strong-looking, rough, knock-about "fixin," frequently
of nondescript form and fashion, but admirably
adapted both in shape and material for use&mdash;for
work. Of this, by the way, every man, worthy of
the name, has a daily portion to perform, in some
shape or other&mdash;from the Duke of Devonshire, with a
fortune that would purchase half-a-dozen consort-king-growing
German principalities, and leave a princely
inheritance for his successors, to the youngest son of
a youngest son, who, though proud of the "gentle
blood" in his veins, earns, as an <i>employé</i> in the service
of the government,&mdash;in some one of its ten thousand
forms of patronage and power&mdash;the limited salary
that barely suffices, when eked out by the most ingenious
economy, to supply the hereditary necessities
of a gentleman. But this is a digression. As I was
saying in the morning, during work-hours, whatever
be a man's employment, and wherever, his outside
garb should be suited to ease and convenience, its
only distinctive marks being the most scrupulous
cleanliness, and the invariable accompaniment of
fresh linen.</p>

<p>Coming to the discussion of matters appertaining
to a toilette elaborate enough for occasions of ceremony,
I think of no better general rule than that
laid down by Dr. Johnson (in his character of a
shrewd observer of men and manners, rather than
as himself affording an illustration of the axiom,
perhaps)&mdash;"<i>the best dressed persons are those in whose
attire nothing in particular attracts attention</i>."</p>

<p>There is an indescribable air of refinement, a <i>je ne<a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a>
sais quoi</i>, as the French have it, at an equal remove
from the over-washed look of your thorough Englishman
(their close-cropped hair always reminds me
of the incipient stage of preparation for assuming a
strait-jacket!) and the walking tailor's advertisement
that perambulates Fifth Avenue, Chestnut-street, the
Boston Mall, and other fashionable promenades in
our cis-Atlantic cities, in attendance upon the locomotive
milliner's show-cases, yclept "belles"&mdash;God
save the mark!</p>

<p>The essentials of a gentleman's dress, for occasions
of ceremony are&mdash;a stylish, well-fitting cloth coat, of
some dark color, and of unexceptionable quality;
nether garments to correspond, or in warm weather,
or under other suitable circumstances, white pants of
a fashionable material and make; the finest and
purest linen, embroidered in white, if at all; a cravat
and vest, of some dark or neutral tint, according
to the physiognomical peculiarities of the wearer,
and the <i>prevailing mode</i>; a fresh-looking, fashionable
black hat and carefully-fitted, modish boots, light-colored
gloves, and a soft, thin, white handkerchief.</p>

<p>Perhaps, the most arbitrary of earthly divinities permits
her subjects more license in regard to the arrangement
of the hair and beard, than with respect to any
other matter of the outer man. A real artist, and such
every man should be, who meddles with the "human
face divine" or its adjuncts, will discern at a glance
the capabilities of each head submitted to his manipulation.
Defects will thus be lessened, or wholly
concealed, and good points brought out.<a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a></p>

<p>If you wear your beard, wear it in moderation&mdash;extremes
are always vulgar! Avoid all fantastic
arrangements of the hair&mdash;turning it under in a huge
roll, smooth as the cylinder of a steam-engine, and as
little suggestive of good taste and comfort as would
be the coil of a boa constrictor similarly located,
parting it in Miss Nancy style, and twisting it into
love [soap?] locks with a curling-tongs, or allowing
it to straggle in long and often, seemingly, "uncombed
and unkempt" masses over the coat-collar.
This last outrage of good-taste is so gross a violation
of what is technically called "keeping," as to excite
in me extreme disgust. Ill, indeed, does it accord
with the trim, compact, easily-portable costume of
our day, and a miserable imitation, it is of the flowing
hair that, in days of yore, fell naturally and
gracefully upon the broad lace collar turned down
over the velvet or satin short-cloak of the cavaliers
and appropriately adorning shoulders upon which,
with equal fitness, drooped a long, waving plume,
from the wide-brimmed, steeple-crowned, picturesque
hat that completed the costume.</p>

<p>While on this subject of <i>collars</i>, etc., let us stop to
discuss for a moment the nice matter of their size and
shape. Just now, like the "life" of a "poor old man,"
they have "dwindled to the shortest span," under
the pruning shears of the operatives of the mode.
Whether this is the result of a necessity growing
with the lengthening beards that threaten wholly to
ignore their existence, you must determine for yourselves,
but I must enter my protest against the total<a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>
extinction of this relieving line of white, so long, at
least, as the broad wristband, now so appropriately
accompanying the wide coat-sleeve, shall remain in
vogue.</p>

<p>The mention of this last tasteful appendage naturally
brings to mind the highly ornate style of sleeve-buttons
now so generally adopted. Eschew, I pray
you, all <i>flash stones</i> for these or any other personal
ornament. Nothing is more unexceptionable for
sleeve-buttons and the fastenings of the front of a
shirt, than <i>fine gold</i>, fashioned in some simple form,
sufficiently massive to indicate use and durability, and
skillfully and handsomely wrought, if ornamented
at all. Few young men can consistently wear
diamonds, and they are, if not positively exceptionable,
in no degree requisite to the completion of the
most elaborate toilette. But those who do sport them,
should confine themselves to genuine stones of
unmistakable water, and never let their number
induce in the minds of beholders the recollection
that a travelling Jew&mdash;whether from hereditary distrust
of the stability of circumstances, or from some
other consideration of personal convenience, usually
carries his entire fortune about his person! Better
the simplest fastenings of mother-of-pearl than such
staring vulgarity of display. And so of a watch
and its appendages. A <i>gentleman</i> carries a watch
for convenience, and secures it safely upon his person,
wearing with it no useless ornament, paraded to
the eye. It is, like his pencil and purse, good of its<a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a>
kind, and if he can afford it, handsome, but it is
never <i>flashy</i>!</p>

<p>The fashion of sporting <i>signet-rings</i> is not so general,
perhaps, as it was a little while since, but it still
retains a place among the minutić of our present
theme. Here, again, the same general rules of good
taste apply as to other ornaments. When worn at
all, everything of this sort should be most unexceptionably
and unmistakably tasteful and genuine.
Any deviation from good <i>ton</i>, in this regard, will as
inevitably give a man the air of a loafer as an ill-fitting
boot will, or the slightest declension from the
perpendicular in his hat!</p>

<p>In connection with my earnest advice in regard to
all flash ornaments, to whatever purpose applied, I
must not omit to record my protest against staring
patterns in pants, cravats, vests, etc. Carefully
avoid all the large, many-colored plaids and stripes,
of which (as <i>Punch</i> has demonstrated) it takes more
than one ordinary-sized man to show the pattern;
and all glaring colors as well. I have no partiality,
as I believe I have intimated, for the eternal dead
black which, abroad at least, belongs, by usage, primarily
to the clergy; but this is a better extreme
than that which has for its original type the sign-board
getting-up of a horse-jockey.</p>

<p>A fashion has of late years obtained extensively,
which has always, within my remembrance, had its
admirers&mdash;that of a <i>white suit throughout</i>, for very
warm weather. This has the great merit of comfort,
and some occupations permit its adoption without<a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a>
inconvenience. But even the use of thin summer
cravats (which should always be of some unconspicuous
color) wonderfully mitigates the sufferings
incident to the dog-days, and these are admissible
for dress occasions, when corresponding with the
general effect of the vest and nether investments.</p>

<p>To recur once more to the important item of body
linen;&mdash;never wear a <i>colored</i><a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> shirt&mdash;have no such
article in your wardrobe. Figures and stripes do
not conceal impurity, nor should this be a desideratum
with any decent man. The now almost obsolete
German author, Kotzebue&mdash;whose plays were very
much admired when I was young, and whom your
modern students of German should read in the original&mdash;I
remember, makes one of his female characters,
a sensible, observing woman, say that she
detected a <i>gentleman</i> in the disguise of a menial by
observing the <i>fineness of his linen</i>! If your occupation
be such as to require strong, rough-and-tumble
garments, wear them, unhesitatingly, when you
are at work, but have them good of their kind, and
keep them clean. While your dress handkerchief
should not look, either for size or quality, as if you
had, for the nonce, perverted the proper use of bed-linen&mdash;in
the woods, for pioneer travelling, rough
riding, etc., a bandanna is more sensible, as is a cut-away
coat, or something of that sort, with ample
pockets, loose, strong, and warm, and a "soft"
broad-brimmed, durable hat, or cap, as the case may
be&mdash;not an old, fine black cloth dress-coat, sur<a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>mounted
by a narrow-rimmed "segment of a stove-pipe,"
with a satin cravat, though it be half-worn!
In short, my dear boys, study fitness and propriety
in all things. This is the legitimate result of a well
regulated mind, the characteristic of a true Gentleman&mdash;which
every American should aim to be&mdash;not
a thing made up of dress, perfumery, and "boos,"
as Sir Archy McSycophant styled them; but a right-minded,
self-respecting man, with Excelsior for his
motto, and our broad, free, glorious land "all before
him, where to choose" the theatre of a useful, honorable
life. Matters like those I have dwelt on in
this letter, are trifles, comparatively; but trifles, in
the aggregate, make life, and, thus viewed, are not
unworthy the subordinate attention of a man of sense.
They are collateral, I admit, but they go to make up
the perfect whole&mdash;to assist in the attainment of the
true standard which every young man should keep
steadily in view. And, insignificant as the effect of
attention to such matters may appear to you, depend
upon it, that habits of propriety and refinement in
regard to such personal details, have more than a
negative influence upon character in general. The
man who preserves inviolable his self-respect, in
regard to all personal habits and surroundings, is,
<i>ceteris paribus</i>, far less likely to acquire a relish for
low company and profligate indulgences, and to cultivate
correspondent mental and moral attributes.
It occurs to me that, going into detail, as I have,
your attention should, in the proper connection,
have been called to a little matter of dress etiquette,<a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a>
of which you moderns are strangely neglectful, as it
appears to an old stickler for propriety like me. To
have offered an ungloved hand to a lady, in the
dance, would, in days when I courted the graces,
have been esteemed a peccadillo, and over-punctilious
as you may think me, it seems very unhandsome to
me. A dress costume is no more complete without
gloves than without boots, and to touch the pure
glove of a lady with uncovered fingers is&mdash;impertinent!</p>

<p>Here, again, let me condemn all fancy display.
A fresh white, or, what amounts at night to the same
thing, pale yellow glove, is the only admissible thing
for balls, other large evening parties, ceremonious
dinners, and wedding receptions; but for making
ordinary morning visits, or for the street, some dark,
unnoticeable color is in quite as good taste and <i>ton</i>.
Bright-colored gloves bring the hands into too much
conspicuousness for good effect, and, to my mind, give
the whole man a plebeian air. I remember once
being, for a long time, unable to divine what a finely-dressed
young fellow, in whom I thought I recognised
the son of an old college chum, could be carrying
in each hand, as he walked towards me across
the Albany Park; of similar size and color, he
seemed, John Gilpin like, to have</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;"hung a bottle on each side<br></span>
<span class="i0">To keep the balance sure!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>When I could, in sailor phrase, "make him out,"
behold a pair of great fat hands, incased in tight-<a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a>fitting
gloves, closely resembling in hue the brightest
orange-colored wrapping-paper!</p>

<p>You will expect me not entirely to overlook the
important topic of <i>over-garments</i>.</p>

<p>As in all similar matters, it is the best taste not
to deviate so much from the prevailing modes as to
make one's self remarkable. Fortunately, however,
for the infinite diversity presented by the human
form, a sufficient variety in this respect is offered
by fashion to gratify the greatest fastidiousness.
And no point of dress, perhaps, more imperatively
demands discrimination, with regard to its selection.
Thus, a tall, slender figure, with narrow shoulders
and ill-developed arms, is displayed to little advantage
in the close-fitting, long-skirted overcoat that
would give desirable compactness to the rotund
person of our short, portly friend, Alderman D.,
while the defects of the same form would be almost
wholly concealed by one of the graceful and convenient
Talmas that so successfully combine beauty
and comfort, and afford, to an artistically-cultivated
eye, the nearest approach to an abstract standard of
taste, presented by masculine attire, since the flowing
short cloak of the so-called Spanish costume was
in vogue.</p>

<p>Here, again, one is reminded of the propriety of
regarding <i>fitness</i> in the selection of garments especially
designed to promote comfort. Nothing can
well be more ungainly than the appearance of a
man in one of the large woollen shawls that have of
late obtained such general favor, at least as they are<a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a>
frequently worn, slouching loosely from the shoulders,
and almost necessarily accompanied by a stoop,
the more readily to retain them in place. They are
well adapted to night travel, to exposed riding and
driving (when properly secured about the chest),
and are useful as wrappers when a man is dressed
for the opera or a ball. But that any sensible person
should encumber himself with such an appendage
in <i>walking</i>&mdash;for daily street wear&mdash;is matter for surprise.
They have by no means the merit for this
purpose of the South American <i>poncho</i>, which is
simply a large square shawl of thick woollen cloth,
with an opening in the centre for passing it over the
head, thus securing it in place, and giving the
wearer the free use of his arms and hands, a desideratum
quite overlooked in the usual arrangement, or
rather <i>non</i>-arrangement of these dangling "M'cGregors."
But the way, I well remember, that one of
the young T&mdash;&mdash;s of Albany, not very many years
ago, was literally mobbed in the streets of that
ancient asylum of Dutch predilections, upon his
appearance there in a <i>poncho</i> brought with him on
his return from Brazil! So much for the mutations
of fashion and opinion!</p>

<p>To sum up all, let me slightly paraphrase the
laconic and invariable advice of the immortal Nelson
to the young middies under his command.
"Always obey your superior officer," said the English
hero, "and hate a Frenchman as you would
the devil!" Now then, for my "new reading:"&mdash;In
<span class="smcap">DRESS</span>, <i>always obey the dictates of Fashion, regulated<a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a>
by good sense, and hate shabby gentility as you would
the devil</i>!</p>

<p>Well, you young dogs, here ends the substance of
my first old-fashioned letter of advice to you. I
will confess that upon being convinced, as I was at
the very outset, how much easier it is to think and
talk than to write, I was more than half inclined to
recall my promise to you all. The pen of your
veteran uncle, my boys, has little of "fuss and
feathers," though it may be "rough and ready."
The "Mill-Boy of the Slashes" used often to say,
when we were both young men, and constantly associated
in business matters as well as in friendship,
"Let Lunettes do that, he holds the readier pen;"
but times are changed since then, and you must not
expect fine rhetorical flourishes, or the elegances of
modern phraseology in these straight-forward effusions.
I learned my English when "Johnson's
Dictionary" was the only standard of our language,
and the "Spectator" regarded as affording an unexceptionable
model of style. With this proviso, I
dare say, we shall get on bravely, now that we are
once fairly afloat; and, perhaps, some day we'll get
an enterprising publisher in our Quaker City to
shape these effusions into a "<i>prent book</i>" for <i>private
circulation</i>&mdash;a capital idea! at least for redeeming
my crabbed hieroglyphics from being "damned with
faint praise" by my "numerous readers," a thought
by no means palatable to the sensitive mind of your
old relative.</p>

<p>I believe it was "nominated in the bond," that<a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a>
the subjects treated of in each of my promised letters
shall be illustrated by stories, or anecdotes,
drawn from what you were pleased to style "the
ample stores furnished by a life of large observation
and varied experience." It occurs to me, however,
that as this, my first awkward essay to gratify your
united wishes, has already grown to an inconceivable
length, it were well to reserve for another
occasion the fulfillment of the latter clause of your
request, as more ample space and a less lagging pen
may then second the efforts of</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature2">Your affectionate<br></span>
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">Uncle Hal.</span><br></span>
</div>

<p>P. S.&mdash;In my next, I will include some practical
directions respecting the details of costume
suitable for various ceremonious occasions&mdash;the
opera, dinners, weddings, etc., etc.</p>

<p>"Whew!" methinks I hear you all exclaim,
"our old uncle setting himself up as</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"'The glass of fashion and the mould of form!'</p>

<p class="continue">He may indeed be able to</p>

<p class="centerpoem">&mdash;&mdash;"'hold the mirror up to Nature;'</p>

<p class="continue">but to attempt to reflect the changeful hues of mere
fashion"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>Not too fast, my young friends! Do not suppose
me capable of such folly. But, for the benefit of
such of you as are so far removed from the centre<a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a>
of <i>ton</i> as to require such assistance, I have invoked
the aid of a good-humored friend, thoroughly <i>au fait</i>
in such matters, the "observed of all observers" in
our American Belgravia, a luminary in whose rays
men do gladly sun themselves.</p>
<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">H. L.</span><br></span>
</div>


<div class="footnotes"><h3 style="margin-top:.5em;">Footnotes:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> It will be understood, of course, that the necessities and the
regulations of military life are here excepted.</p></div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a>
<h2><a name="LETTER_II" id="LETTER_II"></a>LETTER II.</h2>

<p class="chapterhead">SKETCHES AND ANECDOTES.</p>


<p class="chapterstart">My dear Nephews:</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="firstwords">In</span> accordance with the promise with
which I concluded my last letter, I will give you, in
this, narrated in my homely way, some anecdotes,
illustrative of the opinions I have expressed upon the
subject of <span class="smcap">DRESS</span>.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Liking, sometimes, to amuse myself by a study
of the masses, in holyday attire and holyday humor,&mdash;to
see the bone and sinew of our great country,
the people who make our laws, and for whose
good they are administered by their servants, enjoying
a jubilee, and wishing also to meet some old
friends who were to be there (among others, Gen.
Wool, who, though politicians accused him of going
to lay pipe for the presidency, is a right good fellow,
and the very soul of old-fashioned hospitality), I went
on one occasion to a little city in western New York,
to attend a State Fair.</p>

<p>On the night of the <i>fęte</i> that concluded the affair,
your cousins, Grace and Gerté, to whom you all say<a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a>
I can refuse nothing, however unreasonable, insisted
that I should be their escort, and protested warmly
against my remonstrances upon the absurdity of an
old fellow like me being kept up until after midnight
to watch, like a griffin guarding his treasures, while
two silly girls danced with some "whiskered Pandoor,"
or some "fierce huzzar," who would be as
much puzzled to tell where he won his epaulettes as
was our (militia) Gen. &mdash;&mdash;, of whom, when he was
presented to that sovereign, on the occasion of a
court levee, Louis Philippe asked, "where he had
served!"</p>

<p>It would not become me to repeat half the flattering
things by which their elegant <i>chaperon</i>, Mrs.&nbsp;B.
seconded the coaxing declarations of your cousins,
that they would be "enough more proud to go with
Uncle Hal than with all the half-dozen beaux together,"
whose services had been formally tendered and
accepted for the occasion.</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed," cried Gerté, "for Uncle Hal is a
<i>real</i> soldier!" And I believe the wheedling rogue
actually pressed her velvety lips to the ugly sabre
scar that helps to mar my time-worn visage.</p>

<p>"Col. Lunettes is too gallant not to lay down his
arms when ladies are his assailants!" said Mrs.&nbsp;B.
with one of her conquering smiles. "Well, ladies,"
said I, "I cry you mercy&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"'Was ever colonel by such sirens wooed,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Was ever colonel by such sirens won!'"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>I have no intention to inflict upon you a long de<a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a>scription
of the festivities of the evening. Suffice
it to say upon that point, that the "beauty and
fashion," as the newspapers phrase it, not only of
the Empire State, but of the Old Dominion, and
others of the fair sisterhood of our Union, were brilliantly
represented.</p>

<p>When our little party entered the dancing-room,
which we did at rather a late hour, for we had been
listening to some good speaking in another apartment&mdash;the
ladies declared that they preferred to do so, as
they could dance at any time, but rarely had an opportunity
of hearing distinguished men speak in
public,&mdash;the "observed of all observers," among
the fairer part of the assembly, and the envy, of
course, of all the male candidates for admiration,
was young "General &mdash;&mdash;," one of the <i>aids-de-camp</i>
of the Governor of the State. In attendance upon his
superior officer, who was present with the rest of his
staff, our juvenile Mars was in full military dress,
and made up, as the ladies say, in the most elaborate
and accepted style of love-locks (I have no idea what
their modern name may be), whiskers and moustaches.
The glow that mantled the cheeks of the triumphant
Boanerges could not have been deeper dyed had <a name="tn_png_045"></a><!--TN: "s" changed to "his"-->his
"<i>modesty</i>," like that of Washington, when overpowered
by the first public tribute rendered to him
by Congress, "been equalled only by his bravery!"</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"He above the rest in shape and gesture,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Proudly eminent."<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">but apparently, wholly unconscious of the attention<a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a>
of which he was the subject, was smilingly engrossed
by his devotion to the changes of the dance, and to
his fair partner; and the last object that attracted my
eye, as we retired from the field of his glory, were
the well-padded military coat, the curling moustaches
and sparkling eyes of "Adjutant-Gen. &mdash;&mdash;!"</p>

<p>True to my old-fashioned notions of propriety, I
went the next morning to pay my respects to Mrs.
B., and to look after your cousins,&mdash;especially that
witch Gerté, whom her father had requested me to
"keep an eye upon," when placing her under my care
for the journey to the Fair.</p>

<p>I found the whole fair bevy assembled in the
drawing-room, and in high spirits.</p>

<p>After the usual inquiries put and answered,
Grace cried out, "Oh! Uncle Hal, I must tell you!
Gen. &mdash;&mdash; has been here this morning! He was wearing
such a beautiful coat!&mdash;his dress last night was
nothing to it!&mdash;it fairly took all our hearts by storm!"</p>

<p>At these words, a merry twinkle, as bright and
harmless as sheet lightning, darted round the circle.</p>

<p>The master of the house entered at that moment,
and before the conversation he had interrupted was
fairly renewed, invited me into the adjoining dining-room
to "take a mouthful of lunch."</p>

<p>While my host and I sat at a side-table, sipping
a little excellent old Cognac, with just a dash of ice
water in it (a bad practice, a very bad practice, by
the by, my boys, which I would strenuously counsel
you not to fall into; but an inveterate habit acquired
by an old soldier when no one thought of it being<a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a>
very wrong) the lively chit-chat in the drawing-room
occasionally reached my ears.</p>

<p>"It was tissue, I am quite sure!" said Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;.</p>

<p>"No matter about the material&mdash;the color would
have redeemed anything!" cried Grace.</p>

<p>"Sea-green!" chimed in the flute notes of another
of the gay junto, "what can equal the General's
<i>verdancy</i>?"</p>

<p>"What?" (here I recognized the animated voice
of the lady of the mansion); "why, only his <i>mauvais
ton</i>, in 'congratulating' me upon having 'so
many' at my reception for Governor and Mrs.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;,
the other evening, and his equally flattering assurance
that he had not seen so 'brilliant a military
turn-out in a long time'&mdash;meaning, of course, his
elegant self! You are mistaken, however, Laura,
about his coat being of <i>tissue</i>, it was <i>lawn</i>, and had
just come home from his <i>lawn-dress</i>, when he put it
on. I distinctly saw the mark of the smoothing-iron
on the cuff, as well as that his wristband was soiled
considerably."</p>

<p>"He had only had time to 'change' his coat since
he went 'home with the girls in the morning,'"
chimed in some one, "and his hair, I noticed as he
rose to make what he called his '<i>farewell bow of
exit</i>,' was filled with the dust of that dirty ball-room."</p>

<p>"Which couldn't be brushed out without taking
out the curl, too, I suppose!" This last sally <a name="tn_png_047"></a><!--TN: "eminated" changed to "emanated"-->emanated
I believe, from one of the most amiable, usually,
of the group.</p>

<p>"Well," said the hostess, with a half-sigh of relief,<a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a>
"he seldom inflicts himself upon me! His grand
<i>entrée</i> this morning, in the character of a katy-did,
gotten up <i>ŕ la mode naturelle</i>," (here there was a
general clapping of hands, accompanied by <i>bravos</i>
that would have rejoiced the heart of a prima
donna), "was, no doubt, occasioned by his having
heard some one say that, what vulgar people style a
'<i>party call</i>,' was incumbent upon him after my reception.
What a pity his informant had not also
enlightened him on another point of <i>ettiquetty</i>, as old
Mr.&nbsp;Smith calls it, and so spared me the mortification,
my dears, of presenting to you, as a specimen
of the beaux of &mdash;&mdash;, and one of the aids-de-camp of
Governor &mdash;&mdash;, a man making a visit of ceremony in
a <i>bright, pea-green, thin muslin shooting-jacket</i>!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Bulwer, the novelist, when I was last in London,
some two or three years ago&mdash;and for aught I know
he still continues the practice&mdash;used to appear in
his seat in the English House of Commons one day
in light-colored hair, eye-brows and whiskers, with
an entire suit to correspond; and the next, perhaps,
in black hair, etc., accompanied by a black coat,
neckcloth, and so on throughout the catalogue. A
proof of the admitted <i>eccentricities of genius</i>, I suppose.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>D&mdash;&mdash;, who is now a very respectable veteran
lawyer, and well known in the courts of the Empire<a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a>
State, was originally a Green Mountain Boy&mdash;tall, a
trifle ungainly, with a laugh that might have shaken
his native hills, rather unmanageable hair, each individual
member of the fraternity, instead of regarding
the true democratic principle, often choosing to
keep "Independence" on its own account, and a
walk that required the whole breadth of an ordinary
side-walk to bring out all its claims to admiration.
Though D&mdash;&mdash; did not sacrifice to the graces, he
really wrote very clever "Lines;" but his shrewd
native sense taught him that a reputation as a magazine
poet would not have a direct tendency to
increase the number of his clients. So the sometime
devotee of the Muse of Poetry, bravely eschewing
the open use of a talent that, together with his
ever-ready good-humor and quiet Yankee drollery,
had brought him somewhat into favor in society,
despite his natural disadvantages, entered into partnership
with an old practitioner in A&mdash;&mdash;, and bent
himself to his career with sturdy energy of purpose.</p>

<p>"New Year" coming round again in the good old
Dutch city where D&mdash;&mdash; had pitched his tent, some
of his friends offered to take him with them in their
round of calls, and introduce him to such of their fair
friends as it was desirable to know; hinting, at the
same time, that this would afford a suitable occasion
for donning a suit of new and fashionable garments.</p>

<p>On the first of January, therefore, agreeable to
appointment, his broad, pock-marked face&mdash;luminous
as a colored lantern outside an oyster-saloon&mdash;and
his gait more than usually <i>diffusive</i>, D&mdash;&mdash; was<a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a>
seen coming along from his lodgings, to meet his
companions for the day's expedition, and evidently
with sails full set. It soon became apparent to all
beholders, not only that the grub had been transformed
into a full-fledged butterfly of fashion, but&mdash;that
he wore his long, wide, ample-caped, new cloak
<i>wrong side out</i>!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>At the recent Peace Convention in Paris, even
those strenuous adherents to <i>things as they were</i>, the
Turks, wore the usual dress of Europeans and Americans
throughout, with the single exception of the
<i>fez</i>, which, I believe, no adherent of Mahomet will
renounce, except with his religion. Young Charles
P&mdash;&mdash; told me that Count Orloff's sable-lined <i>talma</i>
was of the most unexceptionable Parisian cut.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>An agreeable young friend of mine, the Rev. Mr.
H., contrives to support a family (Heaven only
knows how!) upon the few hundred dollars a year
that make the usual salary of a country clergyman.
He indulges himself, at rare intervals, in a visit to his
fashionable city relatives, by way of necessary relaxation,
and to brush up a little in matters of taste, literature,
etc. Perhaps, too, he thinks it well, occasionally,
to return, with his wife and children, the long
visits made every summer by a pretty fair representation
of his numerous family circle at the pleasant<a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a>
little rectory, where refinement, industry, and the
ingenuity of a practical housekeeper, create a charm
often lacking in more pretentious establishments.</p>

<p>On one of these important occasions, it was decided
that the handsome young rector should avail himself
of his city jaunt to purchase a new suit of clothes,
his best clerical coat, notwithstanding the most careful
use and the neatest repairing, being no longer
presentable for ceremonious purposes. (I make no
doubt that the compatibility of the contemplated
journey and the new clothes, both in the same year,
was anxiously discussed in family council.)</p>

<p>As soon as possible after his arrival in town, my
clerical friend broached the all-important subject of
the tailor, to one of his brothers, a youth of unquestionable
authority in such matters, and invoked his
assistance.</p>

<p>"With all my heart, Will, we'll drop in at my
own place, as we go down this morning; they get
everything up there artistically." "And at artistic
prices, I fear," soliloquized the new candidate for
the honors of the cloth, with a slight quaking at
heart, as a long-cherished plan for adding, without
her previous knowledge, a shawl to the waning
bridal outfit of his self-sacrificing wife, rose before
his mental vision.</p>

<p>"But, I say, Will," inquired his modish brother, of
our young clergyman, in a tone of good-humored banter,
as they sauntered down Broadway together, after
breakfast, "where did you buy your new <i>chapeau</i>?"</p>

<p>"At A&mdash;&mdash;, before leaving home"&mdash;<a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a>&mdash;</p>

<p>"Excuse me, my dear fellow, but it's a nondescript!
It will never do with your new suit, allow
me to say, frankly."</p>

<p>"But the person of whom I bought it had just
returned from New York, and he assured me it was
the latest fashion! I gave him eight dollars for it,
at any rate."</p>

<p>"Preposterous!" ejaculated the man of fashion,
in a tone portentous as that which ushered in the
"prodigious" of Dominie Sampson, when astounded
by <i>his</i> discoveries in the mysteries of the toilet.
"It first saw the light in the 'rural districts,' depend
on't!"</p>

<p>The quizzical glances with which his companion
ever and anon scrutinized the crowning glory of his
neat morning attire, as he had previously thought it,
gradually overpowered the philosophy of my friend,&mdash;clergyman
though he was&mdash;the admitted Adonis
of his class in college, and the favorite of ladies, old
and young. The church's</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">&mdash;&mdash;"favorites are <i>but men</i>.<br></span>
<span class="i0">And who e'er felt the stoic when<br></span>
<span class="i0">First conscious of"&mdash;&mdash;<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">wearing a "shocking bad hat!" The result was,
that the condemned article was exchanged at a fashionable
establishment for one fully meeting the
approbation of the modish critic.</p>

<p>"What! another new hat?" cried the young wife,
whose quick woman's eye at once caught the <i>je ne<a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a>
sais quoi</i>&mdash;the air of the thing, as her husband
rejoined her later in the day.</p>

<p>The gentleman explained;&mdash;"And you thought
the other so becoming too, Belle," he added, in a
half-deprecatory tone; "but Chauncey was so
strenuous about it, and I knew he would appeal to
you, and that you would not be satisfied without"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"But they allowed you really nothing for the other,
though it was quite new, and certainly a nice hat.
What a pity, now, that you did not travel in your old
one, though it was a little worse for wear, or even in
the cap you bought to fish in. There was Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash; in
the same car with us, looking anything but <i>elegant</i>,
I am sure, with the queerest-looking old <a name="tn_png_053"></a><!--TN: Double quotes changed to single quotes around "Kossuth,"-->'Kossuth,'
I believe they are called, on, and the roughest overcoat!"</p>

<p>"But, you know, Belle, dear, such a dress is not
considered admissible for the clergy."</p>

<p>"No! well, whatever is sensible and convenient
<i>should</i> be, I am convinced now, if I was not before."</p>

<p>Our young clergyman, as he turned the still-cherished
plan of the new shawl anxiously in his mind,
a "sadder and a wiser" man than before, determined
never again to buy a new dress hat expressly
to perform a journey in, especially when going
directly from the "rural districts" to a large city;
besides laying up for future use some other collateral
resolutions and reflections of an equally wise
and practical character.</p>

<p>"Why, Belle," said the "superb" Chauncey to
his fair sister-in-law, drawing her little son nearer to<a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a>
him, as he leaned on his mother's lap after dinner,
"this is really a magnificent boy, 'pon-my-word!&mdash;you
should take him to 'Bradbrook's' and fit him
up! Would you like a velvet jacket, eh, my fine
fellow?"</p>

<p>The curly-headed child pointed his dimpled forefinger
towards the pretty garment he was wearing,
and said, timidly, "Pretty new coata, mamma made
for him."</p>

<p>"I believe," responded the young mother, quietly,
bending her beaming eyes upon the little face lovingly
upturned to hers, "that Willie will have to do
without a velvet jacket for the present; mamma intended
to get one for him in New York, but"&mdash;&mdash;the
sentence was finished mentally with "papa's second
new hat has taken the money." This will reveal the
secretly-cherished plan of the young rector's wife,
with which a faint sketch of a pretty cap to crown
the shining curls of her darling, had dimly mingled,
almost unconsciously to herself, until brought out by
the power of that "tide in the affairs of men"&mdash;necessity!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Sitting in the same seat in a railroad car with ex-Chief-Justice
&mdash;&mdash;, than whom there is no more
eminent jurist nor finished gentleman in the land,
discoursing earnestly of old times and new, our conversation
was suddenly interrupted, as we stopped to
feed our iron steed, by the loud salutation of a youth<a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a>
who seemed to take more pains than the <i>law</i> requires
under such circumstances, to enunciate the
name of my companion. "Pleasant morning, Judge!&mdash;if
I don't intrude" (a glance at me, and no introduction
by the chief-justice), "is this seat unoccupied?"
And down he sat <i>vis-ŕ-vis</i> to us.</p>

<p>He had the talk pretty much to himself, for a
while. By-and-by, our uninvited guest apologized
for his gloves, half-worn fine black kid. They were
"really too bad; must have taken them up by mistake,
in the hurry of getting off," etc.</p>

<p>"I always keep an old pair expressly for these
abominably dirty cars, but, I believe, I have forgotten
to put them on this morning," said the venerable
lawyer, in a peculiarly quiet tone, unfolding, as
he spoke, the ample, old-fashioned, travel-worn
camlet cloak, beneath which his arms had hitherto
been crossed, and thus revealing his neat, simple
dress, and the warm, clean lining of his outer garment.
Taking a well-worn pair of soft beaver
gloves from an inside pocket, the judge, with an air
of peculiar deliberation, drew them upon hands,
"small to a fault," as the novels say, and as white
as those myths are supposed to be, and re-adjusted
his arms and cloak with the same deliberation. A
nice observer might note a slight gleam of the well-known
smile, whose expressive sarcasm had so often
withstood professional insolence and ignorance, as
the chief justice turned his head, and cursorily surveyed
his fellow-passengers.</p>

<p>"Who is that young man, sir?" I inquired, when<a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a>
we were, soon after, upon again stopping, relieved
of the presence of this jackanapes.</p>

<p>"His name is &mdash;&mdash;," replied the judge. "A
scion of the law, I think now&mdash;a son of the &mdash;&mdash;,
who made a fortune, you may remember, by the
sudden rise of West India molasses, some few years
ago (a pause). I never rate a man by his antecedents,
Colonel, but a little modesty is always suitable
and becoming, in <i>very young persons</i>," added
the chief-justice, somewhat sententiously.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>You will, perhaps, remember the commotion
created by the promulgation of Marcy's edict
respecting the dress to be worn on state occasions,
by our representatives abroad.</p>

<p>Our accomplished young countryman, Mr.&nbsp;H.&nbsp;S&mdash;&mdash;,
though nominally Secretary of Legation, was virtually
our minister, at St. Cloud, when this order was
published. In simple compliance with his instructions,
the American secretary appeared at a court
dinner in the suit of plain black, prescribed by his
government. The premonitions of a revolution could
scarcely have created more consternation among the
officials of the Tuileries, and even the diplomatic dignitaries
assembled, experienced a sensation. The
Turkish ambassador was surprised out of the usually
imperturbable stoicism of a devout follower of the
mighty prophet of Moslemdom.</p>

<p>"What are you doing here," he growled, as the
young republican arrested his attention, in lan<a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a>guage
more remarkable for Oriental figurativeness
than for Parisian elegance, "a raven among so many
birds of gay plumage?"</p>

<p>The newspaper writers of the day, commenting
upon this, said that the minister from Venezuela&mdash;the
most insignificant government represented, was
most bedizened with gold lace, stars, and trumpery
of every sort. These letters, prepared for home perusal,
were re-published in the Paris papers, and of
course, met the eyes of all the parties alluded to!</p>

<p>S&mdash;&mdash; told one of my friends that among the annoyances
to which the whole affair subjected him, was
that of being subsequently constantly thrown in contact
with the various personages with whose names
his own had been, without his previous knowledge,
unceremoniously, associated.</p>

<p>No doubt, however, his skillful diplomacy carried
him as triumphantly through this difficulty as through
others of vital importance.</p>

<p>Dining with this polished young diplomate, at the
Tremont in Boston, where we met soon after his return
home, the conversation turned upon the personal
appearance of Louis Napoleon, and from his wire-drawn
moustaches diverged to the subject of beards
in general.</p>

<p>"The truth is, Col. Lunettes," said Mr.&nbsp;S&mdash;&mdash;, in
French,&mdash;which by the way, he both speaks and
writes, <i>as he does his native tongue</i>, with great purity
and propriety, and this to our shame be it said, is
far enough from being generally the case with our
various officials abroad, "the truth is, Col. Lunettes,<a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a>
(I detected a just perceptible glance at my furrowed
cheek, which was, however, smooth-shaven as his
own) that <i>a clean face is getting to be the distinctive
mark of a gentleman</i>!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"My dear Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;," said I to a charming woman,
whose cordial smile of recognition drew me within the
magic circle of her influence, at a ball, where I had
been for some little time a 'quiet looker-on,' "will
you pardon the temerity of an old friend in inquiring
what induced your chilling reception of the handsome
stranger whom I saw presented to you with
such <i>empressement</i> by our host a little while ago?
If you could have seen the admiration with which
he long regarded you at a distance, 'his eye in a fine
frenzy rolling,'&mdash;as he leaned against the&mdash;the corner
of the big fiddle, there, while the music was at
supper!&mdash;could you have seen this, as others saw it,
and then the look of deep desperation with which
he swallowed a bottle of champagne at a standing,
when he fled from your frowns to the supper-room!&mdash;Really,
Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, I have seldom had my sympathies
so excited for a stranger"&mdash;</p>

<p>By this time her ringing laugh stirred the blood
into quicker pulsations through my time-steeled
heart; "Oh, Colonel, Colonel!" cried she, in tones,
mirth-engendering as the silvery call of Dian, goddess
of the dewy morn, (is that poetry, I wonder?) "I see
you are just as delightfully quizzical as during our
Alpine journey together. I have never quite for<a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a>given
the Fates for robbing our party of so inimitable
a <i>compagnon de voyage</i>, and me of"&mdash;"so
devout an admirer!" I chimed in: "and me of so
devout an admirer," proceeded the lady, with a quick
spirit-flash in her deep violet eyes, "and when we
were just becoming so well acquainted, too! It was
too provoking! Do you remember the amusement we
had from recalling the various characteristic exclamations
of the different members of our party, when
the Italian plains burst upon our view, out-spread
before us in the morning sunlight, after that horrid
night in the shepherd's hut?"</p>

<p>"If I recollect, it was your avowed slave, 'gentleman
John' as you called him, who shouted, 'O, ye
Gods and little fishes!&mdash;nothing bad about that, by
thunder?' That fellow carried the ladies, as he did
everything else, by storm"&mdash;</p>

<p>"No, no, Colonel, not <i>all</i> the ladies; but I was going
to tell you about this 'mysterious stranger,' or 'romantic
stranger'&mdash;what <i>sobriquet</i> did you give him?
Suppose we go nearer the door, it is so warm here,"
and she twined an arm that threw Powers into a rapture,<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>
confidingly around the support proffered her
by an old soldier, and we gradually escaped from the
crowd (any one of the men would willingly have stillettoed
me, I dare say!) into a cool corner of the hall.</p>

<p>"I am sorry you thought me rude, colonel," she
began, a tint, soft as the shadow of a crimson rose
flitting over her expressive face.</p>

<p>I entered a protest.<a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a></p>

<p>"I dare say my manner was peculiar," resumed
my fair companion, "but I fear 'no rule of courtly
grace to measured mood' will ever 'train' my <i>face</i>;
and&mdash;the truth is, Colonel, that, though I love and
honor my own countrymen beyond the men of all
other lands, I <i>do</i> wish they would imitate well-bred
foreigners in some respects. I hate coxcombs! I believe
every woman does at heart. Now, here is this
person, Colonel C&mdash;&mdash;, I think, if I heard the name?"</p>

<p>"Wherefore <i>Colonel</i>, and of what?" thought I, but
I only answered&mdash;"Really, I am not able to say."</p>

<p>"Well, at any rate, I identified the man, beyond
a peradventure, as the same individual who sufficed
for my entertainment during a little journey from
home to G&mdash;&mdash;, the other day. As papa, in his
stately way, you know, committed me to the care
of the conductor, saying that 'Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;'s friends
would receive her at G&mdash;&mdash;,' I observed (luckily, my
fastidious father <i>did not</i>) the broad stare with which
a great bearded creature, at a little distance from us,
turned round in his seat and surveyed us. When I
withdrew from the window, from which I had looked
to receive&mdash;to say good-bye, again, to papa"&mdash;</p>

<p>I would have given&mdash;I think I would have given&mdash;my
Lundy-Lane sword, to have occasioned the
momentary quiver in that musical voice, and the
love-light in that half-averted eye! After a scarce
perceptible pause, the lovely narrator proceeded:</p>

<p>"There was that huge moon-struck face&mdash;["<i>sun-struck</i>,
perhaps?" I queried, receiving a slight fan-pass
for my pains]&mdash;such a contrast to papa's! star<a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a>ing
straight at me, still. I busied myself with a book
behind my veil, and presently knew, without looking,
that the <i>gentleman</i> had gradually returned to
his former position. Now came my turn to scrutinize,
though the 'game was scarcely worth the powder.'"</p>

<p>"Spoken like the true daughter of a gentleman-sportsman!"
I exclaimed, and this time was rewarded
with an irradiating smile.</p>

<p>"Well, such a rolling about of that alderman-like
figure, such a buttoning and unbuttoning! But this
was all nothing to his steam-engine industry in the
use of the 'weed.' I turned sick as I observed part
of the shawl of a lady sitting before the creature
hanging over near him. After a while, he sallied
forth, at one of the stopping-places, and soon returned
with&mdash;(expressive hue!)&mdash;<i>an immense green apple</i>!
It seemed for a time likely to prove the apple of discord,
judging from the hungry glances cast at it by
a long, lank, thinly-clad old man across the car.
But now came the 'tug of war.' It scarce required
my woman's wit to divine the motive that had
prompted the tasteful selection of the alderman's
lunch. A glove was pompously drawn off, and&mdash;behold!
a great <i>pâté</i> of a ring on the smallest, I cannot
truthfully say <i>little</i>-finger, set with a huge red
cornelian, that looked for all the world like a cranberry-jam
in a setting of puff-paste! As the big
apple slowly diminished under the greedy eyes of
the venerable spectator of this rich Tantalus-feast,
my heart melted with pity."</p>

<p>A well-affected look of surprise on the part of her<a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a>
auditor, here claimed the attention of the fair
speaker.</p>

<p>"Don't alarm yourself, Colonel! 'Pity 'tis, 'tis
true,' my compassion was excited <i>only</i> towards the
poor finger that, stout as it looked, must soon be
worn to the bone, if often compelled to do duty at
the speed with which it was worked that day. Imagine
the poor thing stuck straight out with that heavy
stone <a name="tn_png_062"></a><!--TN: "páté" changed to "pâté"--><i>pâté</i> upon it, while the proprietor plied his
hand from his mouth to the car-window <i>behind</i> him,
with the industrious regularity of a steam ferry-boat,
professedly laden with little bits of apple-skin, but
really intended&mdash;oh, most flattering tribute to my
discriminating powers!&mdash;<i>to captivate my fancy,
through my eye</i>!"</p>

<p>When my amusement had somewhat subsided,
I said to my fair friend:</p>

<p>"I suppose the doughty alderman finished his
repast, like Jack the Giant-killer, by eating up the
famishing old man who had the insolence to watch
him while breakfasting?"</p>

<p>"I am happy to be able to say," replied she, "that
the long, lean, lanky representative of our fallen
race, not only escaped being thoroughly masticated
and thrown by little handfuls out of the car-window,
but when Jack the Giant-killer, and almost every
one else had gone out of the car, was presented by
a lady with two nice large sandwiches that she happened
not to need."</p>

<p>"And that benevolent lady was"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>A movement among the dancers here crowded<a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a>
several acquaintances into such close contact with us
that we could not avoid overhearing their conversation.</p>

<p>"Do you know that large man, wearing so much
beard, Mr.&nbsp;Jerome?"</p>

<p>"Know him? certainly I do, Miss&nbsp;Blakeman.
That's C&mdash;&mdash;, Col. C&mdash;&mdash;, the rich New York grocer.
He is one of the city aldermen&mdash;they talk of him for
the legislature&mdash;quite a character, I assure you."</p>

<p>"He evidently thinks so himself," rejoined one of
the group; "just notice him in that polka! I heard
him telling a lady, a moment ago, that he had not
missed a single set, and wouldn't for anything."</p>

<p>"They say," pursued a lady, "that he is paying
his addresses to that pretty little Miss&nbsp;S&mdash;&mdash;, who
was so much admired here, last winter; she is an
orphan, I think, and quite an heiress."</p>

<p>A perceptible shiver ran through the clinging arm
that still graced my own, and as I moved away with
my sweet charge, she murmured, in the musical
tongue of the Beautiful Land, as she ever calls Italy,
"the gentle dove for the vulture's mate!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Will that do for this time, boys? Or do you
require that, in imitation of the little Grecian Hunch-back,
a <i>moral</i> shall be appended to each of his narratives,
by your</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">Uncle Hal.</span><br></span>


<p>P. S.&mdash;In accordance with my promise, there
follow the admirable directions and remarks of the<a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a>
elegant and obliging friend referred to in my previous
letter. He will, I trust, permit me thus to
tender him, renewedly, my very grateful acknowledgment
of his flattering politeness, and to express
my sense of the important addition made by his
kindness to my unpretending epistles.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">
<div class="letter">
<p style="text-indent:0em;">"<span class="smcap">My dear Col. Lunettes</span>:</p>

<p class="firstpara">"I regard myself as highly complimented
that so distinguished a representative of the
<i>ancien régime</i>, as yourself, one so entirely <i>comme il
faut</i>, as all admit, in matters of taste, should esteem
my opinion, even in regard to minor points of etiquette,
as worth his attention.</p>

<p>"I need scarcely add, dear sir, an assurance of my
conviction of the honor you do me by affording me
a place in your remembrance, and that I make no
doubt your profound knowledge of the world, united
with your unusual opportunities for extensive observation&mdash;long
<i>un habitué de belle société</i>, in various
countries, as you have been&mdash;will afford a rich treat,
as well as much instruction, to those who may be
favored with the perusal of your proposed <i>Letters</i>.
That he may have the honor to be thus fortunate, is
the hope of, dear sir,</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature1">"Your very respectful<br></span>
<span class="presignature2">"And obedient servant,<br></span>
<span class="presignature3">"&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;<br></span>
</div>

<p style="font-size:.8em;margin-bottom:.2em;"><span class="smcap">"Belgravia</span>, <i>Tuesday Morn</i>.,</p>
<p style="font-size:.8em;text-indent:3em;margin-top:.2em;">"<i>May 6th, '56</i>."</p>
</div>
<a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a>

<p><span class="smcap">Gentlemen's Dress.</span>&mdash;The subject now to be
treated of, may be divided into several classes:&mdash;<i>morning,
promenade</i> or <i>visiting</i>, and <i>evening</i> or
<i>ball</i> dress; which again may be subdivided into
others, such as <i>riding-dress</i>, dress suitable for
<i>bachelors' dinner-parties</i>, or <i>opera</i> (when unaccompanied
by ladies). Besides these again, we have
dresses suitable for <i>fishing</i>, <i>shooting</i>, and <i>yachting</i>
purposes, which, however, scarcely call for, or admit
of, the display of much taste, inasmuch as the occupations
for which such costumes are designed partake
rather of the nature of healthy exercise than
of that quiet and gentlemanly repose necessary to
give full effect to the graces of the more elaborate
"<i>toilette</i>." Military, Naval, and Court dresses may
also be considered out of the scope of the remarks
in this letter, because their being made scrupulously
in accordance with rigid <i>Regulation Rules</i>, leaves no
room for taste, but substitutes the <i>dicta</i> of official
routine.</p>

<p>To commence our exemplifications with a <i>Wedding-Suit</i>,
which, from the wearer's approximate connection
with the ladies deserves the "<i>pas</i>"&mdash;it may be
remarked that the time of day in which the ceremony
is solemnized should determine the character
of the costume, that is to say, whether it should be
morning or evening. In either case, however, general
usage allows (not to say demands), a more<a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a>
marked style than is generally worn in morning or
evening usual wear. Should the wedding take place
in the <i>evening</i>, a very elegant costume is, a dark
claret dress-coat, white ribbed-silk, or <i>moire antique</i>,
waistcoat, white silk neckcloth, black trowsers, silk
stockings, and shoes. The lining of the sleeves, also,
of white silk, coming to the extreme edge of the cuff,
imparts a <a name="tn_png_066"></a><!--TN: "singlarly" changed to "singularly"-->singularly light and elegant appearance to
the hand and glove. An equally elegant <i>Morning
Wedding-Dress</i> might consist of a rich, deep-brown
frock-coat; waistcoat of black cashmere, with a small
violet-colored palm-leaf figure; neck-tie of silk,
combining colors of black and cherry, or brown and
deep blue; trowsers of delicate drab, or stone-color;
gloves primrose, or slate-colored kid.</p>

<p>The usual <i>Evening-Dress</i> is so imperiously insisted
on, that it might be almost classed in the category
of <i>uniforms</i>, being almost invariably composed of
<i>black</i> coat, vest, and trowsers. Two items, however,
in this costume, admit of disquisition amongst "men
who dress," viz., the <i>vest</i> and the <i>tie</i>&mdash;both of which
may be either white or black, without any infraction
of the laws of <i>bienseance</i>. This, therefore, must be
settled by the taste of the wearer, who should
remember that black, having the effect of apparently
diminishing a man's size, and white that of
increasing it, it would, therefore, be judicious for a
person of unusual size to tone down his extra bulk
by favoring black in both these garments, while he
who is below the average standard could, if not<a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a>
actually increase his height or size, at least create
the impression of more generous proportions. I,
however, must confess a decided partiality for a
<i>white neck-tie</i>, at least; because, although subject to
the disadvantage of being <i>de rigueur</i> amongst
waiters and other members of the Yellow Plush
Family, it is, nevertheless, always considered unexceptionable,
at any season, or hour, in any rank,
profession, or capacity.</p>

<p>A <i>Morning Call</i> should be made in a <i>frock-coat</i>, or
at least one in which this style predominates. It
must, however, be constantly borne in mind that it
is quite impossible to furnish even general rules on
any one of these points that shall prove immutable,
since not only each successive year, but every varying
season produces decided changes in the standard
established by Taste and Fashion.</p>

<p><i>Bachelors' Dinner-parties</i> are pleasant, social <i>reunions</i>,
at which gentlemen enjoy themselves with
more <i>abandon</i> than would, perhaps, be considered
consistent with the quiet and more retired respect due
to the presence of the "<i>beau sexe</i>;" and, as a natural
consequence, admit of a more <i>négligé</i> style of costume.
Still, however, a certain regard must be had to the
requirements of good society; and as many of these
parties, when they break up, adjourn to the opera,
or theatre, where they are pretty sure to meet ladies
of their acquaintance, a costume half-way between
morning and evening is, by tacit agreement, prescribed;
for instance:&mdash;a coat of some dark color<a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a>
(generally termed "<i>medley-colored</i>"), cut rounded
over the hips; black cap; inner vest, buttoning
rather high in the breast; dark-grey trowsers, and
black silk neckerchief, or ribbed silk scarf.</p>

<p>Instead of giving sketches of particular costumes,
it would, perhaps, be better and tend more to
develop the importance of dress, if a few remarks
were made on the general rules which should guide
one in selections for his own wear.</p>

<p>The <i>four staple colors for men's wear, are black,
blue, brown, and olive</i>. Other colors, such as drab,
grey, mixed, etc., being so far as the principal garments
go, what are termed "fancy colors," should
be very cautiously used.</p>

<p>As was remarked above, <i>black has the effect of
diminishing size</i>, but it has another more important
effect, which is to test, in the severest way, the wearer's
claims to a <i>distinguished appearance</i>. It is a very
high compliment to any man to tell him that black
becomes him, and it is probably owing to this property
that black is chosen, <i>par excellence</i>, for <i>evening</i>
or <i>ball dress</i>. Men, therefore, of average or ordinary
pretensions to stylish contour, should bear this in
mind, and, when such color is not indispensable,
should be careful how far they depend on their own
intrinsic dignity.</p>

<p><i>Blue</i>, of almost any shade, becomes a light complexion,
besides being an admirable set-off to black
velvet, which can, in almost all cases, be judiciously
used in the collar, in which case, a <i>lighter<a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a>
shade of blue</i> (also becoming such a complexion)
can be worn without <i>killing</i> (as it is technically
termed), the darker shade of the coat&mdash;the velvet
harmonizing both.</p>

<p><i>Brown</i> being what is termed a <i>warm</i> color, is
eminently adapted for fall and winter wear&mdash;<i>olive</i>
and <i>dark green</i>, for summer.</p>

<p>When Beau Brummel was asked what constituted
a well-dressed man, he replied, "<i>Good linen&mdash;plenty
of it, and country washing</i>." This, perhaps, is rather
<i>too</i> primitive. The almost equally short opinion of the
French critic is decidedly more comprehensive&mdash;"<i>un
homme bien coiffé, et bien chaussé, peut se présenter
partout</i>." Under any circumstances, however,
it may be laid down as immutable, that the <i>extremities</i>
are most important parts, when considered as
objects for dress, and that <i>a well appointed hat,
faultlessly-fitting gloves, and immaculate boots</i>, are
three essentials to a well-dressed man, without
which the otherwise best constituted dress will
appear unfinished.</p>

<p>Besides the necessity for the greatest care required
in the selection of colors, with regard to their harmonizing
with each other, and their general adaptation
to the complexion or contour of the wearer,
there is another matter of the first importance,
and this is, the <i>cut</i>. Of course, everything should
be sacrificed to <i>perfect ease</i>, as any garment
which pinches, or incommodes the wearer, will
strongly militate against the easy deportment of even<a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a>
the most graceful, and tend to give a contracted and
constrained appearance. <i>Every garment, therefore,
should leave the wearer perfectly free and uncontrolled
in every motion</i>; and, having set out with
this proviso, the <i>artiste</i> may proceed to invest his
work with all the minute and seemingly immaterial
graces and touches, which, although scarcely to be
remarked, still impart <i>an air</i> or <i>character</i>, which is
unmistakable, and is expressed in the French word
<i>chique</i>.</p>

<p><i>Wadding</i>, or <i>stuffing</i>, should be avoided as much
as possible. A little may be judiciously used to
round off the more salient points of an angular
figure, but when it is used for the purpose of creating
an egregiously false impression of superior form,
it is simply <i>snobbish</i>. Some one has called hypocrisy
"the homage which vice pays to virtue."
<i>Wadding is the homage which snobbishness pays to
symmetry!</i></p>

<p>A well-dressed man will never be the first to
set a new fashion; he will allow others to hazard
the innovation, and decline the questionable honor
of being the first to advertise a <i>novelty</i>. Two lines
of Pope (I believe), admirably illustrate the middle
course:&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"<i>Be not the first by whom the new is tried,</i><br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Nor yet the last by whom 'tis set aside.</i>"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>Besides which he will find it far easier to become
a <i>critic</i> than an <i>author</i>; and as there is sure to be<a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a>
a vast number of men who "greatly daring" dress,
he will merely be at the trouble of discriminating
which is worthy of selection or rejection; he will
thus verify the old saw, that "fools make feasts and
wise men eat thereof," and avoid, by means of his
own knowledge of <i>the becoming</i>, the solecisms which
are pretty certain to occur in a number of experiments.</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">Trinculo.</span><br></span>
</div>


<div class="footnotes"><h3 style="margin-top:.5em;">Footnotes:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Remind me to tell you about that some other time.</p>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a>
<h2><a name="LETTER_III" id="LETTER_III"></a>LETTER III.</h2>

<p class="chapterhead">MANNER.</p>


<p class="chapterstart">My dear Nephews:</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="firstwords">In</span> the order of sequence adopted at the
commencement of our correspondence, the subject
of <i>manner</i> comes next in succession.</p>

<p>It was the shrewd aphorism of one of the most
profound observers of human nature that "<i>Manner
is something to all, and everything to some</i>."</p>

<p>As indicative of character, which it undoubtedly
is, to a certain extent, it is well worthy the attention
of all youthful aspirants to the honors of the world.
And though, like every other attribute, it should bear
indubitable murks of individuality, care and attention,
before habit has rendered change and improvement
difficult, will enable every man to acquire that
propriety and polish, in this respect, the advantages
of which through life can scarcely be overrated.</p>

<p>It has been somewhat paradoxically said, that the
fashionable manner of the present day is <i>no manner
at all</i>! which means simply&mdash;that the manners of
the best bred people are those that are least obtruded<a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a>
upon the notice of others,&mdash;those most <i>quiet, natural,
and unassuming</i>.</p>

<p>There is, however, a possibility of carrying this
modish manner to such an extreme as to make it the
very height of affectation. If Talleyrand's favorite
axiom admits of some qualification, and <i>language</i> is
not <i>always</i> used to "conceal our ideas," then should
<i>manner</i>, which is the natural adjunct that lends
additional expressiveness to words, be in a degree
modified by circumstances&mdash;be <i>individualized</i>.</p>

<p>Every approach to a rude, noisy, boisterous, manner,
is reprehensible, for the obvious reason that it
interferes with the comfort, and, consequently, with
the rights of others; but this is at a wide remove
from the ultra-modishness that requires the total suppression
of every manifestation of natural emotion,
and apparently, aims to convert beings influenced
by the motives, feelings, and principles that constitute
humanity, into mere moving automata!</p>

<p>In this, as in too many similar matters, Americans
are prone to excess. Because <i>scenes</i> are considered
bad <i>ton</i>, in good society abroad, and because the
warm-hearted hospitality of olden time sometimes
took shape a little more impressingly and noisily
than kindness required, some of our fashionable
imitators of European models move through the
world like resuscitated ghosts, and violate every law
of good feeling in an endeavor to sustain at home
a character for modish <i>nonchalance</i>! Now, take it
as a rule through life, my young friends, that <i>all servile
imitation degenerates into caricature</i>, and let<a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a>
your adoption and illustration of every part of your
system of life be modified by circumstances, and
regulated by good sense and manly independence.</p>

<p>I need scarcely tell you that true politeness is not
so much a thing of forms and ceremonies, as of right
feelings and nicety of perception. The Golden Rule
habitually illustrated in word and action, would produce
the most unexceptionable good breeding&mdash;politeness
so cosmopolitan that it would be a passport
to "good society" everywhere.</p>

<p>One of the most polished and celebrated of American
authors has given us as fine and laconic a definition
of politeness as I remember to have met with&mdash;"Self-respect,
and a delicate regard for the rights and
feelings of others."</p>

<p>The good breeding of a true gentleman is not an
appendage put off and on at the dictate of caprice,
or interest, it is essentially <i>a part of himself</i>&mdash;a
constituent of his being, as much as his sense of honesty or
honor, and its requirements are no more forgotten or
violated than those of any other essential attribute of
manhood. You will all remember Sir Philip Sidney's
immortal action in presenting the cup of water
to the dying soldier. This was a spontaneous result
of the habitual self-possession and self-restraint that
form the basis of all true good breeding. It is one of
the most perfect exhibitions on record of the <i>moral
sublime</i>; but it was, also, only a legitimate result of
the <i>instinctive politeness of a Christian gentleman</i>!</p>

<p>Manner, then, may be regarded as the expression
of inherent qualities, and though it must, necessarily,<a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a>
and should properly, to some extent, at least, vary
with the variations of character, it may readily be
rendered a more correct and effective exponent of
existing characteristics of mind and heart, by judicious
and attentive training.</p>

<p>While true good breeding must, from its very nature
be, as I have said, in all persons and under every
modification of circumstance substantially the same,
the proper mode of exemplifying it, must, with
equal propriety, be modified by the exercise of
practical good sense and discrimination. Thus, the
laws of convention,&mdash;which, as I have before remarked,
is but another name for the rules of politeness,
established and adhered to by well-bred people,
for mutual convenience&mdash;though in some respects as
immutable as those of the Medes and Persians, will
always be adapted, by persons of good sense, to the
mutations of circumstance and the inviolable requisitions
of that "higher law," whose vital principle is
"<i>kindness kindly expressed</i>!" Having now established
general principles, let us turn to the consideration
of practical details.</p>

<p>There is, perhaps, no better test of good manners
afforded by the intercourse of ordinary life, than
that of conduct towards superiors in age or station,
("Young America" seems loth to admit that he has
any superiors, but we will venture to assume these
premises). The general-in-chief of the Revolutionary
Army of America is well known to have always observed
the most punctilious respect towards his
<i>mother</i>, in his personal intercourse with her, as well<a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a>
as in every other relation of life. My word for it,
he never spoke of her as the "old woman;" nor
could one of the youthful members of his military
family have alluded, in his hearing, to a parent as
the "governor," or the "old governor," without exciting
the disapproving surprise of Washington and
his co-patriots. And yet our young republic has
known no more high-bred and polished men than
those of that day,&mdash;the stately and elegant Hancock,
even when broken by time and disease, a graceful
and punctilious observer of all the ceremonious
courtesies of life; the courtly Carroll, whose benignant
urbanity was the very impersonation of a long
line of old English gentlemen; and the imposing stateliness
of the commander-in-chief, ever observant of
the most minute details of propriety, whether in the
familiar intercourse of daily life, or while conducting
the most momentous affairs of his country. But to
return from this unpremeditated digression. Never
let youthful levity, or the example of others, betray
you into forgetfulness of the claims of your parents
or elders, to a certain deference. Depend upon it,
the preservation of a just self-respect demands this.</p>

<p>Your historical studies will have furnished you
with evidence of the respect habitually rendered to
superiors by those nations of antiquity most celebrated
for advancement in civilization; and you will
not have failed, also, to remark that nothing more
surely heralded the decay of ancient empires than
degeneracy in this regard.</p>

<p>Next to the reverence ever due to parents, may<a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a>
be ranked that which should be rendered to virtuous
age, irrespective of station or other outward attributes.
I should deem this instinctive with all right-minded
young persons, did I not so often, in the
street, at church, in social life, in public places
generally, observe the manner in which elderly
persons are, apparently, wholly overlooked.</p>

<p>Here, the universally-applicable <i>law of kindness</i>
claims regard. Those of the pilgrims of earth,
whose feet are descending the narrowing vale that
leads to the dim obscure unpenetrated by mortal
eyes, are easily pained by even the semblance of
indifference or neglect. They are sensitively alive
to every intimation that their places in the busy
arena of active life are already better filled by
others; that they are rather tolerated than essential.
Those who are most worthy of regard are least
likely to be insensible to such influences. Remember,
then, that you should never run the race of life
so "fast" as to encroach upon the established claims
of your predecessors in the course. Nor would the
most prematurely sage young man be entirely unbenefited,
it may be, by availing himself occasionally
of the accumulated experience, erudition, and knowledge
of the world, possessed by many a quiet "old
fogy," whose unassuming manners, modest self-respect,
and pure integrity present a just model to
"Young America," albeit, perchance, too old-fashioned
to be deemed worthy of attention!</p>

<p>While the general proposition&mdash;that manner is, to
a considerable extent <i>character in action</i>, is un<a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a>doubtedly
correct, we occasionally see the exact
converse painfully exemplified. It sometimes occurs
that the most amiable persons labor through life
under the disadvantage of a diffident or awkward
manner, which does great injustice to their intrinsic
excellences. And this is but another evidence of
the necessity of the earliest attention to this subject.</p>

<p>Though no one should be discouraged in an
endeavor to remedy the defects arising from neglect,
in this respect (and, indeed, it may properly be considered
as affording room for ceaseless advancement,
like every other portion of the earthly education
of immortal beings), few persons, perhaps, ever completely
overcome the difficulties arising from inattention
to this important branch of education, while
youthful pliancy renders the formation of habits
comparatively easy.</p>

<p>The early acquisition of habits of self-possession
and <a name="tn_png_078"></a><!--TN: "self control" changed to "self-control"-->self-control, will furnish the surest basis
for the formation of correct manners. With this
should be united, as far as is practicable, constant
association with well-educated and well-bred persons,
there is no friction like this to produce external
polish, nor can the most elaborate rules furnish an
effectual substitute for the ease that practice alone
secures.</p>

<p>Lose no opportunity, therefore, for studiously
observing the best <i>living models</i>, not for the purpose
of attempting an undiscriminating imitation of
even the most perfect, but, as an original and gifted
artist derives advantage from studying works of<a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a>
genius, by the great masters of art, to avail yourself
of the matured knowledge resulting from
experience.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>But now for an exemplary anecdote or two:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Colonel Lunettes, do you know some gentleman
going to U&mdash;&mdash; in this train?" inquired my friend
ex-Governor T&mdash;&mdash;, extending his hand to me in
the car-house of one of our western cities. "I wish
to place a very pretty young lady under the care of
some suitable person for a short time, until she
joins a party of friends."</p>

<p>"Really, my dear sir, I regret that I have just
arrived," returned I; "you tempt me to turn about
and go over the ground again."</p>

<p>"Uncle T&mdash;&mdash;, there is H&mdash;&mdash; B&mdash;&mdash; just getting
out of that car," cried a young lady, approaching us,
with two or three fair companions, "perhaps he is
going on."</p>

<p>At this moment a young man, in a dress that
might have been that of the roughest back-woodsman,
approached the group.</p>

<p>He wore a very broad-brimmed, coarse straw hat,
capable of serving the double purpose of umbrella
and <i>chapeau</i>, his hands were incased in strong
gauntlet-gloves, and he carried a large engineer's
field-book under one arm.</p>

<p>Removing his hat, as he somewhat hesitatingly
advanced, and passing his hand over a beard of
several days' growth, glancing downward, at the<a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a>
same time, upon heavy-soled boots, thickly encrusted
with dry mud&mdash;</p>

<p>"Ladies," said he, "I am too dirty to come near
you; I have been surveying in the swamps in this
neighborhood for several days past, camping out,
and jumped upon the cars a few miles back,
bound for my stationary quarters and&mdash;the <i>blessings
of civilization</i>!" And, with the color deepening in
his sun-burnt face, he bowed to us all, with a grace
that Count d'Orsay could scarcely have exceeded.</p>

<p>The youth was very cordially welcomed by his
friends; little Kitty, who is privileged to say anything,
declared she "never saw him look so handsome;"
and, I confess, that even my flinty old heart
was favorably moved towards the young engineer.
I admired the good taste that dictated an explanation
of the soiled condition of his clothes (his thick
linen shirt, however, was <i>clean</i>); not an absurd apology
for not being <i>well-dressed</i>, and I liked his use
of the good, significant Saxon word that most truthfully
described his condition.</p>

<p>After an exchange of civilities, turning respectfully
to the governor, he said: "Governor T&mdash;&mdash;, can
I be of any service? You seemed to be looking for
some one."</p>

<p>An explanation of the circumstances resulted in
the resignation of his fair charge to the temporary
care of this same toil-worn, "dirty" young engineer,
by my friend, who is himself one of the most
fastidious and world-polished of men!</p>

<p>A few days after this trifling adventure, I went, by<a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a>
invitation, to pass a day with my friend the ex-governor,
at his beautiful residence a little out of the city.</p>

<p>Standing near one of the drawing-room windows,
just before dinner, I observed a gentleman alighting
from a carriage, at the entrance of the mansion. I
was struck with his elegant air, as he kissed his hand
to some one who was, like myself, an observer on the
occasion.</p>

<p>"There is H&mdash;&mdash; B&mdash;&mdash;!" exclaimed the joyous voice
of pretty Kitty, the niece of my host, and a little
scrutiny, while he was paying his compliments to
the several members of the family, enabled me to
recognize in this graceful stranger the rough-looking
youth I had previously seen at the dépôt. But what
a metamorphosis! He now wore an entirely modish
dinner-dress, exquisitely tasteful in all its appointments;
his coat of the most faultless fit, and boots
that displayed a very small and handsome foot to
admirable advantage. I afterwards noticed, too,
that "camping out" in the "swamps" had not, apparently,
impaired the smoothness of the slender fingers
and carefully-cut nails that came under my observation
while listening, in the course of the evening, to
the rich voice and guitar accompaniment of Mr.&nbsp;B&mdash;&mdash;.</p>

<p>"Did Mr.&nbsp;B&mdash;&mdash; come out in a carriage?" inquired
one of the ladies of the family, in a low tone, of my
host, near whom I was standing, when arrangements
were to be made for the return of the guests to town.</p>

<p>"Certainly he did," answered the governor, "Mr.
B&mdash;&mdash; is too much of a sybarite to heat himself by
walking out here to dinner, on such a day as this."<a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a></p>

<p>"And too economical, I have no doubt, judging
from his good sense in other respects," I added, "to
spoil a pair of costly dress boots in such service."</p>

<p>"Mrs.&nbsp;M&mdash;&mdash;, one moment, if you please," said a
voice behind us, and Mrs.&nbsp;M&mdash;&mdash; (who is the acting
mistress of the mansion) took the arm politely proffered
her, and stepped out upon the portico. Presently
she returned&mdash;</p>

<p>"Uncle T&mdash;&mdash;," whispered she ("excuse me, Col.
Lunettes), John need not get up our carriage; Mr.
B&mdash;&mdash; has been so polite as to insist upon our sending
the girls home in his, saying that he really prefers to
sit outside, and that the carriage in which he drove
out is to be here in a few minutes."</p>

<p>"He happened to know that John has to be up
with the lark, about another matter," remarked the
host, "and"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"How kind!" returned the lady; "but Mr.&nbsp;B&mdash;&mdash; does
everything so agreeably that one does not know
which to admire most&mdash;the charm of his <i>manner</i>,
or"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"The <i>good breeding</i>, from which it springs!" exclaimed
the governor, finishing the eulogy.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Attending a lady from the dinner-table at the St.
Nicholas, in New York, she begged me to wait with
her for a few minutes, near the passage conducting
to the drawing-rooms, saying, playfully, that she
wished to way-lay a gentleman. "I have been all
the morning," she then explained, "trying to meet a<a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a>
Russian friend of ours, who is certainly staying here,
though we cannot succeed in seeing him. My husband
charged me, before we parted this morning, as
he was obliged to go out of town for the day, with a
message for our friend, which he said <i>must</i> be delivered
by me in person. Ah, there he is now!" and
she advanced a step towards an elderly gentleman
accompanying a lady.</p>

<p>I released her arm from mine, of course, and
retired a little; the other lady also simultaneously
withdrawing. I bowed respectfully to her.</p>

<p>"Have you ever chanced to remark this picture?"
inquired the fair stranger of me, as we stood thus
near each other, turning towards the painting of the
patron saint of the Knickerbockers, which graced the
main staircase of the hotel; "it is very appropriately
selected."</p>

<p>Nothing could be more unmistakably refined and
high-bred than the bearing of the interlocutor, while
we chatted a moment or two longer.</p>

<p>"I beg your pardon, madam, for depriving you of
your cavalier; nothing but necessity could excuse it"&mdash;began
the lady, who had been talking earnestly
in the meanwhile with the Russian, approaching us.
She was at once relieved from making further explanation.</p>

<p>"Pray don't name it&mdash;and allow me to renew my
slight acquaintance with you," offering her hand.</p>

<p>"With pleasure," returned my fair friend, instantly;
but she looked a little puzzled, despite her
courtesy.<a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a></p>

<p>"I see you do not recollect the weary traveller who
was so much obliged to your politeness in the hotel
in Washington, the other night. The only stranger-lady
(turning to her attendant) I have met in this
country, who has rendered me the slightest civility."</p>

<p>All this was, of course, quite unintelligible to me,
but later in the evening I had the honor of being
introduced to these strangers, and, incidentally,
received a solution of the mystery.</p>

<p>While a pleasant party with which I had the good
fortune to be associated, was cozily gathered in one
of the quiet little drawing-rooms of the St. Nicholas,
the conversation turned upon the difference of
manners in different nations. Let me premise a
brief explanation, that you may the better understand
what follows. The Russian gentleman, whom
I had seen in the passage, is Dr. de H&mdash;&mdash;, a distinguished
<i>savant</i>, travelling in the service of his imperial
master, and the lady whom he was attending
from dinner a Frenchwoman of high birth and
breeding. My fair charge is the wife of an officer
of our army, who nearly lost his life in the late Mexican
war, returning home covered alike with wounds
and honors, and with still I don't know how many
bullets in his body, as life-long tokens of his bravery.
His heroic young wife, when she learned that he had
landed at New Orleans, as soon after the conclusion
of peace as his condition enabled him to be conveyed
to the sea-board and make the voyage, set out to join
him at the South, with an infant of only a few weeks
old, and herself in enfeebled health.&mdash;They had been<a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a>
married but a short time, when Col. V&mdash;&mdash; was
ordered to the seat of war, and the lady was a belle
and a beauty, of scarce nineteen&mdash;the cherished idol
of wealth and affection. These persons, and one or
two others were, with myself, seated, as I have said,
cozily together for a little talk, after dinner.</p>

<p>Taking advantage of the temporary absence of
Mrs.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash;, the Frenchwoman, turning to Dr. de
H&mdash;&mdash;, said: "What a charming person! I must
tell you about my first meeting with her. You know
we are just returned from a little tour at the south
of this country. Well, at Washington, the other
evening we have arrived, my husband and I,
with my little daughter, Lorrette, very tired and
covered with dust, at the hotel. A friend had engaged
apartments for us, two or three days before, but
we were not conducted to them. They led us into a
sort of corridor, where gentlemen and ladies were
walking, in dinner dress, and left us to stand against
the wall for some time. At last Victor told me to be
patient, and he would go and see. I have thought I
should fall down with fatigue and vexation, and poor
little Lorrette leaned against me and was almost
quite asleep. At this moment, a lady and gentleman
who were sitting in a little alcove, which was
in the corridor, observed us, as I saw, though I tried
to turn myself from all. They came immediately to
us. The gentleman brought a light chair in his
hand. 'Madam,' said the gentleman, 'allow me to
offer you a seat; I am surprised that Mr.&nbsp;Willard
has no reception room for travellers.' Before I could<a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a>
thank them, properly, the lady said, seeing how Lorrette
had begun to cry, 'Do come and sit over there
in the little recess; there is a larger chair in which
the little girl can lie down until you can get your
rooms. Pray come'&mdash;and all this with such a sweet
manner. Seeing that the gentleman was already
looking for another chair to bring to us, I went away
with the lady; saying, however, that I was so sad to
come with her in this dress, and to trouble <a name="tn_png_086"></a><!--TN: Period added after "her"-->her.
When we were in the little alcove, almost by ourselves,
she placed Lorrette on a little couch, and
forced me to sit on the only good chair, saying that
she preferred to stand a little, and so many other
polite, kind words! Then, while the gentleman
talked a little with me, she began to tell Lorrette
that her papa would soon take her to a nice supper,
and made her look, when she was no longer
so tired, at some nice drawings of colored birds that
her friend was showing her when they came to
carry us to them."</p>

<p>You must picture to yourselves the animated
gestures, the expressive tones, and the slight Gallic
accent that gave double significance to this little
sketch, to form a correct idea of the pleasing effect
produced upon us all by the narration. Observing Mrs.
V&mdash;&mdash; re-entering the room, the charming Frenchwoman
only added, enthusiastically: "Really these
were persons so agreeable, that I could not forget
them; as I have told you to-day, Dr. de H&mdash;&mdash;, it is
the only stranger American lady who has ever been
polite in our journey."<a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a></p>

<p>"Are the ladies of our country, then, so remiss in
politeness?" said a young American lady present, in
a deprecatory tone.</p>

<p>"I beg your pardon, madam," returned the
foreigner, "the Americans are the most kind-hearted
people in the world, but <i>they do not say it</i>! it is the&mdash;<i>manner</i>!"</p>

<p>"I shall really begin to think," said Mrs.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash;,
"that there is some other cause than my being a
brunette for my being so often taken for a foreigner.
I am often asked whether I am from New Orleans,
or of French extraction."</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_087"></a><!--TN: Quote added before "I"-->"I am not surprised," exclaimed Dr. de H&mdash;&mdash;,
"my friend Sir C&mdash;&mdash; G&mdash;&mdash;, who saw you this
morning, asked me afterwards what country was you
of?"</p>

<p>"Why, how was that?"</p>

<p>"He told me he had just given a servant, that
stupid old man in the hall, the house-porter, I
believe you call him, a card, to take to some room,
when you met him, and directed him to go to the
office with a message; but, observing the card in his
hand, and that a gentleman stood there, you immediately
told him to go first with the card and you
would wait for him."</p>

<p>Here the silvery laugh of Mrs.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash; interrupted
the Russian. "Excuse me," said she, "I remember
it!&mdash;that old porter, who always makes a mistake, if it
is possible, has so often annoyed me, that this time I
was determined, as it was a person I much wished
to see, not to lose my visitor through him, so, after<a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a>
waiting some time in one of these rooms, I went to
him to inquire, and sent him to the office, when I
found that my poor friend was waiting <i>there</i>, while
I waited <i>here</i>. Observing a gentleman who seemed
already to have required his services, I bade him go
first for him, of course. '<i>Apres vous, madame, je
vous prie</i>,'<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> said he, with the most courtly air;&mdash;so
that was Sir C&mdash;&mdash; G&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>

<p>"Yes, madam," answered the <i>savant</i>, "but it was
<i>your</i> air that was remarkable! Sir C&mdash;&mdash; told me
that while you both were waiting there you addressed
some polite remark to him, <i>pour passer le
temps</i>, and that he thought you were not an American
lady, <i>because you spoke to him</i>!"</p>

<p>"Speaking of <i>not speaking</i>," said I, when the
general amusement had abated, "reminds me of an
amusing little scene that I once witnessed in the
public parlor of a New England tavern, where I
was compelled to wait several hours for a stage-coach.
Presently there entered a bustling, sprightly-looking
little personage, who, after frisking about the
room, apparently upon a tour of inspection, finally
settled herself very comfortably in the large cushioned
rocking-chair&mdash;the only one in the room&mdash;and
was soon, as I had no reason to doubt, sound asleep.
It was not long, however, before a noise of some one
entering aroused her, and a tall, gaunt old Yankee
woman, hung round with countless bags, bonnet-boxes,
and nondescript appendages of various sizes<a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a>
and kinds, presented herself to our vision. After
slowly relieving herself of the numberless incumbrances
that impeded her progress in life, she turned
to a young man who accompanied her, and said, in a
tone so peculiarly shrill, that it might have been
mistaken, at this day, for a railroad whistle:</p>

<p>"'Now, <a name="tn_png_089"></a><!--TN: "Johnathan" changed to "Jonathan"-->Jonathan, don't let no grass grow under
your feet while you go for them tooth-ache drops; I
am a'mos' crazy with pain!' laying a hand upon
the affected spot as she spoke; <a name="tn_png_089a"></a><!--TN: Single rather than double quotes used around "and here,"-->'and here,' she
called out, as the door was closing upon her messenger,
'just get my box filled at the same time!'
diving, with her disengaged hand, into the unknown
depths of, seemingly, the most capacious of pockets,
and bringing to light a shining black box, of sufficient
size to hold all the jewels of a modern belle, 'I
thought I brought along my snuff-bladder, but I
don't know where I put it, my head is so stirred
up.'</p>

<p>"By this time the little woman in the rocking-chair
was fairly aroused, and rising, she courteously
offered her seat to the stranger, her accent at once
betraying her claim to be ranked with the politest
of nations (a bow, on my part, to the fair foreigner
in the group). With a prolonged stare, the old
woman coolly ensconced herself in the vacated seat,
making not the slightest acknowledgment of the
civility she had received. Presently, she began to
groan, rocking herself furiously at the same time.
The former occupant of the stuffed chair, who had
retired to a window, and perched herself in one of<a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a>
a long row of high wooden seats, hurried to the sufferer.
<a name="tn_png_090"></a><!--TN: Double quotes changed to single quotes before "I" and after "madame,"-->'I fear, madame,' said she, <a name="tn_png_090a"></a><!--TN: Double quotes changed to single quotes before "that" and after "you?"-->'that you
suffare ver' much:&mdash;vat can I do for you?' The
representative of Yankeedom might have been a
wooden clock-case for all the response she made to
this amiable inquiry, unless her rocking more
furiously than ever might be construed into a reply.</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_090b"></a><!--TN: Double quote added before "The"-->"The little Frenchwoman, apparently wholly unable
to class so anomalous a specimen of humanity,
cautiously retreated.</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_90c"></a><!--TN: Double quote added before "Before"-->"Before I was summoned away, the tooth-ache
drops and the snuff together (both administered in
large doses!) seemed to have gradually produced
the effect of oil poured upon troubled waters.</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_90d"></a><!--TN: Double quote added before "The"-->"The sprightly Frenchwoman again ventured upon
the theatre of action.</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_90e"></a><!--TN: Double quote added before "You" and double quotes before "You" and after "madame?" changed to single quotes-->"'You find yourself now much improved, madame?'
she asked, with considerable vivacity. A
very slight nod was the only answer.</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_90f"></a><!--TN: Double quote added before "And" and double quotes before "And" and after "com-for-ta-ble?" changed to single quotes-->"'And you feel dis <i>fauteuil</i>, really ver' <i>com-for-ta-ble</i>?'
pursued the little woman, with augmented
energy of voice. Another nod was just discernable.</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_90g"></a><!--TN: Double quote added before "No"-->"No intonation of mine can do justice to the very
ecstasy of impatience with which the pertinacious
questioner now actually <i>screamed</i> out:</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_90h"></a><!--TN: Double quote added before "Bien" and after "please!'" Spoken text placed within single quotes-->"'<i>Bien</i>, madame, <i>vil you say so</i>, if you please!'"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>I meant to repeat an impressive little story told us<a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a>
by my lovely friend, Mrs.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash;, before our merry
little party separated that night; but, even were this
letter not already too "long drawn out," I find my
head in very much the condition of that of the old
Yankee woman, whom, I trust, I have immortalized,
and will, therefore, reserve it for another time, hoping
that you will pay me the compliment to recollect
my description of my <i>dramatis personć</i> until
then.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Meanwhile, here is one other anecdote for you:</p>

<p>During my usual morning ride, one day lately, I
stopped to breathe my horse on the top of a little
hill, in the suburbs of one of the villages upon the
banks of the Hudson. While enjoying the beauty
of the fine landscape before me, my horse, all on a
sudden, started violently. I presently discovered
the cause of his fright. Some little rascals were at
play in the unenclosed yard of an old building near,
and one of them was throwing lumps of earth,
pieces of broken crockery, rusty sheet-iron, etc., upon
the plank-walk in front. As I turned my head
towards them, a little urchin who was perched upon
a knob of the root of a tree, with his hands upon his
knees, cried out, energetically: "There now, look-a
there! Ain't you a pretty fellow? dirtying up the
walk so, when people are going by." His little
freckled face expressed real concern, as he looked
fixedly up the walk. Glancing in the same direction,
I saw an elegantly-dressed lady carefully<a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a>
gathering up her dress, preparatory to encountering
the sharp obstacles in her path, and at once understood
the cause of the reproof I had overheard, and which
I assure you, I have transcribed <i>verbatim</i>, though
the phrase "pretty fellow" may seem incongruous
in the mouth of a dirty little Irish boy. I only hope
the lady&mdash;whose gentle smile indicated that she too
understood the scene&mdash;was compensated for being so
incommoded, by discerning the <i>inbred politeness</i> of
her little champion.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>As it is your desire that I should deal rather with
practical realities than with generalities or theories,
let us come in my next, without preliminaries, to plain
suggestions, presented somewhat in detail, with the
usual simplicity and frankness of that "plain, blunt
man,"</p>

<div class="closing">

<span class="presignature2">Your affectionate uncle<br></span>
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">Hal.</span><br></span>
</div>



<div class="footnotes"><h3 style="margin-top:.5em;">Footnotes:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> After you are served, madam, I beg.</p>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a>
<h2><a name="LETTER_IV" id="LETTER_IV"></a>LETTER IV.</h2>

<p class="chapterhead">MANNER CONTINUED:&mdash;PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS.</p>


<p class="chapterstart" style="text-indent:1.25em;">My Dear Nephews:</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="firstwords">If</span> I rightly remember, I concluded my
last letter to my young correspondents with a promise
of attempting in my next, some <i>practical directions</i>
in regard to Manner. I will, then, commence, at once
premising only in the impressive words of the immortal
senator, who just at present holds so large a
space in the world's eye: "In now opening this great
matter, I am not insensible to the austere demands
of the occasion."</p>

<p>Important as Manner undoubtedly is, in every relation
of life, the cultivation of an unexceptionable
deportment <i>at home</i>, may, perhaps, be regarded as of
primary consequence, in securing the happiness at
which all aim, though by means,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">&mdash;&mdash;"variable as the shade,<br></span>
<span class="i0">By the light, quivering aspen made."<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>I think I have already incidentally alluded to the
bad taste, to give it no severer name, so commonly<a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a>
exhibited by young persons in this country, in their
conduct towards <i>parents</i>. Let nothing tempt <i>you</i>, I
pray you, into habits so discreditable. Manhood is
never depreciated by any true estimate, when yielding
tribute to the claims of age.&mdash;Towards your
<i>father</i> preserve always a deferential manner, mingled
with a certain frankness, indicating that thorough
confidence, that entire understanding of each other,
which is the best guarantee of good sense in both, and
of inestimable value to every young man, blessed with
a right-minded parent. Accept the advice dictated
by experience with respect, receive even reproof
without impatience of manner, and hasten to prove
afterwards, that you cherish no resentful remembrance
of what may even have seemed to you too great
severity, or too manifest an assumption of authority.
Heed the counsel of an old man, who "through the
loop-holes of retreat" looks calmly on the busy tide
of life rolling forever onward, and let the sod that
closes over the heart that throbs no more even with
affection and anxiety for you, leave for you only the
pain of parting&mdash;not the haunting demon of <i>remorse</i>.
Allow no false pride, no constitutional obstinacy, to
interfere with the better impulses of your nature, in
your intercourse with your father, or to interrupt for
an hour the manly trust that should be between you.
And in the inner temple of <i>home</i>, as well as when
the world looks on, render him reverence due.</p>

<p>There should be mingled with the habitual deference
and attention that marks your manner to your <i>mother</i>,
the indescribable tenderness and rendering back of<a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a>
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 <i>our country's pride</i> 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 <i>moral sublime</i>, 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 <i>manner</i> to do
injustice to your feelings, in this sacred relation of
life.</p>

<p>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<a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a>
great to his <i>valet de chambre</i>"&mdash;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
<i>brothers</i>, 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.</p>

<p>To his <i>sisters</i>, 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,&mdash;and such every well constituted man will
consider it,&mdash;of assuming towards such relations the
position of a friend, confidant and guardian. And
the manner of <i>a gentleman</i> 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&mdash;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.<a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a></p>

<p>Since</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;"modest the manners by Nature bestowed<br></span>
<span class="i0">On Nature's most exquisite child,"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">a man's conduct towards his <i>wife</i> 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 <i>mistress</i>,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> would it be
wise to prefer no further claims to such characteristics
by your manner to your <i>wife</i>? 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<a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a>
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.&nbsp;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 <i>mental
tablets</i> 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 <i>old master</i>&mdash;especially
when the mental magician fails to place
the original before his mind's eye,</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Pictured fair, in memory's mystic glass."</p>

<p class="continue">But if you do not despise such old-fashioned literature
as the writings of the English classic authors&mdash;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 educa<a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a>tion
of every gentleman&mdash;if you will look up this
elegant essay, and read it for yourselves, I can safely
promise you ample remuneration for your trouble.</p>

<p>Do not degrade your own ideal by a too minute
scrutiny, nor forget that the shrine of the <i>Lares</i>, though
it may be approached with the simplest offerings, is
desecrated by even a momentary forgetfulness that
its votaries should be</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"<i>Content to dwell in decencies, forever!</i>"</p>
<p class="continue">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 <i>the proof afforded by manner</i> of the existence
and dominance of these sentiments.</p>

<p>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 <i>graces of manner</i> 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 <i>abandon</i> that constitutes one
of the most exquisite enjoyments of home, is not aug<a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a>mented,
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.</p>

<p>Earnestly, therefore, do I admonish my youthful
relatives to cultivate a careful observance of the
requisitions of what has been well designated as
"<i>domestic politeness</i>." 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&mdash;small artillery
all, I grant, my boys, but they will suffice to make a
<i>feu-de-joie</i> 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.</p>

<p>I will only add, in this connection, that manhood
is ennobled by the habitual exercise of delicate forbearance
towards <i>helplessness</i> and <i>dependence</i>, and
that a high test of character is the right <i>use of power</i>.
Those, then, whom nature teaches to look to you for<a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a>
affection, as well as for care and protection&mdash;your
mother, wife, sisters&mdash;should invariably derive from
your <i>manner</i> evidence of the steadfastness of your
interest and regard for them.</p>

<p>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 <i>teaching of example</i>
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<a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a>
friends, and that of the "Kingdom of Heaven," as by
divine assertion they are&mdash;the <i>Law of Love</i>, 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 <i>tenderness</i> that distinguished the
manner of Christ towards little children.</p>

<p>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,&mdash;that of endeavoring to polish, not
create, the priceless jewel of <i>principle</i>, 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 <i>aged</i>, the <i>infirm</i>, the <i>insignificant</i>,
the <i>dependent</i>; all, in short, who are particularly
afflicted "in mind, body, or estate," are suitable recipients
of the most expressive courtesies of manner.</p>

<p>Perhaps no single phase of <i>manner at home</i> more
correctly illustrates nice mental and moral perceptions
than the treatment of <i>servants</i> and <i>inferiors</i>
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<a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a>
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&mdash;to a height at which the <i>milk of
human kindness</i> even, may congeal!</p>

<p>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?</p>

<p>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 <i>pleasant word uttered in
a pleasant tone</i>. Like animals and young children,
uneducated persons are peculiarly susceptible to all
external influences. They are easily amused, easily<a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a>
gratified&mdash;shall I add, easily <i>satisfied</i>, 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&mdash;'the
ruling passion strong' even in letter-writing.
Like the dying Napoleon, his last words will be
'<i>Tęte d'Armée!</i>'"&mdash;Well, well, boys! pardon an old
man's diffuseness!&mdash;his twilight dullness!</p>

<p>There are occasions when to <i>talk</i> to servants and
other employés, make part of a humane bearing
towards them. To converse with them in relation
to <i>their</i> 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.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>I believe even the American author who has long
concentrated his mental energies in elaborating the<a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a>
literary apotheosis of <i>Napoléon le Grand</i>, has not
ascribed to his idol excessive <i>refinement of manner</i>.
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.</p>

<p>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 Mčre" waved it aside, and, extending
her own, said, "You are the king, the emperor,
of all the rest, but you are <i>my son</i>!" Would a man
imbued with</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"The fair humanities of old religion"</p>

<p class="continue">have needed such a rebuke, from such a source,
think you?<a name="tn_png_105"></a><!--TN: Quote removed after "you?"--></p>

<p>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 "<i>Grand Monarque</i>" in his requisitions.&mdash;Abruptly
approaching a high-born lady of the
old <i>régime</i>, one of the members of Josephine's household,
who from illness (and, perhaps, disgust commingled)
had disobeyed an edict commanding <i>full
dress</i> at an early hour on a particular morning,<a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>naďveté</i> 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 <i>cortége</i> 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!"</p>

<p>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&mdash;the shrinking
representative of the hereditary refinement of a
long line of high-bred women&mdash;was marked by the<a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a>
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 "<i>Washington of France!</i>" and to communicate
the marvellous fact to the present occupant
of the imperial throne of the Great Captain&mdash;who
is, by the way, <i>the grandson of the repudiated
Josephine</i>!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 to<a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a>wards
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:</p>

<p>"Frederick!"&mdash;there was an instant lull in the
storm, and the faces of each of the group turned to
us&mdash;"make a little less noise, if you please."</p>

<p>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."</p>

<p>I said something about the very natural buoyancy
of youthful spirits; but I did <i>not</i> 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&mdash;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!"</p>

<p>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, <i>at home</i>. It was a scene worthy the taste
and the pen of Washington Irving himself, that
quaint-looking old family mansion,&mdash;in the internal
arrangements of which there was just enough of
modern comfort and adornment to typify the soft<a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a>ened
conservatism of the host,&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;for he really was scarcely more, even reckoned
by the estimate of this "fast" age&mdash;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</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune."</p>

<p class="continue">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<a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a>
and hands&mdash;like a garland of roses enwreathing
time-worn twin-trees&mdash;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."</p>

<p>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 <i>a study</i>, from which you will catch a
passing suggestion for future use, in the limning of
your own life-portraits, it is well.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Chancellor K&mdash;&mdash;, 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.</p>

<p>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<a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a>
between us. "<i>I like that young man amazingly!</i>"
said the chancellor.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>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.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

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

<p>Once, when I chanced to see these young men together,
thus, I remarked that, while the sisters of
each clung round the neck of the unassuming, but<a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a>
true-hearted, right-minded Charley, at his coming,
and lost no opportunity of being with him, the repellant
manner of the elder brother held all more or less
aloof, though none failed in polite observance towards
him. Egotistical and pompous, he seemed to regard
those about him as belonging to an inferior race.
As his brother and I sat talking together near a table
upon which were refreshments, he actually had the
rudeness to reach between us for a glass, without the
slightest word or token of apology, with his arm so
near to his brother's face as almost to touch it!
There was more of shame than indignation expressed
in that fine, ingenuous countenance when it again
met my unobstructed gaze, and I thought I detected
a slight tremor in the sentence he uttered next in the
order of our conversation.</p>

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

<p>As I stood in the hall that night, awaiting my carriage,
I saw Charley advance to the door of the
library, opening near, and knock lightly. The voice
of his aged father bade him enter. Opening the
door, the young man, taking his hat quite off, and
bowing almost reverentially, said only, "I bid you
good night, sir," and quietly closed it again. When
they turned towards me, there was almost a woman's
softness in eyes that would have looked undimmed<a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a>
upon the fiercest foe or the deadliest peril.&mdash;Think
you the Recording Angel flew up to Heaven's high
Chancery with a testimony of that day's deeds and
words?</p>

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

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

<p>As Charley descended the steps of his brother's
stately mansion, at the termination of his brief call
that day, he silently registered a vow never again to
cross his threshold, unless impelled by imperative
duty. And yet Bob is not only a rich merchant, an
Alderman, and a Bank Director, but a <i>man of fashion</i>!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>One of the most discriminating and truthful delineators
of life and manners whom we boast among
our native authors, prominent among the characteristic
traits he ascribes to an old English gentleman,
of whom he gives us an exquisite portraiture, is that
of such considerate kindness towards an old servant
as to make him endure his peevishness and obstinacy<a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a>
with good humor, and affect to consult and agree
with him, until he gains an important practical point
with "time-honored age."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Illustrative of our subject is one of the anecdotes
recorded of the poet Rogers, in his recently published
life:</p>

<p>"Mr.&nbsp;Rogers," said the body-servant, who had long
attended him in his helpless years, "<i>we</i> are invited
to dine with Miss&nbsp;Coutts." The italicizing is mine.
Is it not suggestive?</p>

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

<hr style="width: 25%;">

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

<p>By and by the active step of my hostess crossed
my sauntering way.</p>

<p>"Perhaps it may amuse you to come into the <a name="tn_png_114"></a><!--TN: "nur sery" changed to "nursery"-->nur<a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a>sery,
a little while, colonel," said she, "it will be a
novelty, at least, to you, to see behind the scenes."</p>

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

<p>My hostess, though she kept an observant eye upon
us, from her seat by her work-table over against my
arm-chair, had too much tact to interfere with the
proceedings of my ministering cherubs; except to
prevent the possibility of my being annoyed.</p>

<p>When I had leisure to reconnoitre a little, I discovered,
among the other fixtures in the large, well-lighted,
cheerful-looking apartment, an old woman
with a good-humored face and portly person, seated<a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a>
near a window, sewing, with a large, well-stored
basket of unmended linen and hosiery before her.</p>

<p>Presently, the eldest son, a fine manly boy of some
sixteen years entered, hat and cane in hand. Used,
I suppose, to a jumble of faces and forms, in this
human kaleidoscope, he evidently did not observe the
quiet figure in the high-backed chair. "Mother,"
he exclaimed in a tone in which boyish animation
and the utmost affection were singularly united, striding
across the room, like the Colossus of Rhodes,
suddenly endued with powers of locomotion:
"Mother, you are the most beautiful and irresistible
of your beautiful and irresistible sex!" and stooping,
he pressed his full, cherry lips gently upon her
rounded cheek.</p>

<p>A flash of amusement, mingled with the love-light
in the soft eyes that met those of the boy. He turned
quickly. A scarcely-discernible embarrassment of
manner, and a quick flush in the bright young face,
were all that I had time to note, before he was at my
side with a cordial greeting and a playful welcome
to "Mother's Land of Promise."</p>

<p>"Land of Nod, say rather," replied the presiding
genius of the scene, pointing to the quiescent
form of little Bessie, who&mdash;her curly head pillowed
on her chubby arm&mdash;was just losing all consciousness
of the world, upon the rug at her mother's feet.</p>

<p>"George, what an armful!" said the youth, in a
sort of half undertone, as he tenderly lifted the little
lay figure, and bore it to a crib. "Don't get up,<a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a>
mother, I can cover her nicely. I say, mammy [an
arch glance over his shoulder towards the ancient
matron of the sewing-basket], how heavy bread and
milk is, though, eh!"</p>

<p>"Speaking of bread and milk, here comes lunch,"
continued my hero for the nonce, rubbing his hands
energetically, and only desisting to give a table the
dextrous twirl that would bring it near his mother,
and assist the labors of the servant who had entered
with a tray.</p>

<p>"Will, you immense fellow, take yourself out
of the way! Colonel, permit me to give your
sedan-chair just the slightest impulse forward, and
so save you the trouble of moving. My adorable
mother, allow me the honor of being your Ganymede.
Here we are, all right! Now, let's see what
there is&mdash;ham, baked apples, cold roast beef, hot
cocoa&mdash;not so bad, 'pon my word. Colonel, I hope
this crispy morning has given you some appetite,
after your hard cold&mdash;allow me"&mdash;</p>

<p>"Mammy fust," here interposed little Will, authoritatively,
"<a name="tn_png_117"></a><!--TN: Single quote added before "cause"-->'cause she older dan us!" and, carefully
holding the heaped-up plate his mother placed
in both hands, he deliberately adventured an overland
journey to the distant object of his affectionate
solicitude.</p>

<p>At this juncture, it was discovered that the servant-man
who brought up the tray, had forgotten the
sugar, and a young nursery-maid was dispatched for
it. Upon her return she contrived, by some awkwardness
in closing the door, to spill the whole result<a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a>
of her mission to the pantry upon the floor. Her arms
dropped by her sides, as if suddenly paralyzed, and
I noticed a remarkable variety in the shade of her
broad Irish physiognomy.</p>

<p>"There is no great harm done, Biddy," said my
hostess, immediately, in a peculiarly quiet, gentle
voice, "just step down to John for another bowlful.
While poor Biddy is collecting her scattered
senses on the stairs, my son, will you kindly assist
Willie in picking up the most noticeable lumps?&mdash;put
them in this saucer, my dear. She is just learning,
you know and&mdash;she would not cross that Rubicon as
bravely as the classic hero you were reading of last
night."</p>

<p>"While we are so literary, mother&mdash;what is it
about the dolphin? If I remember rightly Bid was
a pretty good exemplification"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Hush!&mdash;I am glad you thought to bring up
more apples, Biddy. Colonel, here is the most
tempting spitzenberg&mdash;so good for a cold, too. Take
this to mammy will you, Biddy? The one I sent
you before, was not so nice as these, mammy&mdash;your
favorite kind, you know."</p>

<p>Amused with the new scene in which I found
myself, I accepted the assurance of the fair <i>home
mother</i>, as the Germans have it, that I was not in
the way, and lingered a little longer.</p>

<p>By and by, John came up to tell his mistress that
there was an old man at the door with a basket of
little things to sell, and that he had sent a box of
sealing-wax for her to look at.<a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a></p>

<p>"Poo' man! poo' man?" said little Will, running
up to my knee, with such a sorrowful look in his innocent
face&mdash;"an' it so-o-o col'," he added, catching
his mother's words, as if by instinct.</p>

<p>"Take him down the money, John," I overheard,
in the intervals between the discourse of my juvenile
instructor, "and this cup of chocolate&mdash;it will warm
him. Ask him to sit by the hall stove, while he
drinks it." Nothing was said about the exceedingly
portly brace of sandwiches that were manufactured
by the busiest of fingers, and which, through the
golden veil of Willie's light curls, I saw snugly tucked
in, on either side of the saucer.</p>

<p>"Now, young ladies," continued my amiable
friend, addressing a bevy of her rosy-cheeked young
nieces, who had just before entered the room, "here
is a stick of fancy-colored wax, for each of us&mdash;make
your own choice. Luckily there is a red stick for
Col. Lunettes" (a half deprecatory glance at me),
"the only color gentlemen use. And," as she
received the box again&mdash;"there is some for mammy
and me&mdash;we are in partnership, you know, mammy!"</p>

<p>A pleased look from the centre of the wide cap-frills
by the window, was the only response to this
appeal; but I had repeatedly observed that, despite
her industry, mammy's huge spectacles took careful
cognizance of the various proceedings around her.</p>

<p>As I was about, for very shame, to beat a retreat,
a cheery&mdash;"good morning, Colonel, I tapped at your
door, as I came up, and thought you were napping
it," arrested my intended departure. "So wifie has<a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a>
coaxed you in here! Just like her! She thinks
she can take the best care of you with"&mdash;</p>

<p>"With the rest of the children!" I interrupted.</p>

<p>"My <i>loving spou</i>," as Bessie says, when she recites
John Gilpin, "may I trouble you to tie my cravat?"
And with that important article of attire in his hand,
my friend knelt upon a low foot-stool, before his
household divinity.</p>

<p>"Thompson," said I, "I always knew you were one
of the luckiest fellows in the whole world; but may
I ask&mdash;just as a point of scientific inquiry&mdash;whether
that office is always performed for you,</p>

<p class="centerpoem">'One fair spirit for your <a name="tn_png_120"></a><!--TN: Double quote added after "minister?'"-->minister?'"</p>

<p>"Not a bit of it! No indeed, 'pon my word!
only when I go to a dinner, as to-day&mdash;or to church,
or&mdash;I say, Will, you unmitigated rogue, how dare
you! you'll spoil my cravat&mdash;<a name="tn_png_120a"></a><!--TN: "dont" changed to "don't"-->don't you see mamma
is just tying it!"</p>

<p>The little fellow thus objurgated, his eyes scintillating
with mirth, now fairly astride of his father's
shoulders, clung tenaciously to his prize, and petitioned
for a ride in his familiar seat.</p>

<p>Resorting to stratagem, where force would ill
apply, the father, rising with a "thank you, dear
wifie," retired backward towards a wide bed, and,
by a dextrous movement, suddenly landed his
youthful captor in a heap in the middle.</p>

<p>To lose no time, the brave boy, "conquered, but
not subdued," made the best use of his lungs, while<a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a>
reducing his arms and legs to order, and Bessie,
opening her beaming eyes, at this outcry, stretched
out her arms to aid her pathetic appeal to papa to
"p'ay one little hos" with her, "<i>only but one</i>!"</p>

<p>Evidently fearful of being out-generalled, the invader
beat a rapid retreat from the enemy's camp, with
the words "thank you, love, I believe the little rascal
didn't tumble it, though I came within an
ace, like a real alderman, of <i>dying of a dinner</i>&mdash;before
it was eaten!"</p>

<p>After this initiatory visit to the nursery of my fair
friend, Mrs.&nbsp;Thompson, I was allowed to come and
go at my own pleasure, during the remainder of my
visit beneath her hospitable roof, and I found myself
so interested and amused by what I witnessed there,
as often to leave the solitude of my own apartment,
though surrounded there by every possible "aid and
appliance" of comfort and enjoyment that refinement
and courtesy could supply, to learn the most
beautiful lessons of practical wisdom and goodness
from the most unpretending of teachers.</p>

<p>One morning when the <i>habitué</i> had sought his
accustomed post of observation, a young lady presented
herself at the door, and seeing me, was about
to retreat with something about its being very early
for a visit, when Mrs.&nbsp;Thompson recalled her with a
"Come in, my dear, and let me have the pleasure of
presenting you to Colonel Lunettes, the friend of
whom you have heard us all speak so often."</p>

<p>After the usual courtesies, this lovely earth-angel,<a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a>
with some hesitation, and drawing her chair nearer
her friend, explained her errand.</p>

<p>Making a little screen of a cherub-head, as was
my wont, I regaled myself unobserved, with the
music of sweet voices and the study of pretty faces.
I caught&mdash;"my old drawing-teacher"&mdash;"her husband
was a brute in their best days"&mdash;"this long,
hard winter"&mdash;"not even a carpet"&mdash;"the poor
child on a wooden-bottomed chair, with a little dirty
pillow behind her head, and so emaciated!"&mdash;here
there was a very perceptible quiver in the low
tones, followed by a little choking sort of pause.</p>

<p>"I am really grateful to you for coming&mdash;I have
been unusually occupied lately by the baby's illness
and other duties&mdash;the weather has given me more
than one twinge of conscience"&mdash;this accompanied
by a quiet transfer from one purse to another, and
then I heard, as the two ladies bent over the crib of
the sleeping infant&mdash;"is there a stout boy among
the children? There are the barrels of pork and
beef, always ready in the cellar&mdash;each good and
wholesome of their kind&mdash;husband always has them
brought from the farm on purpose to give away; and
we have abundance of fine potatoes&mdash;John could
not readily find the place, and really, just now, he
is pretty busy; still, perhaps, they have the natural
pride of better days&mdash;if you think it well, I will try
to send"&mdash;the gentle ministers of mercy left the
room together, and I heard no more.</p>

<p>Presently, the youth of whom I have before<a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a>
spoken, still at home enjoying his holiday's college
vacation, joined me, and, between the exercises of an
<a name="tn_png_123"></a><!--TN: "extertaining" changed to "entertaining"-->
entertaining gymnastic exhibition, in which he and
Willie were the chief performers, regaled me with
humorous sketches of college adventures, anecdotes
of the professors, etc., in the details of some of which
I think he had his quiet old nurse in his mind's eye,
as well as his father's guest.</p>

<p>When Mrs.&nbsp;Thompson resumed her accustomed
seat at her business-table, as it might well be called,
my agreeable young entertainer slid away from the
group about the fire, and was soon snugged down, in
his own favorite fashion, with his legs comfortably
crossed over the top of the chair sustaining mammy's
implements, cheek-by-jowl with the venerable genius
of the sewing-basket, dipping into a newspaper, and
chatting, at intervals, with his humble friend. Once
in a while I caught a sentence like this:</p>

<p>"I say, mammy, you can't begin to think how glad
I am you are getting down to my shirts! Such work
as they make washing for a fellow at college! My
black washerwoman (and such a beauty as she is&mdash;such
a little rosebud of a mouth!) pretends to fasten
the loose buttons&mdash;now, there is a specimen of her
performances&mdash;just look! The real truth is, Mrs.
Welch, that mother and you are the only women I
know of who can sew on a button worth a pin&mdash;just
the only two, by George! Now, there's Pierre de
Carradeaux, one of our young fellows down there&mdash;his
friends all live in Hayti, or some other unknown
and uninhabitable region, you know, over the sea<a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a>&mdash;I
wish you could see his clothes! The way they
mend at the tailors! But the darns in his stockings
are the funniest. He rooms with me, and so I hear
him talking to himself, in French. I am afraid he
swears, sometimes&mdash;but the way he fares is enough
to make a saint swear!" And then followed a detail
that caused mammy to wipe her eyes in sympathy
with this strange phase of human woe, in alternation
with an occasional exclamation of amusement&mdash;like,
"You'll surely be the death of me, Master
Sidney!" apparently forced spasmodically from her
lips, despite the self-imposed taciturnity which, I
shrewdly suspected, my presence created.</p>

<p>"Mother, my revered maternal <a name="tn_png_124"></a><!--TN: "primative" changed to "primitive"-->primitive, may I
read you this anecdote? Colonel, will you allow
me?"&mdash;a respectful glance at the book in my hand.
And squeezing himself in from behind, by some
utterly inconceivable india-rubber pliancy, between
the fire and his much-enduring parent, the tall form
of the stripling slowly subsided until I could discern
nothing but a mass of wavy black hair reposing
amid the soft folds of his mother's morning-gown,
and a bit of his newspaper. Thus disposed, apparently
to the entire satisfaction of all concerned, he
read:</p>

<p>"Once, while the celebrated John Kemble, the
renowned actor and acute critic, was still seated at
the dinner-table of an English nobleman, with whom
he had been dining, a servant announced that Mrs.
Kemble awaited her husband in a carriage at the
<a name="tn_png_124a"></a><!--TN: Period added after "door"-->door. Some time elapsed, and the impersonator of<a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a>
Shakspeare's mighty creations remained immovable.
At length the servant, re-entering, <a name="tn_png_125"></a><!--TN: Single dot replaced by colon after "said"-->said: 'Mrs.&nbsp;Kemble
bids me say, sir, that she is afraid of getting the
<i>rheumatiz</i>.' 'Add <i>ism</i>,' replied the imperturbable
critic of language, and quietly continued his discourse
with his host."</p>

<p>"If I should ever be compelled to marry&mdash;which,
of course, I never shall unless you disinherit me,
mother, or mammy insists upon leaving us to keep
house for that handsome widower, in the long snuff
overcoat&mdash;[though the respectable female thus
alluded to did not even glance up from her stitching,
I plainly marked a little nod of virtuous defiance,
and a fluttering in the crimpings of the ample cap-border,
that plainly expressed desperation to the
hopes of the widower aforesaid]&mdash;but if fate <i>should</i>
decree my 'attaining knowledge under difficulties,'
upon this subject, I hope I'll be a little too decent to
keep my wife sitting out doors in a London fog (I
shall make a bridal tour to Europe, of course), while
I am imbibing, even with a 'nobleman.' Speaking
of the tyranny of fate, I am, most reluctantly, compelled
to deprive you of my refreshing conversation,
my dear and excellent mother. If my dilapidated
linen is restored to its virgin integrity: in other
words, if my shirt is done, I propose retiring to the
deepest shades of private life, and getting myself up,
without the slightest consideration for the financial
affairs of my honored masculine progenitor, for a
morning call upon &mdash;&mdash;, the fortunate youthful<a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a>
beauty I, at present, honor with my particular adoration."
So saying, Sir Hopeful slowly emerged
from his 'loop-hole of retreat,' and making a profound
obeisance to his guardian spirit, and another
to me, a shade less lowly, he took himself off, with
his linen over his arm, and a grand parting flourish at
the door, with his hat upon his walking-stick, for the
especial benefit of his little brother, which elicited
a shout of unmingled admiration from the juvenile
spectators that need not have been despised by Herr
Alexander himself.</p>

<p>During dinner that day, as the varied and most
bountiful course of pastry, etc., was about to be
removed, young Sidney said:</p>

<p>"Mother, allow me to relieve you of the largest
half of that solitary-looking piece of mince-pie. I
am sorry I cannot afford to take the whole of it
under my protecting care."</p>

<p>"My dear son," replied my hostess, pleasantly,
"let me suggest the attractions of variety. You
have already done your <i>devoir</i> to this pie. Your
father pronounces the cocoanut excellent"&mdash;and
then, as if in reply to the look of surprise that met
her good-humored sally, she added, in a tone meant
only for the ears of the youth, "this happens to be
the last, and mammy eats no other, you remember."</p>

<p>"No great matter, either; to-morrow will be baking-day.
Now I know why you took none yourself,
mother," answered Sidney, cheerfully, in the same
"aside" manner; and the placid smile on the hospi<a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a>table
face of the 'home-mother' alone acknowledged
her recognition of the ascription of self-denial
to her; for it is not occasionally, but always, that</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,<br></span>
<span class="i0">An angel guard of loves and graces lie."<br></span>
</div></div>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature2">Adieu!<br></span>
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">Uncle Hal.</span><br></span>
</div>





<div class="footnotes"><h3 style="margin-top:.5em;">Footnotes:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> I shall take the liberty to use the word "<i>mistress</i>," throughout
these letters, in the sense appropriated to it by Addison, Johnson, and
other English classic authors. <i>Sweetheart</i> is too old-fashioned.
"<i>Lady-love</i>" suits the style of my fashionable nieces, better than
mine. <i>Mistress</i> is an authorized Saxon word, of well-defined meaning,
though, like some others, perverted to a bad use, at times.</p></div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a>
<h2><a name="LETTER_V" id="LETTER_V"></a>LETTER V.</h2>

<p class="chapterhead">MANNER&mdash;PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS.</p>

<p class="chapterstart">My dear Nephews:</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="firstwords">Though</span> good breeding is always and
everywhere essentially the same, there are phases of
daily life, especially demanding its exhibition.
<i>Manner in the street</i> is one of these.</p>

<p>Even in hours most exclusively devoted to business,
do not allow yourself to hurry along with a
clouded, absent face and bent head, as if you forever
felt the foot of the earth-god on your neck! Carry
an erect and open brow into the very midst of the
heat and burden of the day. Take time to see your
friends, as they cross you in the busy thoroughfares
of life and, at least by a passing smile or a gesture
of recognition, give token that you are not resolved
into a mere money-making machine, and both will
be better for this fleeting manifestation of the inner
being.</p>

<p>During business hours and in crowded business-streets
no man should ever stop another, whom he
knows to be necessarily constantly occupied at such
times, except upon a matter of urgent need, and then<a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a>
if he alone is to be benefited by the detention, he
should briefly apologize and state his errand in as
few words as possible.</p>

<p>But the habit of a cheerful tone of voice, a cordial
smile, and friendly grasp of the hand, when
meeting those with whom one is associated in social
life, is not to be regarded as unimportant.</p>

<p>If you do not intend to stop, when meeting a gentleman
friend, recognize him as you approach, by
a smile, and touching your hat salute him audibly
with&mdash;"Good morning, sir," or "I hope you are well,
sir," or (more familiarly), "Ah, Charley!&mdash;good
morning to you." But don't say, "How d' ye do,
sir," when you cannot expect to learn, nor call back
as you pass, something that will cause him to linger,
uncertain what you say.</p>

<p>If you wish to stop a moment, especially in a
thoroughfare, retain the hand you take, while you retire
a little out of the human current; and never fall
into the absurdity of attempting to draw a tight or
moistened glove while another waits the slow <a name="tn_png_129"></a><!--TN: Period added after "process"-->process.
It is better to offer the gloved hand as a rule, without
apology, in the street.</p>

<p>If you are compelled to detain a friend, when he
is walking with a stranger, briefly but politely
apologize to the stranger, and keep no one "in durance
vile" longer than absolute necessity requires.
When thus circumstanced yourself, respond cheerfully
and courteously to the apologetic phrase offered,
and, drawing a little aside, occupy yourself with anything
beside the private conversation that interrupts<a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a>
your walk. Sometimes circumstances render it
decorous to pass on with some courteous phrase, to
step into some neighboring bookseller's, etc., or to
make a rapid appointment for a re-union. Cultivate
the quick discernment, the ready tact, that will engender
<i>ease of manner</i> under those and similar circumstances
requiring prompt action.</p>

<p>Never leave a friend suddenly in the street, either
to join another, or for any other reason, without an
apology; the briefest phrase, expressed in a <i>cordial
tone</i>, will suffice, in an emergency.</p>

<p>Upon passing servants, or other inferiors in station,
whom you wish to recognize, in the street, it is a good
practice, without bowing or touching the hat, to salute
them in a kindly voice.</p>

<p>When you meet a gentleman whom you know,
walking with one or more ladies, with whom you are
not acquainted, bow with grave respect to them also.</p>

<p>Politeness requires that upon meeting ladies and
gentlemen together, with both of whom one is acquainted,
that one should lift the hat as he approaches
them, and bowing first to the ladies, include the gentleman
in a sweeping motion, or a succeeding bow,
as the case permits. Should you stop, speak first to
the lady, but do not offer to shake hands with a
lady in full morning costume, should your glove
be dark-colored or your hand uncovered. Again lift
your hat to each, in succession of age or rank, as a
substitute for this dubious civility, with some playful
expression, as "I am sorry my glove is not quite
fresh, Mrs.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, but you need no assurance of my<a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a>
being always the most devoted of your friends" or
"admirers," or "Really, Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, you are so beautifully
dressed, and looking so charmingly, that I
dare not venture too near!" And as you part, again
take your hat quite off, letting the party <i>pass you</i>,
and on the wall side of the street, if that be practicable.</p>

<p>In the street with other men, carefully give that
precedence to superior age or station which is so
becoming in the young, by taking the outer side of
the pavement, or that nearer the counter current,
as circumstances may make most polite. When you
give, or have an arm, carefully avoid all erratic movements,
and <i>keep step</i>, like a well-trained soldier!</p>

<p>Towards <i>ladies</i>, in the streets, the most punctilious
observance of politeness is due. Walking with them,
one should, of course, assume the relative position
best adapted to protect them from inconvenience or
danger, and carefully note and relieve them from the
approach of either. In attending them into a store,
&amp;c., always give them precedence, holding the door
open from without, if practicable. If compelled to
pass before them, to attend to this courtesy, say,
"allow me," or "with your permission," etc. Meeting
ladies, the hat should be taken off as you bow,
and replaced when you have passed, or, if you
pause to address them, politely raised again as you
quit them.</p>

<p>When you are stopped by a lady friend in the
street, at once place yourself so as best to shield
her from the throng, if you are in a crowd, or from<a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a>
passing vehicles, etc., and never by your manner indicate
either surprise or embarrassment upon such an
occasion. Allow <i>her</i> to terminate the interview,
and raise your hat quite off as you take leave of her.</p>

<p>When a stranger lady addresses an inquiry to you
in the street, or when you restore something she
has inadvertently dropped, touch your hat ceremoniously,
and with some phrase or <i>accent</i> of respect,
add grace to a civility.</p>

<p>If you have occasion to speak more than a word
or two to a lady whom you may meet in walking,
turn and accompany her while you say what you
wish, and, taking off your hat, when you withdraw,
express your regret at losing the further enjoyment
of her society, or the like.</p>

<p>If you wish to join a lady whom you see before you,
be careful in hurrying forward not to incommode her
(or others, indeed), and do not speak so hurriedly,
or loudly, as to startle her, or arrest attention, and
should you have only a slight acquaintance with her,
say, as you assume a position at her side, "With
your permission, madam, I will attend you," or
"Give me leave to join your walk, Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;" etc.</p>

<p>Of course, no well-bred man ever risks the possibility
of intrusion in this way, or ever speaks first
to a lady to whom he has only had a passing introduction.
In the latter case, you look at a lady as
you advance towards her, and await her recognition.</p>

<p>Speaking of an intrusion, you should be well assured
that you will not make an <i>awkward third</i> before
you venture to attach yourself to a lady and<a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a>
gentleman walking together, though you may even
know them very well; and the same rule holds good
in a picture-gallery, rococo-shop, or elsewhere, when
two persons, or a party, sit or walk together.</p>

<p>Every man is bound by the laws of courtesy, to note
any street accident that imperils ladies, and at once
to hasten to render such service as the occasion requires.
Promptitude and self-possession may do good
service to humanity and the fair, at such a juncture.</p>

<p>Should you observe ladies whom you know, unattended
by a gentleman, alighting from or entering a
carriage, especially if there is no footman, and the
driver maintains his seat, at once advance, hold the
door open, and offer your hand, or protect a dress
from the wheel, or the like, and bowing, pass on, all
needed service rendered; or, if more familiarity and
your own wish sanction it, accompany them where
they may chance to be entering.</p>

<p>No general rule can be laid down respecting offering
the arm to ladies in the street. Where persons
are known and reside habitually, local custom will
usually be the best guide. At night, the arm should
always be tendered, and so in ascending the multiplied
steps of a public building, etc., for equally
obvious reasons. For similar cause, you go before
ladies into church, into a crowded concert-room, etc.,
wherever, in short, they are best aided in securing
seats, and escaping jostling, by this precedence of
them. When attending a stranger lady, in visiting the
noted places of your own city, or the like, and when
one of a party for a long walk, or of travellers, it may<a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a>
often be an imperative civility to proffer the arm.
To relatives, or elderly ladies, this is always a proper
courtesy, as it is to every woman, when you can thus
most effectually secure her safety or her comfort.</p>

<p>Do not forget, when walking with elderly people,
or ladies, to moderate the headlong speed of your
usual step.</p>

<p>I will here enter my most emphatic protest against
a practice of which ladies so justly complain,&mdash;the
too-frequent rudeness of men in stationing themselves
at the entrance of churches, concert-rooms,
opera houses, etc., for the express purpose, apparently,
of staring every modest woman who may
chance to enter, out of countenance. No one possessed
of true good-breeding will indulge in a
practice so at variance with propriety. If occasion
demands your thus remaining stationary upon the
steps or in the portico of a public edifice, make
room, at once, for ladies who may be entering, and
avoid any appearance of curiosity regarding them.
A similar course is suitable when occupying a place
upon the steps, or at the windows of a pump-room
at a watering-place, or of a hotel. Carefully avoid
all semblance of staring at ladies passing in the
street, alighting from a carriage, etc., and make no
comment, even of a complimentary nature, in a voice
that can possibly reach their ears. So, when walking
in the street, if beauty or grace attract your
attention, let your regard be respectful, and, even
then, not too fixed. An audible comment or exclamation,
addressed to a companion, a laugh, a fami<a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a>liar
stare, are each and all, when any stranger, and
more especially a <i>woman</i>, is the subject of them,
unhandsome in the extreme.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Breakfasting one morning, at West Point, with an
agreeable Portuguese, we chatted for some time over
the newspapers and our coffee, as we sat within view
of one of the most beautiful landscapes it has ever
been my fortune to behold. At length our <i>un-American</i>
indulgence in this respect, became the
theme of conversation between us.</p>

<p>"Pardon me," said the elegant foreigner, "but
though the Americans are very kind&mdash;a very
pleasant people, they do not take enough of time for
these things, at all. They do not only eat in a
hurry, but they even <i>pass their friends</i> in the street,
sometimes, <i>without speaking to them</i>! I remember
last winter, in Philadelphia, where I was some
months, I met one day, in Chestnut street, a gentleman
whom I knew very well, and he passed me
without speaking. I made up my mind at once,
that this shall not happen again, so the next time
I saw him coming, I looked into a shop window,
or at something, and did not see him. He came to
me and said&mdash;"Good morning, Mr.&nbsp;A&mdash;&mdash;! what
is the matter with you, that you do not speak to
me?" or something like that. I answered, that he
had <i>cut</i> me in the street (I think that is what you
call it!) two or three days before, and that I never
will permit myself to be treated in this manner.<a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a>
Then he said, that I must excuse him, that he must
have been <i>in business</i> and did not see me, and so
on. But this is not the way of a <i>gentleman</i> in my
country!"</p>

<p>You must imagine for yourselves the double effect,
lent to the words of my companion by his foreign
action and imperfect pronunciation, and the slight
curl of his dark moustache as he emphasized the
words I have underscored.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"What a harum-scarum fellow that James Condon
is!" exclaimed a young lady, in my hearing.
"I had reason to repent declining to drive to the
concert last night, I assure you! The moon, upon
which I had counted, was obscured, and he not only
hurried me along (though we had plenty of time,
as I was quite ready when he came), at breathless
speed, but actually dragged me over a heap of
rubbish, in crossing the street, upon which I nearly
tumbled down, though I had his arm. When we
reached the place, I was so heated and flurried that
I could not half enjoy the music, and this morning
I find not only that my handsome new boots are
completely spoiled, but that I have any quantity of
lime upon the bottom of the dress I wore, and my
pretty fan, which he must needs insist upon carrying
for me, sadly broken!"</p>

<p><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a></p><hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"I have seen everything and everybody I wish,
in London, except the Duke of Wellington," said
a sprightly lady whose early morning walk past
Apsley House&mdash;the town residence of the Iron
Duke&mdash;I was attending some years since, "every
distinguished man, except the Hero of Waterloo.
I hope I shall not lose that pleasure!"</p>

<p>"You may have that pleasure now, madam!"
exclaimed a gentleman, passing us and rapidly walking
forward, in whose erect figure and very narrow
brimmed hat, I at once recognized the object of my
companion's hitherto unsatisfied curiosity.</p>

<p>Strolling in Kensington Park, during that same
morning, and at an hour too unfashionably early for
a crowd, with my fair charge, I drew her gently aside,
as she leaned on my arm, from some slight obstruction
in our path, which she did not observe, and which
might otherwise have incommoded her.</p>

<p>"Really Colonel Lunettes," said she, "your watchful
politeness reminds me of my dear father's. You
gentlemen of the old school so much surpass modern
beaux in courtesy! I well remember the last walk
I had in Broadway with papa, before we sailed.
Mrs.&nbsp;W&mdash;&mdash; and I were making a morning visit,
quite up town for us Brooklynites&mdash;in Union Place,
upon a bride, when who should also arrive but papa.
When we took leave, he accompanied us, and finding
that we had taken a fancy to walk all the way to the
ferry, insisted upon going with us&mdash;only think,
at his age, and so luxurious in his habits, too! As<a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a>
he is a little hard of hearing, and likes always to
talk with Mrs.&nbsp;W&mdash;&mdash;, who is a great favorite of
his, I insisted upon his walking between us&mdash;that I
might have his arm, and yet not interfere with his conversation.
This, of course, brought me on the outside.
But I cannot describe to you the watchful care he
had for me, all the way. At the slightest crowding
he held me so firmly&mdash;saw every swerve of the
vehicles towards us, and would hold my dress away
from every rough box or so, that lumbered the
sidewalk, and every now and then he would say&mdash;'Minnie,
wouldn't you be more comfortable on my
other arm? I am afraid you will be hurt there!' At
the Brooklyn ferry he was to leave us, as he could
not go over to dine that day. Seeing a crowd at
the door of the office, he hastened a little before us
to pay the fare, and then saw us safely through the
press, taking leave of me as politely as of Mrs.
W&mdash;&mdash;. 'What an elegant gentleman your father
is!' cried out Mrs.&nbsp;W&mdash;&mdash;, as soon as he was gone,
'he always reminds me of the descriptions we read
of the chivalrous courtesy of knights of olden time;
it is like listening to a heroic ballad to be with
him, and receive his politeness.' I know you won't
laugh at me, Colonel, when I say that the memory
of that simple incident is still as fresh in my heart,
as though no ocean voyage and long travel had
come between; and I can truly say that I was
prouder of my <i>cavalier attendant</i> that day, than I
ever was of all the young men together, who ever
walked Broadway, with me." The tremulous tones,<a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a>
the glistening eyes, and the glowing cheeks of <a name="tn_png_139"></a><!--TN: "the the" changed to "the"-->the
fair young speaker attested the truth of her
filial boast, and I&mdash;but you must draw your own
<a name="tn_png_139a"></a><!--TN: Quote removed after "morals!"-->morals!</p>

<p>Presently we resumed our chat, and the theme of
the moment together.</p>

<p>"I well recollect," said my companion, in the
course of our discussion, "the impression produced
upon me, in my girlhood, by the manners of a young
gentleman, who was my groomsman at the wedding
of a young friend. Some of the lessons of good
breeding taught me by his example, I shall never
forget, I think. I was the most bashful creature in
the world at that time, and he quite won my heart
by the politeness with which he set me at ease, at
once, when he came to take me away in a carriage
to join my young friends. But that was not the
point: the next morning after the wedding, we were
all to attend the 'happy pair' as far as Saratoga, on
their wedding-tour; that is, the bridesmaids and
bridesmen. At Schenectady, we were put into an
old-fashioned car, divided into compartments. Just
as we were about to start, a singularly tall, gaunt,
Yankeefied-looking elderly woman scrambled into
our little box of a place, and seated herself. We
were fairly off, before she seemed fully to realize the
trials of her new position. She did not say, in the
language of the popular song,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'I think there must be danger<br></span>
<span class="i2">'Mong so many sparks!'<br></span>
</div></div><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a>

<p class="continue">but she looked as though she feared having fallen
among the Philistines; and, I am ashamed to say
that some of our merry party made no scruple of privately
amusing themselves with her peculiarities of
dress and manner. Mr.&nbsp;Henry, however (my <a name="tn_png_140"></a><!--TN: "grooms man" changed to "groomsman"-->groomsman),
addressed some polite remarks to her, in so grave
and respectful a manner as soon to convince her of his
sincerity, and as carefully watched the sparks that
fell upon her thick worsted gown, as those that annoyed
the rest of us. At the first stopping-place, you
may be very sure that the unwilling intruder was in
haste to change her seat.</p>

<p>"'Do you wish to get out, madam!' inquired Mr.
Henry; 'allow me to help you;' and bounding out,
he assisted her down the high step, as carefully and
respectfully as though she were some high dame of
rank and fashion. I am afraid that, though I did
not actually join in the merriment of my thoughtless
friends, I deserved the sting of conscience that served
to fasten this little incident so firmly in my remembrance.
Perhaps I was, for this reason, the more
impressed by another proof of the ever-ready politeness
of this gentleman, who made such an impression
upon my girlish fancy. We dined at Ballston, on
our way to Saratoga, and after dinner, I asked Mr.
Henry, with whom, in spite of my first awe of his
superiority of years and polish, I began to feel quite
at ease, to run down with me to one of the Springs,
for a glass of water, before we should resume our
journey. So he good-naturedly left the gentlemen
(<i>now</i> I know that he may have wished to smoke)<a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a>
together at the table, and accompanied me. But
now for my <i>dénoűment</i>. Just as we were in a narrow
place, between a high, steep bank and the track,
the cars came rushing towards us. In an instant,
<i>quicker</i> than thought, Mr.&nbsp;Henry had transferred me
from the arm next the cars&mdash;because more removed
from the edge of the bank&mdash;to the other arm, thus
placing his person between me and any passing danger,
and with such a quiet, re-assuring manner! You
smile, Colonel&mdash;but, really&mdash;well, you see what an
impression it made upon my youthful sensibilities!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"Oh, girls, such a charming adventure as I had
this evening!" exclaimed Margaret, as a bevy of fair
young creatures clustered together before the fire in
a drawing-room where I was seated after dinner, with
my newspaper. My attention was arrested by the
peculiar animation with which these words were pronounced,
and I glanced at the group, over the top of
my spectacles. They reminded me of so many brilliant-hued
butterflies, in their bright-colored winter
dresses, and with their light, wavy motions as they
settled themselves, one on a pile of cushions, others
on a low ottoman, and two pretty fairies on the
hearth-rug, each uttering some exclamation of gratification
at the prospect of amusement.</p>

<p>"Now, don't expect anything extraordinary or
dreadful, you silly creatures; I have no 'hair-breadth
'scapes by land or sea' to entertain you with. Can't<a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a>
one have a 'charming adventure,' and yet have nothing
to tell?"</p>

<p>"But do tell us all there is to tell, dear Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;.
Do, please, this very moment," entreated one of the
fairies, linking her arms around her companion, and
mingling her golden ringlets with the darker locks of
the head upon which her own lovingly rested. And
a little concert of similar pleadings followed. This
prelude over, the tantalizing adventuress began:</p>

<p>"Before I went over to New York this morning,
I wrote a little note to Mary Bostwick, telling her all
about our arrangements for the Christmas-tree, and
charging her not to fail to come to us on Christmas
eve, and all about it, for fear that, as I had so much
to accomplish, I might not be able to go up to
Twenty-third street, and return home in time to meet
you all here. My plan was to keep it until I was
decided, and then, if obliged to send it, to put it in
one of the City Express letter-boxes. Well, by the
time I was through with all my important errands,
it was time for me to turn my steps homeward. So,
happening last at Tiffany's, to get the&mdash;I mean, I
asked at Tiffany's for one of the places where a box
is kept in that neighborhood, and was told that
there was one in a druggist's, quite near&mdash;just above.
Hurrying along, I must have passed the place, and
stopped somewhere not far below 'Taylor's,' to see
exactly where I was. Time was flying, and it was
really almost growing dark; so I ventured to inquire
of a gentleman who was passing, though an entire
stranger, for the druggist's.<a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a></p>

<p><a name="tn_png_143"></a><!--TN: Quotation marks corrected to show single quotes for dialogue and double quotes at the start of paragraphs throughout this anecdote on pages 143 and 144-->
"'I think it is below, near the Astor House,' said
he, with such an appearance of interest as to embolden
me to mention what I was in search of.</p>

<p>"'If that is all,' he replied, 'I dare say there is
one nearer. Let me see,' glancing around, 'I think
there is one on the opposite corner&mdash;I will see.'</p>

<p>"'I have no right to give you that trouble, sir,'
said I.</p>

<p>"'Yes you have&mdash;it is what every man owes to
your sex.'</p>

<p>"'You are very good, sir; but I am sure I can
make the inquiry for myself.'</p>

<p>"'No, it is a tavern, where you cannot properly
go alone! Remain here, and I will ascertain for
you.'</p>

<p>"Before I could repeat my thanks, the gentleman
was half across the street.</p>

<p>"Hoping to facilitate matters, I followed him to
the opposite pavement, and stood where he would
observe me upon coming out of the door I had seen
him enter. I held the note and my porte-monnaie
ready in my hand.</p>

<p>"'There is a box here,' said my kind friend,
returning, 'if you will intrust me with your letter,
I will deposit it for you.'</p>

<p>"'You are very good, sir; I would like to pay it,'
I answered, opening my porte-monnaie.</p>

<p>"He took the letter quickly, and prevented my
intended offer of the postage so decidedly, that I did
not dare insist. But, by this time, I really could not<a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a>
refrain from the expression of more than an ordinary
acknowledgment:</p>

<p>"'I have to thank you, sir,' said I, 'not only for
a real kindness to a stranger, but for a <i>pleasant
memory</i>, which I shall not soon lose. Such courtesy
is too unusual to be soon forgotten! 'How far one
little candle sometimes throws its rays!'&mdash;many
thanks and good evening, sir!'</p>

<p>"I had still one more errand in Canal street, but I
stayed on the 'unfashionable side' of the street, and
went up, to avoid the awkwardness of re-crossing
with the gentleman, and the possibility of imposing
any further tax upon his politeness&mdash;bless him! I
wasn't half as weary after I met him, and my heart
has been in a glow ever since!"</p>

<p>"Bravo!" "Bravissimo!" echoed round the
room, in various waves of silvery sound.</p>

<p>"Is that all, Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;?" inquired the only <i>boy</i> of
the party, unless you except the approach to second
childhood ensconced behind the newspaper, and
now acting the amiable part of <i>reporter</i>, for your
benefit.</p>

<p>"All, unless I add that I occasionally glanced cautiously
over, to catch the form of my kind friend, as I
hurried along, that I might not again cross his path;
but I did not 'calculate' successfully after all; for,
as I ran across Broadway, at Canal street corner, he
was a little nearer than I had expected. I bowed
slightly, and hurried on:&mdash;but wasn't it beautiful?
Such chivalrous sentiments towards women: '<i>It is
what we all owe your sex!</i>' And his manner was<a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a>
more expressive than his words&mdash;so gentle and quiet!
No stage effect"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"But you quoted Shakespeare," insinuated a
pretty piece of malice on the ottoman.</p>

<p>"I couldn't help it, if I did! I was surprised out
of the use of ordinary language by an extraordinary
occasion. If you are going to ridicule me, I shall
be sorry I told you; for it is one of the pleasantest
things that has happened to me in a great while!
There was I, in my <i>incognito-dress</i>, as I call it, weary
and pale, nothing about me to attract interest, I am
sure! I wish such men were more common in this
world, they would elevate the race!"</p>

<p>"I declare, cousin Maggie, you are growing enthusiastic!
I haven't seen such beaming eyes and such
a brilliant color for a long time! Was this most
gallant knight of yours a <i>young</i> gentleman, may
I ask?"</p>

<p>The lady thus questioned seemed to reflect a
moment before she replied:</p>

<p>"If you mean to inquire whether he was a whiskered,
moustached <i>élégant</i>, not a bit of it! I
should not have addressed such a man in the street.
On the contrary, he was"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"<i>Married</i>, I am afraid!" interrupted pretty mischief
on the ottoman, giggling behind her next
neighbor.</p>

<p>"I dare say he may have been," pursued the narrator,
quietly. "No very young man, even if he had
wished to be polite to a stranger neither young nor
beautiful, which is very doubtful, would have exhi<a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a>bited
the graceful self-possession and easy politeness
of this gentleman:&mdash;he was, probably, going to his
home in the upper part of the city after a business-day.
As I remember his dress, though, of course,
I had no thought about it at the time, it was the
simple, unnoticeable attire of an American gentleman
when engaged in business occupations&mdash;everything
about him, as I recall his presence, was in keeping&mdash;unostentatious,
quiet, appropriate! I shall long
preserve his portrait in my picture-gallery of memory,
and I am proud to believe that he is my own
countryman!"</p>

<p>"Cousin Maggie always says," remarked one of
her auditors, "that Americans are the most truly
polite men she has met"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Yes," returned the enthusiast, "though sometimes
wanting in mere surface-polish&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">'Where'er I roam, whatever lands I see,<br></span>
<span class="i0">My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to'&mdash;&mdash;<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">my own dear, honored countrymen&mdash;more truly chivalrous,
more truly just towards our sex, than the
men of any other land! I never yet appealed to
one of them for aid, for courtesy, <i>as a woman, and
as a woman should</i>, in vain. And I never, scarcely,
am so placed as to have occasion for kindness&mdash;real
kindness&mdash;without receiving it, unasked. The other
day, for instance, caught in a sudden shower, I stood
waiting for a stage, 'down town,' in Broadway.
There was such a jam that I was afraid to try and
get into one that stopped quite near the sidewalk.<a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a>
A policeman, at that moment, asked me whether I
wished to get in, and, holding my arm, stepped over
the curb with me. 'I don't know what the ladies
would do without the aid of your corps, sometimes,
in these crowds,' said I.</p>

<p>"'If the ladies will accept our services, we are
proud, madam,' answered he.</p>

<p>"'I am very glad to do so,' returned I; and well
I might, for, at that instant, as I was on the point of
setting my foot on the step of the omnibus, the horse
attached to a cart next behind suddenly started forward,
and left no space between his head and the
door of the stage. I shrunk back, as you may imagine,
and said I would walk, in spite of the rain.
But the policeman encouraged me, and called out to
the carman to fall back. At that instant, I observed
a gentleman come out upon the step of the stage.
With a single imperious gesture, and the sternest
face, he drove back the horse, and springing into
the omnibus, held the door open with one hand, and
extended the other to me. To be sure, the policeman
almost pinched my arm in two, in his effort to
keep me safe, but I was, at last, seated with whole
bones and a grateful heart, at the side of my brave,
kind champion. As soon as I recovered breath, I
was curious to see again the face whose expression
had arrested my attention (of course, I did not wait
for breath to <i>thank</i> him), and to note the external
characteristics of a man who would impulsively render
such service to a woman&mdash;like Charles Lamb&mdash;(dear,
gentle Charles Lamb!) holding his umbrella<a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a>
over the head of a washerwoman, because she was a
<i>woman</i>! Well, my friend was looking straight before
him, apparently wholly unconscious of the existence
of the trembling being he had so humanely
befriended, with the most impenetrable face imaginable,
and a sort of abstracted manner. Presently I
desired to open the window behind me&mdash;still not
quite recovered from my fright and flutter. Almost
before my hand was on the glass, my courteous
neighbor relieved me of my task. Again I rendered
cordial thanks, and again, as soon as delicacy permitted,
glanced furtively at the face beside me.
Nothing to reward my scrutiny was there revealed;
the same absorbed, fixed expression, the same seeming
unconsciousness! But can you doubt that a
noble, manly nature was veiled beneath that calm
face and quiet manner&mdash;a nature that would gleam
out in an instant, should humanity prompt, or
wrong excite? And I could tell you numberless
such anecdotes&mdash;all illustrative of my favorite
theory."</p>

<p>"So could we all," said another lady, "I have no
doubt, if we only remembered them."</p>

<p>"I never forget anything of that kind," returned
Margaret. "It is to me like a strain of fine music,
<i>acted poetry</i>, if I may use such a phrase. Such incidents
make, for me, the <i>poetry of real life</i>, indeed!
They inspire in my heart,</p>

<p class="centerpoem">'The still, <i>sweet</i> music of humanity.'"</p>
<a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a>

<p>One magnificent moonlight night, while I was in
Rome with your cousins and the W&mdash;&mdash;s, a party
was formed to visit the Coliseum. That whimsical
creature, Grace, whom I had more than once detected
in a disposition to fall behind the rest of the company,
as we strolled slowly through the ruins, at length
stole up to me, as I paused a little apart from the
group, and twining her arm within mine, whispered
softly:</p>

<p>"<i>Do</i>, dear Uncle Hal, come this way with me for
a few moments!"</p>

<p>Yielding to the impulse she gave me, we were
presently disengaged from our companions, and,
leaning, as if by mutual agreement, against a pillar.</p>

<p>"What a luxury it is to be quiet!" exclaimed your
cousin, with a sigh of relief. "How that little Miss
B&mdash;&mdash; <i>does</i> chatter! Really it is profanation to
think or speak of common things to-night, and here!"</p>

<p>"Well, my fair Epicurean," returned I, "since</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;'Silence, like a poultice comes<br></span>
<span class="i0">To heal the blows of sound,'<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">you shall reward me for my indulgence in attending
you, by repeating some of Byron's <i>apropos</i> lines,
for me as we stand here"&mdash;</p>

<p>"At your pleasure, dear uncle."</p>

<p>Presently she began, in a subdued tone, as if afraid
of disturbing the dreams of another, or as if half
listening while she spoke to the tread of those<a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">'Whose distant footsteps echo<br></span>
<span class="i0">Through the corridors of Time;'<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">but gradually losing all consciousness, save that of
the inspiration of the bard, our fair enthusiast reached
a climax of eloquence with the words&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i11">'The azure gloom<br></span>
<span class="i0">Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume<br></span>
<span class="i0">Hues which have words, and speak to ye of Heaven,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Floats o'er this vast and wondrous <a name="tn_png_150"></a><!--TN: Double quote removed after "monument,'"-->monument,'&mdash;<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">and she stretched out her arm, with an impulsive
gesture, as she spoke. I perceived a sudden recoil,
at the instant, of her dilating form, and, before
I could devise an explanation, heard the words,
"You are my prisoner, madam," and discovered a
gentleman standing in the deep shadow of the pillar,
close at her side, busily endeavoring to disentangle
the fringe of her shawl from the buttons of his coat.</p>

<p>I remembered, afterwards, having noticed in passing,
sometime before, a shadowy figure standing with
folded arms and upturned face, half lost in the deep
shadow of a pillar, apparently quite unconscious of
the vicinity of the chattering ephemera fluttering by
his retreat. I at once surmised that Grace and I had
approached from the other side, and inadvertently stationed
ourselves near this <a name="tn_png_150a"></a><!--TN: "asthetical" changed to "ćsthetical"-->ćsthetical devotee&mdash;so near
that your cousin, in the excitement of her eloquence,
had fastened a lasso upon the dress of the stranger.</p>

<p>"You are my prisoner, madam," he said, in French.
The words were simple enough, not so apposite but<a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a>
that many an one might have uttered them under
similar circumstances. Yet they were replete with
meaning, conveyed by the subtle aid of intonation
and of <i>manner</i>. The most chivalrous courtesy, the
most exquisite refinement, were fully expressed in
that brief sentence.</p>

<p>"I have no fears either for my purse, or my life,"
returned the quick-witted lady thus addressed, aiding
in the required disentanglement.</p>

<p>"You need have none," rejoined the gentleman,
"though the laws of chivalry entitle me to demand a
goodly ransom for so fair a prize"&mdash;glancing politely
towards me.</p>

<p>"Accept, at least, the poor guerdon of this token
of my thanks," said the enthusiast of the moment,
tendering a beautiful flower, which was opportunely
loosened from her bosom by the slight derangement
of her dress.</p>

<p>"It will be a treasured memento," answered the
stranger, receiving the proffered gift with graceful
respect, and, bowing with the most courtly deference,
he walked rapidly away, as loth, by lingering one
needless moment, to seem intrusive.</p>

<p>"What a voice!" exclaimed Grace, as the retreating
figure disappeared behind the fragment of a
fallen column, "blithe as the matin tone of a lark,
and"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Clear as the note of the clarion that startled you
so upon the Appian Way, the other day," I suggested,
"and indeed, I am not sure that there was
not a little tremor in your fingers, this time, my brave<a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a>
lady, and that you did not hold just a little tighter
fast the arm of your old uncle."</p>

<p>"What nonsense, Uncle Hal!&mdash;could anything
be more delicately reassuring&mdash;admitting that I was
startled, at first,&mdash;than the whole bearing of the
gentleman?"</p>

<p>"Should you know him again?" I questioned.</p>

<p>"I think I should, were it only by the diamond he
wore," she replied, with a little laugh at the woman's
reason. "Did you observe it uncle, as his macintosh
was opened by the pulling of that silly fringe&mdash;really
it might grace the crescent of Dian herself,
on a gala-night&mdash;it was a young star! but I also saw
his face distinctly as he raised his hat."</p>

<p>Well, now for the <i>dénoűment</i> of my story&mdash;for
every romantic adventure should properly have a
<i>dénoűment</i>.</p>

<p>As we were all riding on the Campagna a few
days afterwards, the usual intimation was given of
the approach of the <i>cortége</i> of the Pope. Of course
we went through the mummery of withdrawing,
while the poor old man was hurried along in his airing.
Standing thus together, a party of gentlemen
rode rapidly up, and, recognizing some of our party,
joined us.</p>

<p>Scarcely were the usual greetings over, when
Grace, reining her horse near me, said, in a low tone:
"Uncle, there is the 'bright particular star' of the
other night in the Coliseum; I know I am not mistaken."</p>

<p>And so it proved&mdash;the polished, graceful stranger<a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a>
was not a Prince <i>incognito</i>, not even an acreless
count, whose best claim to respect consisted in hereditary
titles and courtly manners, but a <i>young American
artist</i>, full of activity, enthusiasm and genius,
who had not forgotten to give beauty to the casket,
because it enshrined a gem of high value.</p>

<p><i>Apropos</i> of gems&mdash;I afterwards learned that the
superb brilliant he always wore on his breast was a
token of the gratitude of a distinguished and munificent
patron and friend, for whom this child of feeling
and genius had successfully incarnated all that
was earthly of one loved and lost.</p>

<p>We subsequently became well acquainted with our
gifted countryman, and a right good fellow he proved.
We met him constantly in society, while at Florence&mdash;the
Italian <i>Paradise of Americans</i>, as Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;
always called it&mdash;where his genial manners, the type
of a genial nature, made him a general favorite, as
well with natives as foreigners.</p>

<p>Soon after he was named to me that day on the
Campagna, your cousin, who had again moved from
my side, turned her face towards us. The movement
arrested the attention of my companion&mdash;he glanced
inquiringly at me.</p>

<p>"I think I am not mistaken, sir; have we not met
before?" and the same exquisite courtesy illumined
his face that had so impressed me previously. "May
I ask the honor of a presentation to my sometime
prisoner?"</p>

<p>"Really, sir," I overheard Grace confessing, in her
sprightliest tones, as, the two parties uniting for the<a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a>
nonce, we all rode on together; "really, sir, I remember
to have been secretly rejoiced at having left
my heart, watch, and other valuables, safely locked
up at home, when I found myself in such a dangerous-looking
neighborhood."</p>

<p>"And <i>I</i> still indulge the regret that my profession
did not fully entitle me to retain possession, not only
of the shawl, which, no doubt, was a camel's hair
of unknown value, but of the embodied poetry it
enwrapped."</p>

<p>"You seem quite to overlook the fact that I was
guarded, like a damsel of old, by a doughty knight."</p>

<p>I wish I could half describe the dextrous twirl of
the moustache, and the quickly-shadowed brow that
suddenly transformed that luminous and honest face
into that of the dark, moody brigand, as, fumbling
in his bosom the while, as about to unsheath a dagger,
he growled, in mock-heroic manner&mdash;"It were
easy to find means to silence such an opponent, with
such a reward in view!"</p>

<p>The merry laugh with which Grace received this
sally, proved that she, at least, liked the <i>versatility
of manner</i> possessed by her gallant attendant.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Touching the electric chain of memory, causes
another link to vibrate, and I am reminded of my promise,
made in a former letter, to tell you about the
American girl whose beautiful arm threw Powers
into raptures.<a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a></p>

<p>You will, perhaps, recollect that I alluded to my
having met abroad the heroine of the <i>cornelian pâté</i>
anecdote. I assure you, I had ample occasion, more
than once, to be proud of my lovely countrywoman,
in the most distinguished European circles&mdash;and by
that term I do not refer to distinction created by
mere rank. But to my tale:</p>

<p>One day, during our mutual sojourn in her well-named
Italian "Paradise," Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, and her father,
in accordance with a previous arrangement, called
at my lodgings, to take me with them to a dinner at
the Palace de &mdash;&mdash;.</p>

<p>"I propose, as we have purposely come early, Col.
Lunettes, in the hope of finding you at leisure, that
we shall drop in at Powers' studio, a few minutes;
it is in our direct way, and he will be there, as I
happen to know. I so wish to know your impression
of papa's bust."</p>

<p>While I was enjoying a chat with the presiding
genius of the scene, a little apart from a group
gathered about some object of peculiar interest, a
sudden glow of enthusiasm lighted his eye, as with
Promethean fire.</p>

<p>"Heavens, what an arm!" exclaimed Powers.
"Oh, for the art to <i>petrify</i> it!" he added, with an
expressive gesture, the <i>furore</i> of the artist rapidly
enkindling.</p>

<p>Following the direction of his glance, I beheld
what might well excite admiration in a less discriminating
spectator. The velvet mantle that had
shrouded the gala dress of Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash; having fallen<a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a>
from her shoulders, disclosed the delicate beauty of
the uncovered arm and hand, which she was eagerly
extending towards the marble before her.</p>

<p>"Remain just as you now stand, for a moment,"
said I, "and let me see what I can do for you."</p>

<p>"Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;," I asked, advancing towards my fair
friend, "will you let me invite your attention to this
new study? It is entitled 'The Artist's Prayer,' and
is supposed to impersonate the petition, 'Petrify it,
O, ye gods!'"</p>

<p>Of course, this led to a brief and laughing explanation.</p>

<p>"Happily, no earthly Powers can achieve that
transformation!" exclaimed the Lucifer of the Coliseum,
who was present, "but all will join in the
entreaty that we may be permitted to possess an
<i>imitation</i> of so beautiful an original."</p>

<p>I am not permitted to disclose the secrets of the
inner temple; but many of you will yet behold the
loveliness that so charmed the lovers of art, moulded
into eternal marble.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a>
<h2><a name="LETTER_VI" id="LETTER_VI"></a>LETTER VI.</h2>

<p class="chapterhead" style="letter-spacing:.3em;">MANNER, CONTINUED.</p>

<p class="chapterhead">RULES FOR VISITING, AND FOR MANNER IN SOCIETY
GENERALLY.</p>


<p class="chapterstart">My dear Nephews:</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="firstwords">Having</span> attempted, in my last two letters,
with what success you will best judge, to give you
some practical hints respecting manner at home and
in the street, suppose we take up, next, the consideration
of the conduct proper in <i>Visiting</i>, and on
public occasions, generally.</p>

<p>Among the minor obligations of social life, perhaps
few things are regarded as more formidable by
the unpractised, than ceremonious <i>morning visits to
ladies</i>. And perhaps, among the simple occurrences
of ordinary existence, few serve more fully to illustrate
individual tact, self-possession, and conversational
skill.</p>

<p>Without aiming at much method in so doing, I
will endeavor to furnish you with a few directions
of general applicability.</p>

<p>Hours for making morning calls are somewhat
varied by place and circumstance; but, as a rule,<a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a>
twelve o'clock is the earliest hour at which it is
admissible to make a visit of ceremony. From
that time until near the prevailing dinner-hour, in a
small town, or that known to be such in particular
instances, one may suit one's convenience.</p>

<p>It is obviously unsuitable, usually, to prolong an
interview of this kind beyond a very moderate
length, and hence, as well as for other reasons, the
conversation should be light, varied, and appropriate
to outward circumstances.</p>

<p>It is proper to send your card, not only to
announce yourself to strangers to whom you may
wish to pay your respects, but to all ladies with
whom you are not upon very intimate terms, and
at a private house, to designate intelligibly to the
servant who receives your card, the individual, or
the several persons, whom you wish to see.</p>

<p>If you go to a hotel, etc., for this purpose, write the
name of the lady or ladies, for whom your visit is
designed, upon your card, <i>above</i> your own name, in
a legible manner, and await the return of the messenger,
to whom you intrust it, <i>where you part from
him</i>. If, upon his return, you are to remain for
your friends, and there be a choice of apartments
for that purpose, unless you choose to station yourself
within sight of the stairs they must of need
descend, or the corridor through which they must
pass, let the porter in attendance distinctly understand
not only your name, but where you are to be found,
and if possible, give him some clue to the identification
of the friends you wish to see. After a few<a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a>
vexatious mistakes and misapprehensions, you will
admit the wisdom of these precautionary measures, I
have no doubt. When you are shown into the drawing-room
of a private residence, if the mistress of the
mansion is present, at once advance towards her.
Should she offer her hand, be prompt to receive it,
and for this purpose, take your hat, stick, and right-hand
glove (unless an occasion of extreme ceremony
demands your wearing the latter), in your left hand,
as you enter. If your hostess does not offer her
hand, when she rises to receive you, simply bow, as
you pay your compliments, and take the seat she
designates, or that the servant places for you. When
there are other ladies of the same family present,
speak to each, in succession, according to age, or
other proper precedence, before you seat yourself.
If there are ladies in the room whom you do not
know, bow slightly to them, also, and if you are
introduced, after you have assumed a seat, rise and
bow to them. When men are introduced, they usually
mutually advance and shake hands; but the
intimation that this will be agreeable to her, should
always be the test when you are presented to a lady,
or when you address a lady acquaintance.</p>

<p>Some tact is necessary in deciding your movements
when you find yourself preceded by other
visitors, in making a morning call. If you have no
special reason, as a message to deliver, or an
appointment to make, for lingering, and discover
that you are interrupting a circle, or when you are
<a name="tn_png_159"></a><!--TN: "n" changed to "in"-->in the midst of strangers, where the conversation<a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a>
does not at once become general, upon your making
one of them, address a few polite phrases to your
hostess, if you can do so with ease and propriety
from your position with regard to her, and take
leave, approaching her nearly enough, when you
rise to go, to make your adieu audible, or to receive
her hand, should she offer it. To strangers, even
when you have been introduced, you, ordinarily, only
bow passingly, as you are about to quit the room.</p>

<p>Should you have a special object in calling upon
a lady, keep it carefully in view, that you may
accomplish it before you leave her presence. When
other visitors, or some similar circumstance, interfere
with the accomplishment of your purpose, you may
write what you wish upon a card in the hall, as you
go out, and intrust it to a servant, or leave a message
with him, or in case of there being objections to
either of those methods of communication, resort to
an appointment requested through him, or subsequently
write a note to that effect, or containing an
explanation of the object of your visit. When you
determine to outstay others at a morning reception,
upon the rising of ladies to depart, you rise also,
under all circumstances; and when they are acquaintances,
and unattended by a gentleman, accompany
them to the street-door, and to their carriage, if they
are driving, and then return to your hostess. Unacquainted,
you simply stand until ladies leave the
room, politely returning their parting salutation, if
they make one. Any appearance of a wish on the
part of those whom you chance to meet thus, for an<a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a>
<i>aside</i> conversation, will, of course, suggest the propriety
of occupying yourself until your hostess is at
leisure, with some subject of interest in the room&mdash;turn
to a picture, open a book, examine some article
of <i>bijouterie</i>, and, thus civilly unobtrusive, observe
only when it is proper for you to notice the separation
of the company.</p>

<p>As I have before said, in making a visit of mere
politeness, some passing topic of interest should succeed
the courteous inquiries, etc., that naturally
commence the conversation. Visiting a lady practised
in the usages of society, relieves one, very
naturally, from any necessity for <i>leading</i> the conversation.</p>

<p>When your object is to make an appointment,
give an invitation, etc., repeat the arrangement
finally agreed upon, distinctly and deliberately, upon
rising to go away, that both parties may distinctly
understand it, beyond the possibility of mistake.</p>

<p>In attending ladies who are making morning visits,
it is proper to assist them up the steps, ring the bell,
write cards, etc. Entering, always <i>follow</i> them into
the house and into the drawing-room, and wait until
they have finished their salutations, unless you have
to perform the part of presenting them. In that
case, you enter with them, or stand within the door
until they have entered, and advance beside them
into the apartment.</p>

<p>Ladies should always be the first to rise, in terminating
a visit, and when they have made their adieux,<a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a>
their cavaliers repeat the ceremony, and follow them
out.</p>

<p>When gentlemen call together, the younger, or
least in rank, gives careful precedence to others,
rendering them courtesies similar to those due to
ladies.</p>

<p>Soiled over-shoes, or wet over-garments, should,
on no account, be worn into an apartment devoted
to the use of ladies, unless they cannot be safely left
outside&mdash;as in the passage of a public house. In
such case, by no means omit an apology for the
necessary discourtesy.</p>

<p>When ladies are not in the apartment where you
are to pay your respects to them, advance to meet
them upon their entrance; and in the public room
of a hotel, meet them as near the door as possible,
especially if there is no gentleman with them, or
the room be previously occupied, and conduct them
to seats.</p>

<p>Never remain seated in the company of ladies
with whom you are ceremoniously associated, while
they are standing. Follow them to any object of
interest to which they direct your attention; place
a seat for them, if much time will be required for
such a purpose; ring the bell, bring a book; in
short, courteously relieve them from whatever may
be supposed to involve effort, fatigue, or discomfort
of any kind. It is, for this reason, eminently suitable
to offer the arm to ladies when ascending stairs.
Nothing is more absurd than the habit of <i>preceding<a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a>
them</i> adopted by some men&mdash;as if by following just
behind, as one should, if the arm is disengaged,
there can be any violation of propriety. Soiled frills
or unmended hose must have originated this vulgarity!
Tender the arm on the wall side of a lady,
mounting a stairs, that she may have the benefit of
the railing, and the fewer steps upon a landing; and
in assisting an invalid, or aged person, it is often
well to keep one step in advance. It is always
decorous to suit your pace to those you would
assist.</p>

<p>It is also a proper courtesy, always to relieve
ladies of their parcels, parasols, shawls, etc., when
ever this will conduce to their convenience, which
is especially the case, of course, when they are
occupied with the care of their dresses in ascending
steps, entering a carriage, or passing through a
crowd.</p>

<p>The rules of etiquette properly observable in
making ordinary ceremonious morning-visits, are
also applicable to <i>Morning Wedding-Receptions</i> with
slight variations. Of course, you do not then announce
yourself by a card. When previously acquainted
with her, you advance immediately to the
bride, and offer your <i>wishes for her future happiness</i>.
Never <i>congratulate</i> a lady upon her marriage; such
felicitations are, with good taste, tendered to the
bridegroom, not to the bride.</p>

<p>Having paid your compliments to the bride,
you shake hands with the groom, and bow to the
bride-maids, when you know them. The mother of<a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a>
the bride should then be sought. Here, again
refinement dictates the avoidance of too eager
congratulations. While expressing a cordial hope
that the parents have added to their prospects of
future pleasure in receiving a new member into
their family, do not insinuate, by your manner, the
conviction that they have no natural regret at resigning
their daughter</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"To another path and guide,<br></span>
<span class="i0">To a bosom yet untried."<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">It is not usual to sit down on such occasions; and it
is as obviously unsuitable to remain long, as it is to
engage the attention of those whom others may be
waiting to approach, beyond the utterance of a few
brief, well-chosen sentences.</p>

<p>When you require an introduction to the bride,
but are acquainted with her husband, you may
speak first to him, and so secure a presentation.
Usually a groomsman, or some other gentleman, is in
readiness to present unknown visitors. In that case,
should he, too, be a stranger to you, mention your
name to him, and any little circumstance by which
he may afford a passing theme or explanation, when
he introduces you&mdash;as, that you are a friend of her
father&mdash;promised your particular friend, her sister,
to pay your respects, etc.</p>

<p>On this, as in the instance of all similar occasions,
tact and good-taste must suggest the variations of
manner required by the greater or less degree of<a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a>
ceremony prevailing, and your individual relations
to those you visit.</p>

<p>In this connection I will add that a card may
sometimes be properly made a substitute for paying
one's respects in person&mdash;with a pencilled phrase of
politeness, or accompanied by a note. In either
case, an envelope of the most unexceptionable kind
should be used, and a note written with equal attention
to ceremony.</p>

<p>A <i>Visit of Condolence</i> is often most tastefully
made by going in person to the residence of your
friend, and leaving a courteous message, and your
card, with a servant. Much politeness is sometimes
expressed by the earliest possible call upon friends
just arrived from a journey, etc., or by leaving or
sending a card, with a pencilled expression of
pleasure, and of the intention of availing yourself
of the first suitable moment for paying your compliments
in person.</p>

<p>Visits upon New-Year's Day should be short, as a
rule, for the reasons before suggested, and it is not
usual to sit down, except when old friends urge it, or
when the presence of an elderly person, or an invalid,
demands the appearance of peculiar consideration.</p>

<p>On all occasions of ceremonious intercourse with
superiors in age and station, one or both, manner
should be regulated, as respects familiarity, or even
cordiality, <i>by them</i>. "He approached me with
<i>familiarity</i>, I repulsed him with <i>ceremony</i>," said a
man of rank, alluding to an impertinence of this
kind. Never be the first, under such circumstances,<a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a>
to violate the strict rules of convention. Their
observance is often the safeguard of sensibility, as
well as of self-respect.</p>

<p>Simple good-taste will dictate the most quiet, unnoticeable
bearing at <i>Church</i>. The saying of the
celebrated Mrs.&nbsp;Chapone, that "it was part of her
religion not to disturb the religion of others," is all
inclusive. To enter early enough to be fully established
in one's seat before the service commences,
to attend politely, but very unostentatiously, to the
little courtesies that may render others comfortable,
to avoid all rude staring, and all appearance of
inattention to the proper occupations of the occasion,
as well as every semblance of irreverence, will occur
to all well-bred persons as obviously required by
decorum. When necessitated to go late to church,
one should, as on all similar occasions, endeavor to
disturb others as little as possible; but with equal
studiousness avoid the vulgar exhibition of discomposure,
of over-diffidence, or of any consciousness,
indeed, of being observed, which so unmistakably
savors of low-breeding. I cannot too frequently
remind you that <i>self-possession</i> is one of the grand
distinctive attributes of a gentleman, and that it is
often best illustrated by a simple, quiet, successful
manner of meeting the exigencies and peculiarities
of circumstances.</p>

<p>Never wear your hat into church. Remove it in the
vestibule, and on no account resume it until you return
thither, unless health imperatively demands your
doing so just before reaching the door opening into it.<a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a></p>

<p>All nodding, whispering, and exchanging of
glances in church, is in bad taste. Even the latter
should not be indulged in, unless a very charming
woman is the provoking cause of the peccadillo, and
then very stealthily and circumspectly!</p>

<p>Salutations, even with intimate friends, should
always be very quietly exchanged, while one is still
within the body of the sacred edifice, and the "outer
court" of the house of God were better not the scene
of boisterous mirth, or rude jostling. Let me add,
here, that it is always proper, when compelled to
hurry past those of right before you, at church, or
elsewhere in a crowd, to apologize, briefly, but politely,
for discommoding any one.</p>

<p>Whenever you are in attendance upon ladies, as at
the opera, concerts, lectures, etc., there is entire propriety
in remaining with them in the seat you have
paid for, or secured by early attendance. No gentleman
should be expected to separate himself from
a party to give his place to a lady under such circumstances,
and in no country but ours would such a
request or intimation be made. But while it is quite
justifiable to retain the seat taken upon entering
such a public place, nothing is more wholly inadmissible
than crowding in and out of your place
repeatedly, talking and laughing aloud, mistimed
applauding, and the like. If you are not present for
the simple purpose of witnessing the performance,
whatever it may be, there are, doubtless, those who
are; and it is not only exceedingly vulgar, but
<i>immoral</i>, to invade their rights in this regard. Be<a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a>
careful, therefore, to secure your <i>libretto</i>, concert-bill,
or programme, as the case may be, before
assuming your seat; and when you have ladies with
you, or are one of a party, especially, as then you
cannot so readily accept the penalty of carelessness,
by not returning to your first seat. Should any unforeseen
necessity compel you to crowd past others,
and afterwards resume your seat, presume as little as
possible upon their polite forbearance, by great care
of dresses, toes, etc., and each time politely apologize
for the inconvenience you occasion. Let me repeat
that no excuse exists for the too-frequent rudeness
of disturbing others by fidgeting, whispering, laughing,
or applauding out of time. And even when
standing or moving about between the exercises, on
any public occasion, or the acts at a play-house, or
opera, well-bred people are never disregardful of
the rights and comfort of others.</p>

<p>In a picture-gallery, at an exhibition of marbles,
etc., nothing can be more indicative of a want of
refinement sufficient to appreciate true art, than the
impertinence exhibited in audible comments upon
the subjects before you, and in interfering with the
enjoyment of others by passing before them, moving
seats noisily, talking and laughing aloud, etc. With
persons of taste and refinement, there is an almost
religious sacredness in the presence of the creations
of genius, to desecrate which, is as vulgar
as it is irreverential of the beautiful and the good.
Always then, carry out the most scrupulous regard
of the rights and feelings of others, when yourself a<a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a>
devotee at the shrine of Ćsthetics, by attention to
the minutest forms of courtesy. This will dictate
leaving your place the moment you rise, carrying
everything with you belonging to you, and never
stopping to shawl ladies, don an overcoat, or dispose
of an opera-glass, until you can do so without
interrupting the comfort of those you leave behind
you.</p>

<p>When you wish to take refreshments, or to offer
them to ladies, at public entertainments, it is better
to repair to the place where they are served, as a
rule, unless it be in the instance of a single glass
of water, or the like; except when a party occupy
an opera-box, etc., exclusively.</p>

<p>Be careful never to attach yourself to a party
of which you were not originally one, at any time,
or place, unless fully assured of its being agreeable
to the gentlemen previously associated with ladies;
or if a gentleman's party only, attracts you, make
yourself quite sure that no peccadillo be involved in
your joining it, and in either case, let your manner
indicate your remembrance of the circumstance of
your properly standing in the relation of a <i>recipient</i>
of the civilities due to the occasion.</p>

<p>Some men practically adopt the opinion that the
courteous observances of social and domestic life
are wholly inapplicable to <i>business intercourse</i>. A
little consideration will prove this a solecism. Good
breeding is not a thing to be put off and on with
varying outward circumstance. If genuine, inherent,
it will always exhibit itself as certainly as<a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a>
integrity, or any other unalienable quality of an
individual. The manifestations of this characteristic
by <i>manner</i>, will, of course, vary with occasion, but
it will, nevertheless, be apparent at all times, and to
all observers, when its legitimate influence is rightly
understood and admitted.</p>

<p>Hence, then, though the observance of elaborate
ceremony in the more practical associations of busy
outer life would be absurdly inappropriate, that careful
respect for the rights and feelings of others, which
is the basis of all true politeness, should not, under
these circumstances, be disregarded.</p>

<p>The secret of the superior popularity of some business
men with their compeers and <i>employés</i>, lies
often, rather in <i>manner</i> than in any other characteristic.
You may observe, in one instance, a universal
favorite, to whom all his associates extend a welcoming
hand, as though there were magic in the ready
smile and genial manner, and who is served by his
inferiors in station with cheerfulness and alacrity, indicating
that a little more than a mere business bond
draws them to him; and again, an upright, but externally-repulsive
man, though always commanding
respect from his compeers, holds them aloof by his
frigidity, and receives the service of fear rather than
of love from those to whom he may be always just,
and even humane, if never sympathizing and unbending.</p>

<p>As I have before remarked, there is no occasion
where we are associated with others, that does not
demand the exhibition of a polite manner. Thus at<a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a>
a <i>public table</i>, no man should allow himself to feed
like a mere animal, wholly disregardful of those
about him, and, as too frequently happens, forgetful
of the proprieties that are observed when eating in
private. Only at the best conducted hotels are all
things so well and liberally appointed as to render
those who meet at public tables wholly independent
of each in little matters of comfort and convenience,
and a well-bred man may be recognized there, as everywhere
else, by his manner to those who may chance
to be near him. He will neither call loudly to a servant,
nor monopolize the services that should be
divided with others. His quick eye will discern a lady
alone, or an invalid, and his ready courtesy supply a
want, or proffer a civility, and he will not grudge a
little self-denial, or a few minutes' time, in exchange
for the consciousness of being true to himself, even
in trifles. Nor will he <i>ever</i> eat as though running a
race of life and death with Time! Health and decency
will alike prompt him to abstain wholly from
attempting to take a meal, rather than assimilate
himself to a ravenous brute, to gratify his appetite.
Let no plea of want of time ever induce you, I entreat,
to acquire the American habit of thus eating
in public. Even in the compulsatory haste of travelling,
there is no valid excuse for this unhealthy
and disgusting practice. And, with regard to daily
life at one's hotel, or the like, the man who is habitually
regardful of the value and right use of time,
may well and wisely permit himself the simple indulgence
and relaxation of <i>eating like a gentleman</i>!<a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a></p>

<p>While on this subject, permit me to remind you
of the impropriety of staring at strangers, listening
to conversation in which you have no part, commenting
audibly upon others, laughing and talking boisterously,
etc., etc. Let not even admiration tempt
you to put a modest woman out of countenance, by
a too fixed regard, nor let her even suspect that a nod,
a shrug, a significant whisper or glance had her for
their object. Good-breeding requires one to hear as
little as possible of the conversation of strangers, near
whom he may chance to be seated. We quietly
ignore their presence (as they should ours), unless
some exigency demands a courtesy; but we do not
disturb our neighbors by vociferousness, even in the
height of merriment, however harmless in itself.</p>

<p>Should a lady, even though an entire stranger, be
entering an eating-hall alone, or attended by another
gentleman, at the same moment with yourself, give
precedence to her, with a slight bow; and so, when
quitting the room, as well as to your acknowledged
superiors in age or position generally, and carefully
avoid such self-engrossment as shall engender inattention
to their observances. So, too, when meeting
a lady on a public stairs, or in a passage-way, give
place sufficiently to allow her to pass readily, touching
your hat at the same moment. In the same manner
remove a chair, or other obstacle that obstructs the
way of a lady in a hotel parlor, or on a piazza; avoid
placing a seat so as to crowd a lady, encroach upon
a party, or compel you to sit before others.</p>

<p>I admit that these are the <i>minutić</i> of manners, my<a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a>
dear fellows; but attention to them will increase your
self-respect, and give elevation to your general character,
just in proportion as <i>self</i> is subdued, and the
baser propensities of our nature kept habitually in
subserviency to the nobler qualities illustrated by
habitual good-breeding.</p>

<p>But to return. Though the circumstances must be
peculiar that sanction your addressing a lady with
whom you are unacquainted, in a public parlor, or
the like, you are not required by convention to appear
so wholly unconscious of her presence as to
retain your seat just in front of the only fire in the
room on a cold day, in the only comfortable chair, or
a place so near the only airy window on a hot one,
as to preclude her approach to it. Nor are you
bound to sit in one seat and keep your legs across
another, on the deck of a steamer, in a railroad car,
in a tavern, at a public exhibition, while women
<i>stand</i> near you, compelled by your <i>not knowing</i>
them! Let me hope, too, that no kinsman of mine
will ever feel an inclination, when appealed to for
information in some practical emergency, by one of
the dependent sex, to repulse her with laconic coldness,
though the appeal should chance when he is
hurrying along the public highway of life, or through
the most secluded of its by-paths.</p>

<p>Few young men, I must believe, ever remember
when in a large hotel, at night, with their companions,
that&mdash;opening into the corridors through which
they tramp like a body of mounted cavalry upon a
foray, with appropriate musical accompaniments<a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a>&mdash;may
be the apartments of the weary and the sick; or,
that, separated from the room in which they prolong
their nocturnal revels, by only the thinnest of partitions,
lies a timid and lonely woman, shrinking and
trembling more and more nervously at each successive
burst of mirth and song, or worse, that effectually
robs her of repose. Yet Sir Walter Raleigh, or
Sir Philip Sidney, might, perchance, have thought
even such a trifling peccadillo not un-note-worthy.</p>

<p>The same general rules that are applicable to manner
in public places, at hotels, etc., are almost
equally so in <i>travelling</i>, modified only by circumstances
and good sense.</p>

<p>A due consideration for the rights and feelings of
others, will be a better guide to true politeness than
a whole battery of conventionalisms. Courtesy to
ladies, to age, to the suffering, will here, as ever,
mark the true gentleman, as well as that habitual
refinement which interdicts the offensive use of
tobacco, where women sit or stand, or any other slovenliness
or indecorum.</p>

<p>Under such circumstances, as many others in real
life, never let cold ceremony deter you from rendering
a real service to a fellow-being, though you readily
avail yourself of its barriers to repel impertinence
or vulgarity. It is authentically recorded of
one of the loyal subjects of the little crowned lady
over the ocean, that, as soon as he was restored to
the privileges of civilization, after having been cast
away upon a desert island with only one other person,
he at once challenged his companion in misfor<a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a>tune
for having spoken to him, during their mutual
exile, without an introduction!</p>

<p>Should you indulge in any skepticism respecting
the literal truthfulness of this historical record, I can
personally vouch for the following: Our eccentric
and unhappy countryman, the gifted poet, P&mdash;&mdash;,
was once, while travelling, roused from a moody and
absorbing reverie, by the address of a stranger, who
said: "Sir, I am Mr.&nbsp;W&mdash;&mdash;, the author&mdash;you have
no doubt heard of me." The dreamy eye of the
contemplative solitaire lighted with a sudden fire,
as he deliberately scrutinized the intruder, then
quickly contracting each feature so that his physiognomy
changed at once to a very respectable imitation
of a spy-glass, he coolly inquired: "<i>Who the
devil did you say you are?</i>"</p>

<p>Practice and tact combined, can alone give a man
ease and grace of manner amid the varying demands
of social life, but systematic attention to details will
soon simplify whatever may seem formidable in regard
to it. No one but a fool or a monomaniac goes
on stumbling through his allotted portion of existence,
when he may easily learn to go without stumbling
at all, or only occasionally.</p>

<p>Thus, after experiencing the embarrassment of
keeping ladies, with whom you have been driving in
a hired carriage, standing in the rain, or sun, or in a
jostling crowd, while you are waiting for change to
pay your coach, or submitting to extortion, or searching
for your purse, you will, perhaps, resolve, when
you are next so circumstanced, to ascertain before-<a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a>hand,
if possible, exactly what you should lawfully
pay, to have your money ready before reaching your
final destination, and to leave the ladies seated in
quiet while you alight, pay your fare and then
secure shawls, etc., and make every other arrangement
and inquiry that will facilitate their
speedy and comfortable transit from the carriage.</p>

<p>Thus much for <i>manner in public</i>.</p>

<p>Now then, a few words relative to the bearing
proper in social intercourse, and I will release
you.</p>

<p>In the character of <i>Host</i>, much is requisite that
would be unsuitable elsewhere, since the youngest
and most modest man must, of necessity, then take
the lead. Thus, when you have guests at dinner,
some care and tact are required in the simple matter,
even, of disposing of your visitors with due regard
to proper precedents. Of course, when there are
only men present, you desire him whom you wish to
distinguish, to conduct the mistress of the mansion to
the table, and are, yourself, the last to enter the
dining-room. When there are ladies, the place of
honor accorded to age, rank, or by some temporary
relative circumstance, is designated as being at your
right hand, and you precede your other guests, in
attendance upon such a lady. A stranger lady, for
whom an entertainment is given, should be met by her
host before she enters the drawing-room, and conducted
to the hostess. A gentleman, under similar
circumstances, must be received at the door of the
reception-room. In both instances, introductions<a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a>
should at once be given to those who are <i>invited to
meet such guests</i>.</p>

<p>Persons living in large cities may, if they possess
requisite pecuniary means, always procure servants
so fully acquainted with the duties properly belonging
to them as to relieve themselves, when they have
visitors, from all attention to the details of the table.
But it is only in the best appointed establishments
that hospitality does not enjoin some regard to
these matters. It may be unfashionable to keep an
eye to the comfort of one's friends, when we are
favored with their company, to consult their tastes, to
humor their peculiarities, to convince them, by a thousand
nameless acts of consideration and deference,
that we have pleasure in rendering them honor due;&mdash;this
may not be in strict accordance with the
cold ceremony of modern fashion, but it, nevertheless,
illustrates one of the most beautiful of characteristics&mdash;one
ranked by the ancients as a <i>virtue</i>&mdash;Hospitality!</p>

<p>Permit me, also, to remind you that sometimes the
most worthy people are not high-bred&mdash;not familiar
with conventional proprieties; that they even have
a dread of them, on account of this ignorance; and
that they are, therefore, not fit subjects towards
whom to display strict ceremony, or from whom to
expect it. But always remember, that, though they
may not understand conventionalisms, they will fully
appreciate genuine <i>kindness</i>, the talismanic charm
that will always place the humblest and most self
distrustful guest at ease. And never let a vulgar,<a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a>
degrading fear of compromising your claims to gentility,
tempt you to the inhumanity of wounding the
feelings of the humblest of your humble friends!</p>

<p>If you have a large rout at your house, it will,
necessarily, be impossible for you to render special
attention to each guest; but you should, notwithstanding,
quietly endeavor to promote the enjoyment
of the company, by bringing such persons
together as are best suited to the appreciation of each
other's society, by drawing out the diffident, tendering
some civility to an elderly, or particularly unassuming
visitor, and, in short, by a manner that,
without in any degree savoring of over-solicitude, or
bustling self-importance, shall save you from a fate
similar to that of a gentleman of whom I lately read
the following anecdote:</p>

<p>A stranger at a large party, observing a gentleman
leaning upon the corner of a mantel-piece, with a
peculiarly melancholy expression of countenance,
accosted him thus:&mdash;"Sir, as we both seem to be
entire strangers to all here, suppose we both return
home?" He addressed his <i>host</i>!</p>

<p>In general society, do not let your pleasure in the
conversation of one person whom you may chance
to meet, or your being attached to a pleasant party,
tempt you to forget the respect due to other friends,
who may be present. Married ladies, whose hospitalities
you have shared, strangers who possess a claim
upon you, through your relations with mutual friends,
gentlemen whose politeness has been socially extended
to you, should never be rudely overlooked, or<a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a>
discourteously neglected. Such a manner would
indicate rather a vulgar eagerness for selfish enjoyment
than the collected self-possession, the well-sustained
good-breeding, of a <i>man of the world</i>. Do
not let a sudden attack of the modesty suitable to
youth and insignificance, induce you to regard those
proprieties as of no importance in your particular
case&mdash;exclaiming, "What's Hecuba to me,
or I to Hecuba?" Believe me, no one is so unimportant
as to be unable to give pleasure by politeness;
and no one having a place in society, has a right to
self-abnegation in this respect.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"Husband, do you know a young Mr.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash;, in
society here&mdash;a lawyer, I think?" inquired a lady-friend
of mine, of a distinguished member of the
Legislature of our State, with whom I was dining, at
his hotel.</p>

<p>"V&mdash;&mdash;? That I do! and a right clever fellow he
is:&mdash;why, my dear?"</p>

<p>"Oh, nothing, I met him somewhere the other morning,
and was struck with his pleasing manners. This
morning I was really indebted to his politeness. You
know how slippery it was&mdash;well, I had been at Mrs.
S&mdash;&mdash;'s reception, and was just hesitating on the top
of the steps, on coming away, afraid to call the man
from his horses, and fearful of venturing down alone,
when Mr.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash; ran up, like a chamois-hunter,
and offered his assistance. He not only escorted me<a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a>
to the sleigh, but tucked up the furs, gave me my
muff, and inquired for your health with such good-humor
and cordiality as really quite won my heart!"</p>

<p>"I should be exceedingly jealous, were it not that
he made exactly the same impression upon me, a few
evenings before you joined me here. It was at Miss
T&mdash;&mdash;'s wedding. Of course, I had a card of invitation
to the reception, after the ceremony, but, disliking
crowds as I do, and as you were not here, I decided
not to go.&mdash;The truth is, Colonel, [turning to me]
we backwoodsmen are a little shy of these grand
state occasions of ceremony and parade."&mdash;</p>

<p>"Backwoodsmen, as you are pleased to term them,
sometimes confer far more honor upon such occasions
than they upon him," returned I.</p>

<p>"You are very polite, sir. Well, as I was saying,
in the morning I met the bride's father, who was one
of my early college friends, in the street, and he
urged me, with such old-fashioned, hearty cordiality
to come, that I began to think the homely charm
of <i>hospitality</i> might not be wholly lacking, even at
a fashionable entertainment, in this most fashionable
city. So the upshot of the matter was my going,
though with some misgivings about my <i>court-costume</i>,
as my guardian-angel had deserted me." Really,
boys, I wish you could have seen the chivalrous
courtesy that lighted the fine eye and shone over the
manner of the speaker, as, with these last words, he
bowed to the fair companion of his life for something
like half a century.</p>

<p>"You forget, my dear," rejoined the lady, as a soft<a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a>
smile, and a softer blush stole over her still beautiful
face, "that Mrs.&nbsp;M&mdash;&mdash; wrote me you were quite
the lion of the occasion, and that half the young
ladies present, including the bride herself, were"&mdash;</p>

<p>"My dear! I cry you mercy!&mdash;Bless my soul!&mdash;an
old fellow like me!"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"But K&mdash;&mdash;, my dear friend," I exclaimed, "don't
be personal"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Lunettes, you were always, and still are, irresistible
with the ladies, but&mdash;you are <i>an exception</i>."</p>

<p>"I protest!" cried Mrs.&nbsp;K&mdash;&mdash;, joining in our
laughter, "Mr.&nbsp;Clay, to his latest day, was in high
favor with ladies, young and old&mdash;there was no withstanding
the <i>charm of his manner</i>. At Washington,
one winter that I spent there, wherever I met him,
he was encircled by the fairest and most distinguished
of our sex, all seeming to vie with each other for
his attentions&mdash;and this was not because of his political
rank, for others in high position did not share his
popularity;&mdash;it was his grace, his courtesy, his <i>je ne
sais quoi</i>, as the French say."</p>

<p>"Mr.&nbsp;Clay was as remarkable for quiet self-possession
and tact, in social as in public life," said I.
"When I had the honor to be his colleague, I often
had occasion to observe and admire both. I remember
once being a good deal amused by a little scene
between him and a Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, then a reigning belle
at Washington, and a great favorite of Mr.&nbsp;Clay's.
Returning late one night from the Capitol, excessively
fatigued by a long and exciting debate, in which
he had borne an active part, he dropped into the<a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a>
ladies' parlor of our hotel, on his way up stairs,
hoping, I dare say, Mrs.&nbsp;K., to enjoy the soothing
influence of gentler smiles and tones than those he had
left. The room was almost deserted, but, ensconced
in one corner of a long, old-fashioned sofa, sat Miss
&mdash;&mdash;, reading. His keen eye detected his fair friend
in a moment, and his lagging step quickened as he
approached her. A younger and handsomer man
might well have envied the warm welcome he
received. After sitting a moment beside the lady,
Mr.&nbsp;Clay said, abruptly:&mdash;</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_182"></a><!--TN: Double quotes in this paragraph changed to single quotes and double quote added at start of paragraph-->"'Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, what is your definition of true politeness?'</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_182a"></a><!--TN: Double quotes in this paragraph changed to single quotes and double quote added at start of paragraph-->"'Perfect ease,' she replied.</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_182b"></a><!--TN: Double quotes in this paragraph changed to single quotes and double quote added at start of paragraph-->"'I have the honor to agree with you, madam, and,
with your entire permission, will take leave to
assume the correctness of <i>this position</i>!' As he
spoke, with a dextrous movement, the statesman
disposed a large cushion near Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;'s end of the
sofa, and simultaneously, down went his head upon
the cushion, and up went his heels at the other
extreme of the sofa! But, my dear fellow, we are
losing your adventures at the great wedding party,
all this time"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Very true, my dear," added Mrs.&nbsp;K&mdash;&mdash;, wiping
her eyes, "you fell in love with Mr.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash;, you
know"&mdash;</p>

<p>"Oh, yes," returned my host, "I did, indeed; but
I had no adventures, in particular. V&mdash;&mdash; was one
of the <i>aids-de-camp</i>, on the occasion, as I knew by
the white love-knot (what is the fashionable name,<a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a>
wife?) he wore on his breast. He was in the hall
when I came down stairs, to act in his office of
groomsman. Upon seeing me, he advanced, and
asked whether he could be of any service to me. I
explained, while I drew on my gloves, that I did
not know the bride, and feared that even her mother
might have forgotten an early friend. His young
eyes found the button of my glove quicker than mine,
and as he released my hand, he said, showing a sad
rent in his own, "you are fortunate in not having
split them, sir,&mdash;but you <i>gentlemen of the old school</i>,"
he added with a respectful bow, "always surpass us
youngsters in matters of dress, as well as everything
else." As he said this, the young rogue glanced
politely over my plain black suit, and offered me his
arm as deferentially as though I had been an Ex-President,
at least; and so on, throughout the evening,
with apparent <i>unconsciousness of self</i>. I should
have thought him wholly devoted to my enjoyment
of everything and everybody, had I not observed
that others, equally, or more, in need of his attention
than I, shared his courtesy&mdash;from an elderly lady in
a huge church-tower of a cap, who seemed fearfully
exercised less she should not secure her full share of
the wedding-cake boxes, to one of the little sisters
of the bride, who clung to her dress and sobbed as
if her heart must break&mdash;all seemed to like him and
<i>depend</i> on him."</p>

<p>"I have not the pleasure of Mr.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash;'s acquaintance,"
said I, "but I prophesy that <i>he will succeed
in life</i>!"<a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a></p>

<p>"Yes, and make friends at every step!" responded
Mrs.&nbsp;K&mdash;&mdash;, warmly. "After we parted this morning,
I had an agreeable sort of half-consciousness
that something pleasant had happened to me, and
when I analised the feeling, Wordsworth's lines
seemed to have been impersonated to me:&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">'A face with gladness overspread!<br></span>
<span class="i0">Soft smiles, by human kindness bred!<br></span>
<span class="i0">And seemliness complete, that sways<br></span>
<span class="i0">Thy courtesies, about thee plays!'"<br></span>
</div></div>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>I have known few persons with as exquisite ćsthetical
perceptions as my lovely friend Minnie. So I
promised myself great pleasure in taking her to see
Cole's celebrated series of pictures&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Course of
Time</span>. It was soon after Cole's lamented death; and,
as Minnie had been some time living where she was
deprived of such enjoyments, she had never seen
these fine pictures.</p>

<p>As we drove along towards the Art Union Gallery,
the fair enthusiast was all eager expectation. "How
often my kind friend Mr.&nbsp;S&mdash;&mdash; B.&nbsp;R&mdash;&mdash;, used to
talk to me of Cole," said she, "and promise me the
pleasure of knowing him. When he died I felt as
though I had lost a dear friend, as I had indeed, for all
who worship art, have a friend in each child of genius."</p>

<p>"Cole was emphatically one of these," returned I,
"as his conceptions alone prove."</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed," replied Minnie, "I always think of
him as the <i>poet-painter</i>, since I saw his first series<a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a>&mdash;the
'Progress of Empire.' Only a poet's imagination
could conceive his subjects."</p>

<p>I placed my sweet friend in the most favorable
position for enjoying each picture in succession, and
seated myself at her side, rather for the gratification
of listening to the low murmurs of delight that should
be breathed by her kindred soul, than to view the
painter's skill, as that no longer possessed the attraction
of novelty for me.</p>

<p>We had just come to the sublime portraiture of
"<i>Manhood</i>," and Minnie seemed wholly absorbed in
her own thoughts and imaginings. Suddenly a silly
giggle broke the charmed stillness. The Devotee of
the Beautiful started, as if abruptly awakened from
a dream, and a slight shiver ran through her sensitive
frame.</p>

<p>Turning, I perceived, standing close behind us, a
group of young persons, chattering and laughing,
and pointing to different parts of the picture before
us. Their platitudes were not, perhaps, especially
stupid, nor were they more noisy and rude than I
have known <i>free-born republicans</i> before, under
somewhat similar circumstances; but poor Minnie
endured absolute torture; her idealized delight
vanished before a coarse reality. I well remember
the imploring and distressed look with which she
whispered: "Let us go, dear Colonel;" and one
glance at her pale face satisfied me that the spell was
irrevocably broken for her, and that her long anticipated
"joy," in beholding "a thing of beauty"
had indeed been cruelly alloyed.<a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a></p>

<p>If my memory serves me aright, I told you something,
in a former letter, of an interesting lady, a
friend of mine, whose husband was shot all to pieces
in the Mexican War, and after lying for many months
in an almost hopeless condition, finally so far recovered
as to be removed to the sea-board, to take ship
for New Orleans. When informed of this, his beautiful
young wife&mdash;a belle, a beauty, and the petted idol
of a large family circle before her marriage&mdash;set out,
at mid-winter, accompanied by one of her brothers
and taking with her the infant-child, whom its
soldier-father had never seen, to meet her husband
on his homeward route. This explanation will render
intelligible the following incident, which she
herself related to me.</p>

<p>"My brother remained with us some time at New
Orleans," said the fair narrator; "but, as Ernest
began to improve, I entreated him to return home,
as both his business and his family demanded his
attention; and you know, Colonel Lunettes," she
added, with a sad smile, "that a <i>soldier's wife</i> must
learn to be brave, for her own sake as well as for
his. Ernest had with him an excellent, faithful
servant, who was fully competent to such service as
I could not render, and my little boy's nurse was
with me, of course. So we made our homeward
journey by slow stages, but with less suffering to
my husband than we could have hoped, and I grew
strong as soon as we were re-united, and felt adequate
to anything, almost."<a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a></p>

<p>The fair young creature added the last word with
the same mournful smile that had before flitted over
her sweet face, and as if rather in reply to the
doubtful expression she read in my countenance,
than from any remembrance of having failed, in the
slightest degree, in the task of which she spoke.</p>

<p>"On the night of our arrival at A&mdash;&mdash;, however,"
pursued Mrs.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash;, "we seemed to reach such a
climax of fatigue and trial, as to make further
endurance literally impossible for poor Ernest. Our
little child had been taken ill the day before, so that
I could not devote myself so entirely to him as I
could have wished; and, as we drew near home,
his impatience seemed to increase the pain of his
wounds, so that, on this evening, he was almost
exhausted both in body and mind. We stopped at
the D&mdash;&mdash; House, as being nearest the depot, which
was a great point with us; but such a comfortless,
shiftless place!"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"An abominable hole!" I ejaculated; "one never
gets anything fit to eat there!"</p>

<p>"That was the least of our difficulties," returned
the lady, "as we had to leave our man-servant to
look after our luggage, it was with great difficulty
that my poor husband was assisted up stairs into the
public parlor, and he almost fainted while I gave a
few hurried directions about a room. Such a scene
as it was! The poor baby, weary and sleepy, began
to cry for mamma, and nurse had as much as she
could do with the care of him. Ernest had sunk<a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a>
down upon the only sofa in the room&mdash;a huge,
heavy machine of a thing, that looked as though
never designed to be moved from its place against
the wall. I gave my husband a restorative, but in
vain. He grew so ghastly pale that"&mdash;&mdash;a sob here
choked the utterance of the speaker.</p>

<p>"My dear child," said I, taking her hand, "do not
say another word; I cannot forgive myself for asking
you these particulars&mdash;all is well now&mdash;do not
recall the past!"</p>

<p>"Excuse me, dear Colonel, I <i>wish</i> to tell you, I
want you to know, how we were treated by a brute
in human form&mdash;to ask you whether you could have
believed in the existence of such a being&mdash;so
utterly destitute of common politeness, not to say
humanity."</p>

<p>"I hope no one who could aid you, in this
extremity, failed to do so."</p>

<p>"You shall hear. Ernest was shivering with cold,
as well as exhaustion, and whispered to me that he
would try to sit by the fire until the room was
prepared. I looked round the place for an easy-chair;
there was but one, and that was occupied by
a man who was staring at us, as though we were
curiosities exhibited for his especial benefit."</p>

<p>"'Ernest,' <a name="tn_png_188"></a><!--TN: Comma removed after "said"-->said I aloud, 'you are too weak to sit
in one of these chairs without arms, and with
nothing to support your head.'</p>

<p>"'I will try, love,' he replied, 'for I am so cold!'</p>

<p>"'I will ask that man for his <a name="tn_png_188a"></a><!--TN: Single quote added after "chair,"-->chair,' I whispered.<a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a>
Poor Ernest! his eyes flashed. 'No! No!' said he,
'if he has not the decency to offer it, you shall not
speak to him!'</p>

<p>"Of course, I would not irritate him by opposition,
but placed an ordinary chair before the fire,
and, supporting him into it, held his head on my
shoulder, while I chafed his benumbed hands. In
the meanwhile, the wail of the baby did not help to
quiet us, nor to shorten the time of waiting; and it
seemed as if John would never make his appearance,
nor the room I had ordered be prepared. By
my direction, nurse rang the bell. I inquired of
the very placid individual who answered it, whether
the room was ready for us, and upon being told that
they were making the fire, entreated the emblem of
serenity to hasten operations, and at once to bring
me a cup of hot tea. Minutes seemed hours to me,
as you may suppose, and the dull eyes that were
fastened upon us from the centre of the stuffed
chair, I so longed for, really made me nervous.
I felt as though it might be some horrid ghoul,
rather than anything human, thus looking upon our
misery. 'Good G&mdash;&mdash;, Lu!' said Ernest, at last,
'isn't the bed ready yet?'</p>

<p>"I could bear it no longer. Gently withdrawing
my support from the weary, weary head, I flew to
my boy, snatched him from nurse, and signifying
my design to her, we united our powers, and, laying
baby on the sofa, we succeeded in pushing it up to
the side of the fire-place. Then, while I hushed the
child on my breast, we piled up our wrappings and<a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a>
placed my husband upon the couch, so as to rest his
poor wounded frame (you know, Colonel, his spine
was injured). The groan, half of relief and half
of torture, that broke from his lips, as he rested
his head, was like to be the 'last straw' that broke
my heart&mdash;but the soldier's wife! How often did I
repeat to myself, during that long journey:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">'Remember thou'rt a <i>soldier's wife</i>,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Those tears but ill become thee!'<br></span>
</div></div>

<p><a name="tn_png_190"></a><!--TN: Double quote added before "Well"-->"Well! by this time, John made his appearance,
and, consigning his master temporarily to his care, I
took nurse with me, and went to see what a woman's
ready hand could do in expediting matters elsewhere.
When showed to the room we were expected to
occupy, I found it so filled with smoke, and so dreadfully
cold, as to be wholly uninhabitable, and in
despair sent for the steward, or whoever he was, to
whom I had given directions at first. No other
room with two beds could be secured. By the glimmering
light of the small lamp in the hand of the
Irishman, who was laboring with the attempt at a
fire, I investigated a little; the smouldering coals
belched forth volumes of smoke into my face.
Nothing daunted by this ('twas not the 'smoke of
battle,' though I felt as though in the midst of a
conflict of life and death), I bade the man remove
the blower. Behold the draught closed by the strip
of stone sometimes used for that purpose, after a
hard coal fire is fully ignited! I think, Colonel, you<a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a>
would have admired the laconic, imperiously cool
tone and manner with which I speedily effected the
removal of the entire mass of cold hard coal, substituted
for it, light, dry wood, and covering up my
boy, as he still rested in my arms, dissipated the
smoke that contended with the close, shut-up sort of
air in the room, for disagreeability, by opening the
windows, had the most comfortable looking of the
beds drawn near the fire, and opened to air and
warm, ordered up the trunks we wanted, opened
them, hung a warm flannel dressing-gown near the
fire, placed his slippers and everything else Ernest
would want just <i>where</i> they would be wanted, near
the best chair I could secure, and the table that was
to receive his supper when he should be ready
for it, and, in short <i>put the matter through</i>, as Ernest
would say, with the speed of desperation. It
was wonderful how quickly all this, and more, was
effected by the people about me chiefly through
my ability to tell them exactly what to do and how
to do it. Excuse me if I boast; it was the deep
calmness of despair that inspired me! <i>Now</i> I can
smile at the look of blank amazement with which
Paddy received my announcement of the necessity
of taking out all the coals from the grate, before
he could hope to kindle a fire, and the stare of the
<i>man of affairs</i> for the D&mdash;&mdash; House, as he entered
upon the field of my efforts to say that tea was
ready."</p>

<p>"There is but one step from the sublime to the
ridiculous!" I exclaimed, laughing, in spite of my<a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a>
sympathy with my fair friend. "And what became
of the barbarian in the large chair?"</p>

<p>"Oh, when I returned to the parlor to have Ernest
removed to our own room, there he sat, still, lolling
comfortably back in his chair, with his hat on, and
his feet laid up before him, and apparently as much
occupied as ever in staring at the strangers, and no
more</p>

<p class="centerpoem">'On hospitable thoughts intent'</p>

<p class="continue">than when I quitted the room, the horrid ghoul! I
was so rejoiced to escape with my treasures safe
from his blighting gaze! But now for the <i>moral</i> of
my story, dear Colonel, for every story has its moral,
I suppose,&mdash;John, Ernest's man, told nurse, who, by
the way, was so highly indignant on the occasion, as
to assure me afterwards, that if she had been a man,
she'd have just pitched the selfish brute beast out of
the chair, and taken it for Mr.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash;, without so
much as a 'by your leave.'"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>I could not refrain from interrupting Mrs.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash; to
say that I thought I should have been sorely tempted
to some such act myself, under the circumstances.</p>

<p>"Yes," pursued Mrs.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash;, "nurse still recurs to
that 'awful cold night in A&mdash;&mdash;' with an invariable
malediction upon the '<i>bad speret</i> as kept the chair.'
But, as I was saying, John told her afterwards that
the ghoul asked him who that sick gentleman was,
and said that his wife appeared to be in so much
trouble that he should have offered to help her along
a little, but he <i>wasn't acquainted with her</i>!"<a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a></p>

<p>"Uncle Hal, isn't an artist <i>a gentleman</i>?" inquired
Blanche of me one morning, during a recent visit to
our great Commercial Metropolis, as the newspaper
writers call it. "What do you mean, child," said I,
"you cannot mean to ask whether artists <i>rank as
gentlemen</i> in society, for that does not admit of question."
I saw there was something troubling her,
the moment she came down, for she did not welcome
her old uncle with her usual sparkling smile, though
she snugged close up to me on the sofa, and kept
my hand in both of hers, while we were arranging
some matters about which I had called.</p>

<p>"Is not an <i>engraver</i> an artist?" she inquired, with
increased earnestness of tone. "Does not an engraver
who has a large <i>atelier</i>, numbers of <i>employés</i>,
and does all kinds of beautiful prints, heads, and
landscapes, and elegant figures, take rank in social
life with other gentlemen?"</p>

<p>"Certainly, my dear; but tell me what you are
thinking of; what troubles you my child?"</p>

<p>"Well, you remember, dear uncle, perhaps, the
young orphan boy in whom papa and all of us used to
be so interested the summer you spent with us, long
ago, when we were all children at home. He is
now established in this city, after years of struggle
with difficulties that would have crushed a less
noble spirit, and his sisters, for whom he has always
provided, in a great degree, though at the cost of
almost incredible self-denial, as I happen to know,
are now nearly prepared for teachers. We have<a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a>
always retained our interest in them all; and they
always make us a visit when they are at D&mdash;&mdash;. Indeed,
papa always says he knows few young men for
whom he entertains so high a regard; and I am sure he
is very good-looking, and though he may not be very
fashionable,&mdash;you needn't smile, uncle Hal, I"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"My dear, I am charmed with your sketch, and
shall go, at once, and have my old visage engraved
by your handsome artist-friend; and when I publish
my auto-biography, it shall be accompanied by
a 'portrait of the author,' superbly engraved by
a 'celebrated artist.'"</p>

<p>"He <i>is</i> celebrated, uncle, really; you have no idea
of the vast number of orders he has from all parts of
the country, nor how beautifully he gets up everything.
But I must tell you," proceeded the sensitive
little thing, with more cheerfulness, for I had
succeeded in my design of cheering her up a little&mdash;"Mr.
Zousky&mdash;Henry, as we always call him, has
been engraving the head of one of our friends at
home for a literary affair&mdash;some biographical book,
or something of that sort, and he came up to show
me one of the 'first impressions,' as I think he calls
them, and to bring a message from his sister, last
evening&mdash;wishing me to '<i>criticise</i>,' he told me, as
he had nothing but rather an indifferent daguerreotype
to copy from. It was just before tea that he
called&mdash;because he is busy all day, I suppose, and
perhaps, he thought he should be sure of finding me,
then. Indeed, he said something about fearing to
intrude later, when there might be other visitors<a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a>&mdash;he
is the most sensitive and unobtrusive being!
Well, just as we were having a nice little chat about
old times at D&mdash;&mdash;, cousin Charles came home and
came into the parlor. Of course, he knows Henry
very well, for he has seen him often and often at
our house, when he used to be there in vacations
with my brothers; and, indeed, once before Henry
came here to live, was one of a party of us, who
went to his little studio, to see his self-taught paintings
and sketches. When he entered the room, I
said, 'cousin Charles, our friend Mr.&nbsp;Zousky does
not need an introduction to you, I am sure.' I cannot
describe his manner. I did not so much mind
its being cold and indifferent, but it was not that of
<i>an equal</i>&mdash;of one gentleman to another, and without
sitting down, even for a moment, he walked back to
the dining-room, and I heard him ask the servant
whether tea was ready. Henry rose in a moment,
and took my hand to say good-bye&mdash;oh, uncle, I cannot
tell you how hurt I was! His voice was as low
and gentle as ever, but his face betrayed him! I
know he noticed cousin Charles' manner. I was
determined that he should not go away so; so I
didn't get up, but drew him to a seat by me on the
sofa, and said that he must not go yet, unless he had
an engagement, for that I had not half done telling
him what I wished, and rattled on, hardly knowing
what I <i>did</i> say, for I was so grieved and mortified.
He said he would come again, as it was my tea-time,
but I insisted that my tea was of no consequence,
and that I much preferred talking to a<a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a>
friend&mdash;all the while hoping that either cousin
Maria or cousin Charles would come and invite
him to take tea. Presently I heard cousin Maria
come down, and then the glass doors were closed
between the rooms, and I knew they were at tea.
Why, uncle Hal, papa would no more have
done such a thing in <i>his</i> house, than he would
have robbed some one! What! wound the feelings
of any one for fear of not being '<i>genteel!</i>' that's the
word, I suppose&mdash;I hear cousin Maria use it very
often! We were always taught by dear mamma,
while she lived, to be particularly polite and attentive
to those who might not be as happy or prosperous
as ourselves. She used to say that fashionable
and distinguished people were the least likely to
observe those things, but that the sensitive and self-distrustful
were apt to be almost morbidly alive to
every indication of neglect. 'Never brush rudely
by the human sensitive plant, my dears,' she used to
say, 'lest you should bruise the tender leaves; and
never forget that it most needs the <i>sunshine of
smiles</i>!' Dear mamma! she used to be so polite to
Henry&mdash;not <i>patronizing</i>, but so friendly, so considerate&mdash;always
she put him at ease when there
was other company at our house (though he never
came in when he knew there were other visitors),
and she used to do so many kind things to assist his
first efforts in his art! I only hope he understood
that <i>I</i> have no rights here. I am sure I <i>feel</i> that I
have not! But I would rather be treated a hundred
times over again as I was last night, myself, than to<a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a>
have Henry's feelings wounded; still, I must say
that I should not think, because she happened to be
detained past the exact tea-hour, of sending away
the tea-things and keeping cold slops in a pitcher for
any guest in <i>my</i> house, if I had one"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Hush, Blanche! I never heard you talk so indiscreetly
before!"</p>

<p>"Well, I don't care! Papa <i>made</i> me come here
to stay, because he said they had visited us, and
came out to Bel's wedding, and all; but I do so
wish I was at the St. Nicholas with you and the
Clarks, uncle, dear! Cousin Charles ain't like himself
since he married his fashionable New York
wife; even when he comes to pa's he isn't, though
<i>there</i> he throws off his cold, ceremonious manner
somewhat. But I really feel as if I was in a straight-jacket
here!"</p>

<p>"Why, Blanche, what's the trouble? I am sure
everything is very elegant and fashionable here!"</p>

<p>"Yes, too elegant and fashionable for poor little
me! I am not used to that, and don't care for it.
I'd rather have a little more friendliness and sociability
than all the splendor. I am constantly reminded
of my utter insignificance; and you know,
uncle, poor Blanche is spoiled, as you often say, and
not used to being reduced to a mere nonentity!"</p>

<p>With this the silly child actually began to cry,
and when I tried to soothe her, only sobbed out, in
broken words: "I wouldn't be such a goose as to
mind it, if Henry Zousky had not been treated so
so, so&mdash;<i>so&mdash;fash-ion-a-bly</i>!"<a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a></p>

<p>Looking over some letters from a sprightly correspondent
of mine, the other day, I laid aside one from
which I make the following extract, as apposite to
my subject:</p>

<p>"You asked me to give you some account of the
social position, etc., and an idea of the husband of
your former favorite, M&mdash;&mdash; S&mdash;&mdash;. 'What is Dr.
J&mdash;&mdash; like?' you inquire:&mdash;Like nothing in heaven
above, or in the earth beneath, I answer; and, therefore,
he might be worshipped without a violation of
the injunction of the Decalogue! How such a vivacious
creature as M&mdash;&mdash; S&mdash;&mdash; came to tie herself
for life to such a mule, passes my powers of solution.
Dr. J&mdash;&mdash; is very accomplished in his profession, for
a young man, I hear, and much respected for his
professional capacity&mdash;but socially he is&mdash;<i>nothing!</i>&mdash;the
merest cipher conceivable! A man may be
<i>very quiet</i> at home, now-a-days, and yet pass muster;
but there are times when he <i>must act</i>, as it seems to
me; but M&mdash;&mdash;'s husband seems to be a <i>man of one
idea</i>, and that never, seemingly, suggests the duties
of host. But you shall judge for yourself.&mdash;While
I was in A&mdash;&mdash;, we were all invited there one
evening, to meet a bride, an old friend of M&mdash;&mdash;'s,
stopping in town on her marriage tour. M&mdash;&mdash;
said it was too early in the season for a large party,
and that we were expected quite <i>en famille</i>; but it
was, in reality, quite an occasion, nevertheless, as
the bride and her party were fashionable Bostonians.
I happened to be near the hostess, when <i>the</i> guests<a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a>
of the evening entered. She received them with
her usual <i>Frenchy</i> ease and playfulness of manner,
and it seemed that the gentleman was an old friend
of hers, but did not know her husband. He expressed
the hope that Dr. J&mdash;&mdash;'s professional duties
would not deprive them of his society the whole
evening, as he much desired the pleasure of his
acquaintance. I saw, by the heightening of her
color, that M&mdash;&mdash;, woman of the world though she
be, felt the unintended sarcasm of this polite language;
for Dr. J. was calmly ensconced in the deep
recess of a large <i>fauteuil</i> in the corner of the fire-place,
apparently enjoying the glowing coal-fire
that always adds its cheerful influence to the elegant
belongings of M&mdash;&mdash;'s splendid drawing-room.
Throughout the entire evening our effigy of a host
kept his post, where we found him on entering.
People went to him, chatted a while, and moved
away; we danced, refreshments were served, wine
was quaffed,</p>

<p class="centerpoem"><a name="tn_png_199"></a><!--TN: Double quote removed before "'All"-->'All went merry as a marriage bell;'</p>

<p class="continue">M&mdash;&mdash;  glided about from group to group, with an
appropriate word, or courteous attention for each
one, and, in addition to the flowers that adorned the
rooms, presented the bride of her old friend with an
exquisite bouquet, saying, in her pretty way, that
she would have been delighted to receive her in a
bower of roses, when she learned from Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash; how
much she liked flowers, but that Flora was in a pet
with her since she had given up her old conservatory<a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a>
at her father's. As the evening waned, I observed
her weariness, despite the hospitable smile; and well
she might be! Several times she slipped away to
her babe; once, when I stood near her, she started
slightly: <a name="tn_png_200"></a><!--TN: Double quote changed to a single quote before "I"-->'I thought I heard a <a name="tn_png_200a"></a><!--TN: Double quote changed to a single quote after "nursery-cry"--><i>nursery-cry</i>,' she
whispered to me, <a name="tn_png_200b"></a><!--TN: Double quote changed to a single quote before "my"-->'my little boy is not well <a name="tn_png_200c"></a><!--TN: Double quote changed to a single quote after "to-night"-->to-night;'
and I missed her soon after. When I went
away, I, of course, sought the master of the house
to say good-night. He half rose, with a half smile,
in recognition of my adieu, and re-settled himself,
apparently wholly unconscious of any possible occasion
for further effort! But the climax, in true
epic style, was reserved for the <i>finale</i>. It was a
frightfully stormy night, and when we came down
to the street door to go away, there stood M&mdash;&mdash;, in
her thin dress, the cold wind and sleet-rain rushing
in when the door was opened, enough to carry away
her fairy figure, <i>seeing off her friend and his bride</i>!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"My dear Miss&nbsp;C&mdash;&mdash;," exclaimed a gentleman
after listening to the complaint of a lady who had
just been charging the lords of creation with the
habitual discourtesy of retaining their hats when
speaking to ladies, in stores and shops, as well as in
public halls and even in the drawing-room; "My
dear Miss&nbsp;C&mdash;&mdash;, don't you know that 'Young
America' <i>always wears his hat and boots whenever
he can</i>?"</p>

<p>"Does he <i>sleep in them</i>?" inquired the lady.<a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a></p>

<p>"Well, my dears," I overheard a high-bred and
exceedingly handsome man inquiring of two lovely
English girls, on board a steamer the other day,
"how did you succeed in your efforts to dine to-day?
I will not again permit you to be separated from
your aunt and me, if we find the table ever so
crowded."</p>

<p>"But we had Charley, you know, sir," returned
one of the fair interlocutors, with a smile worthy of
Hebe herself.</p>

<p>"True, but Charley is only a child; and boys as
well as women fare ill at public tables in this 'land
of liberty and equality,' unless aided by some powerful
assistant!"</p>

<p>"I thought we had found such a champion
to-day," exclaimed the other lady, "in the person
who sat next me at dinner. His hands were so nice
that I should not have objected in the least to his
offering me such dishes as were within his reach,
especially as there seemed to be no servant to attend
us, and we really sat half through the first course
without bread or water. Having nothing else to do,
for some time, I quietly amused myself with
observing my courteous neighbor. So wholly absorbed
did he seem in his own contemplations, so
utterly oblivious of everything around him, except
the contents of his heaped-up plate, that I soon
became convinced that I had the honor to be in
close proximity to a philosopher, at least, and<a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a>
probably to some fixed star in the realms of
science!"</p>

<p>"Oh, Clare! I am so sorry to tell you, but I
learned afterwards, accidentally, that your profound-looking
neighbor is&mdash;<i>a dentist</i>!"</p>

<p>"And, therefore, accustomed only to the <i>most
painful associations with the mouths of others</i>!"
chimed in the aristocrat, laughing in chorus:
"Well, as our shrewd, sensible friend, the daughter
of the Siddons, used to say, after her return from
America, 'if the Americans profess to be all <i>equal</i>,
they should be <i>equally well bred</i>!'"</p>

<p>With a repetition of this doubly sarcastic apothegm,
my dear friends, for the present,</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature1">Adieu!<br></span>
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">Harry Lunettes.</span><br></span>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a>
<h2><a name="LETTER_VII" id="LETTER_VII"></a>LETTER VII.</h2>

<p class="chapterhead">HEALTH, THE TOILET, ETC.</p>

<p class="chapterstart">My dear Nephews:</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="firstwords">Since</span> no man can fulfill his destiny as an
actively-useful member of society without <i>Health</i>,
perhaps a few practical suggestions on this important
subject may not be inconsistent with our present
purpose.</p>

<p>The only reliable foundation upon which to base
the hope of securing permanent possession of this
greatest of earthly blessings, is the early acquisition
of <i>Habits of Temperance</i>.</p>

<p>In a proper sense of the word, Temperance is an
all-inclusive term&mdash;it does not mean abstaining from
strong drink, only, nor from over-eating, nor from
any one form of self-indulgence or dissipation; but
it requires <i>moderation in all things</i>, for its full
illustration.</p>

<p>It was this apprehension of the term that was
truthfully exhibited in the long, useful, consistent
life of our distinguished countryman, John Quincy
Adams. Habits formed in boyhood, in strict accord<a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a>ance
with this principle, and adhered to in every
varying phase of circumstance throughout his prolonged
existence, were the proximate cause of his
successful and admirable career. And what a career!
How triumphantly successful, how worthy of
admiration! More than half a century did he
serve his country, at home and abroad, dying
at last, with his armor on,&mdash;a watchman, faithful,
even unto death, upon the ramparts of the Citadel,
where Justice, Truth, and Freedom have found a last
asylum. Think you that the intellectual and moral
purposes of his being could have been borne out
by the most resolute exercise of will, but for the
judicious training of the <i>physique</i>? Or could the
higher attributes of his nature have been developed,
indeed, in conjunction with a body 'cabined, cribbed
and confined' by the enervating influence of youthful
self-indulgence? Born on&mdash;</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Stern New-England's rocky shore,"</p>

<p class="continue">no misnamed luxury shrouded his frame from the
discipline of that Teacher, "around whose steps the
mountain breezes blow, and from whose countenance
all the virtues gather strength." You are, doubtless,
all familiar with Mr.&nbsp;Adams' habits of early rising,
bathing, etc. The latter, even, he maintained until
within two years of his death, bathing in an open
stream each morning, if his locality permitted the
enjoyment, at a very early hour. I have his own
authority for the fact that he, during the different
periods of his public sojourn abroad, laved his<a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"></a>
vigorous frame in almost every river of Europe!
Franklin, too, ascribed his triumph over the obstacles
that obstructed his early path to a strict adherence
to the rules of Temperance. And so, indeed, with
most of the truly great men whose names illumine
the pages of our country's history:&mdash;I might multiply
examples almost <i>ad infinitum</i>, but your own
reading will enable you to endorse the correctness of
my assertion.</p>

<p>Since we have, incidentally, alluded to the <i>Bath</i>, in
connection with the example of Mr.&nbsp;Adams, let us
commence the consideration of personal habits, with
this agreeable and essential accessory of Health.</p>

<p>Though authorities may differ respecting some
minor details with regard to bathing, I believe medical
testimony all goes to sanction its adoption by
all persons, in some one of its modifications. Constitutional
peculiarities should always be consulted
in the establishment of individual rules,&mdash;hence no
general directions can be made applicable to all persons.
The cold bath, though that most frequently
adopted by persons in health, is, no doubt, injurious
in some cases, and careful observation alone can
enable each individual to establish the precise temperature
at which his ablutions will be most beneficial.</p>

<p>But, while the most scrupulous and unvarying
regard for cleanliness should be considered of
primary importance, the indiscreet use of the bath
should be avoided with equal care. Bishop Heber,
one of the best and most useful of men, sacrificed<a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"></a>
himself in the midst of a career of eminent piety, to
an imprudent use of this luxury, arising either from
ignorance or inadvertency. After rising very early
to baptize several native converts recently made in
India, the field of his labors, he returned to his bungalow
in a state of exhaustion from excitement and
abstinence, and, without taking any nourishment,
threw himself into a bath, and soon after expired!&mdash;No
one can safely resort to the bath when the bodily
powers are much weakened, by whatever cause;
and though it is unwise to use it directly after taking
a full meal, it should not immediately precede the
chief meal of the day, if that be taken at a late hour,
and after prolonged abstinence and exertion.</p>

<p>The <i>art of swimming</i> early acquired, affords the
most agreeable and beneficial mode of bathing, not
to dwell upon its numerous recommendations in other
respects; but when this enjoyment cannot be secured,
nor even the luxury of an immersion bath, luckily for
health, comfort, and propriety, the means of <i>sponge
bathing</i> may always be secured, at least in this
country (wherever it has risen above barbarism),
though I must say that frequently during my travels
in England, and even through towns boasting good
hotels, I found water and towels at a high premium,
and very difficult of acquisition at that! Sponging
the whole person upon rising, either in cold or tepid
water, as individual experience proves best, with the
use of the Turkish towel, or some similar mode of
friction, is one of the best preparations for a day of
useful exertion.<a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a></p>

<p>This practice has collateral advantages, inasmuch
as it naturally leads to attention to all the details of
the toilet essentially connected with refinement and
health&mdash;to proper care of the Hair, Teeth, Nails, etc.,&mdash;in
short, to a neat and suitable arrangement of the
dress before leaving one's apartment in the morning.
To slippered age belongs the indulgence of a careless
morning toilet; but with the morning of life we properly
associate readiness for action in some pursuit
demanding steady and prolonged exertion, early
begun, and with every faculty and attribute in full
exercise.</p>

<p>Fashion sanctions so many varying modes of wearing
or not wearing the <i>hair</i>, that no directions can be
given in relation to it, except such as enjoin the avoidance
of all fantastic dressing, and the observance of
entire neatness with relation to it. Careful brushing,
together with occasional ablutions, will best preserve
this natural ornament; and I would, also, suggest the
use of such <i>pomades</i> only as are most delicately
scented. No gentleman should go about like a
walking perfumer's shop, redolent, not of&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Sabean odors from the spicy shores<br></span>
<span class="i2">Of Araby the Blest,"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">but of spirits of turpentine, musk, etc., 'commixed
and commingled' in 'confusion worse confounded'
to all persons possessed of a nicety of nervous organization.
All perfumes for the handkerchiefs, or worn
about the person, should be, not only of the most
unexceptionable kind, but used in very moderate<a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a>
quantities. Their profuse use will ill supply the
neglect of the bath, or of the proper care of the teeth
and general toilet.</p>

<p>The <i>Teeth</i> cannot be too carefully attended to by
those who value good looks, as well as health. And
nothing tends more towards their preservation than
the habitual use of the brush, before retiring, as well
as in the morning. The use of some simple uninjurious
adjunct to the brush may be well; but pure
water and the brush, faithfully applied, will secure
cleanliness&mdash;the great preservative of these essential
concomitants of manly beauty. If you use tobacco&mdash;(and
I fervently hope none of you who have not
the habit will ever allow yourselves to acquire it!)&mdash;but
if you are, unfortunately, enslaved by the
habit, never omit to rinse the mouth thoroughly
after smoking (I will not admit the possibility, that
any <i>young man</i>, in this age of progressive refinement,
is addicted to habitual <i>chewing</i>), and never substitute
the use of a strong odor for this proper observance,
especially when going into the society of
ladies. Smoke dispellers must yield the palm to the
purifying effects of the unadulterated element, after
all.</p>

<p>The utmost nicety in the care of the <i>Nails</i>, is an
indispensable part of a gentleman's toilet. They
should be kept of a moderate length, as well as clean
and smooth. Avoid all absurd forms, and inconvenient
length, in cutting them, which you will find it
easiest to do neatly while they are softened by washing,
and the use of the nail-brush.<a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a></p>

<p>Properly fitted boots and shoes, together with frequent
bathing, will best secure <i>the feet</i> from the
torturing excrescences by which poor mortals are
so often afflicted. The addition of <i>salt</i> to the foot-bath,
if persevered in, will greatly protect them from
the painful effects of over-walking, etc.</p>

<p>I think that under the head of Dress, in one of my
earliest letters, I expressed my opinion regarding
the essentials of refinement and comfort as connected
with this branch of the toilet. I will only
say, in this connection, that a liberal supply of linen,
hosiery, etc., should be regarded as of more importance
than outside display, and that the most enlightened
economy suggests the employment of
the best materials, the most skillful manufacturers,
and the unrestrained use of these "aids and appliances"
of gentleman-like propriety, comfort, and
health.</p>

<p>The best and surest mode of securing ample and
certain leisure for needful attention to the minutić of
the toilet is <i>Early Rising</i>, a habit that, in addition to
the healthful influence it exerts upon the physique,
collaterally, promotes the minor moralities of life in
a wonderful degree, and really is one of the fundamentals
of success in whatever pursuit you may be
engaged. Here, again, permit me to refer you to
the examples of the truly great men of history&mdash;those
of our own land will suffice&mdash;Washington, Franklin,
Adams, and, though inconsistent with his habits
in some other respects, Webster. Of the latter, it is
well known, that he did not trim the midnight lamp<a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a>
for purposes of professional investigation or mental
labor of any kind, but rose early to such tasks, with
body and mind invigorated for ready and successful
exertion. I have seen few things from his powerful
pen, more pleasingly written than his <i>Eulogy upon
Morning</i>, as it may properly be called, though I
don't know that to be the title of an article written
by him in favor of our present theme, in which
erudition and pure taste contend for supremacy with
convincing argument.</p>

<p>But to secure the full benefit of <i>early rising</i>, my
young friends, you must also, establish the habit of
<i>retiring early</i> and regularly. No one dogma of
medical science, perhaps, is more fully borne out by
universal experience than this, that "two hours'
sleep before midnight is worth all obtained afterwards."
To seek repose before the system is
too far over-taxed for quiet, refreshing rest, and
before the brain has been aroused from the quiescence
natural to the evening hours, into renewed
and unhealthy action, is most consistent with the
laws of health. And, depend upon it, though the
elasticity of youthful constitutions may, for a time,
resist the pernicious effects of a violation of these
laws, the hour will assuredly come, sooner or later, to
all, when the <i>lex talionis</i> will be felt in resistless
power. Fashion and Nature are sadly at war on this
point, as I am fully aware; but the edicts of the one
are immutable, those of the other are proverbially
fickle.</p>

<p>Students, especially, should regard obedience to<a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a>
the wiser of the two as imperative. The mental
powers, as well as the physical, demand this&mdash;the
"<i>mind's eye</i>" as well as the organs of outward vision,
will be found, by experiment, to possess the clearer
and quicker discernment during those hours when,
throughout the domains of Nature, all is activity,
healthfulness and visible beauty. And no peculiarity
of circumstance or inclination will ever make
that healthful which is <i>unnatural</i>. Hence the wisdom
of <i>establishing habits</i> consistent with health,
while no obstacle exists to their easy acquisition.
There is an experiment on record made by two
generals, each at the head of an army on march, in
warm weather, over the same route. The one led
on his troops by day, the other chose the cooler
hours for advancing, and reposed while the sun was
abroad. In all other respects, their arrangements
were similar. At the end of ten or twelve days, the
result convincingly proved that exertion even under
mid-summer heat is most healthfully made while the
stimulus of solar light sustains the system, and that
sleep is most refreshing and beneficial in all respects
when sought while the hush and obscurity of the
outer world assist repose.</p>

<p>But if, as the nursery doggerel wisely declares,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"Early to bed and early to rise,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">there must be united with this rational habit, others
each equally important to the full advantage to be
derived from all combined.<a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a></p>

<p>Among these, <i>Exercise</i> holds a prominent <a name="tn_png_212"></a><!--TN: Period added after "rank"-->rank.
As with the bath, this is most effectually employed
for health before the system is exhausted by mental
labor.</p>

<p>Among the numerous modes of exercise, none is so
completely at command at all times and under all
circumstances, as <i>walking</i>. But the full benefit of
this exercise, is not often enjoyed by the inhabitants
of cities, by reason of the impure air that is almost
necessarily inhaled in connection with it. Still, it is
not impossible to obviate this difficulty by a little
pains. The <i>early riser</i> and the <i>rapid pedestrian</i> may
in general, easily secure time to seek daily one of
the few and limited breathing-places that, though in
this regard we are vastly inferior to Europeans in taste
and good sense, even our American cities supply,
either, like what they indeed are, <i>lungs</i>, in the very
centre of activity, or at no unapproachable distance
from it. Do not forget that vegetation, while it
sends forth noxious influences <i>at night</i>, exales oxygen
and other needful food for vitality, <i>in the
morning</i>, especially; nor that an erect carriage,
which alone gives unobstructed play to the organs of
respiration and digestion, is requisite, together with
considerable activity of movement, to secure the
legitimate results of walking.</p>

<p>Students, and others whose occupations are of a
sedentary character, sometimes adopt the practice
of taking a long walk periodically. This is, no
doubt, promotive of health, provided it is not at first
carried to an extreme. All such habits should be<a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a>
gradually formed, and their formation commenced
and pursued with due respect for physiological rules.
Mr.&nbsp;Combe, the distinguished phrenologist&mdash;in his
"Constitution of Man," I think, relates an instance
of a young person, in infirm health and unaccustomed
to such exertion, who undertook a walk of twenty
miles, to be accomplished without interruption.
The first seven or eight miles were achieved with
ease and pleasure to the pedestrian, but thenceforth
discomfort and final exhaustion should have been a
sufficient warning to the tyro to desist from his self-appointed
task. A severe illness was the consequence
and punishment of his ignorant violation of
physiological laws.</p>

<p>By the way, I cannot too strongly recommend to
your careful perusal the various works of Dr. Andrew
Combe, long the physician of the amiable King of
Belgium, in relation to that and kindred subjects.
His "Physiology as applied to Mental Health," is
replete with practical suggestions and advice of the
most instructive and important nature, as are also
his "Dietetics," etc.</p>

<p>Himself an incurable invalid, he maintained the
vital forces through many years of eminent usefulness
to others, only by dint of the most strenuous
adherence to the strictest requirements of the Science
of the Physique. The writings of his brother, Mr.
George Combe, and especially the work I have just
mentioned, the "Constitution of Man," also abound
in lessons of practical usefulness, which may be
adopted irrespective of his peculiar phrenological<a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a>
views. In the multitude of newer publications these
admirable books are already half-forgotten, but my
limited reading has afforded me no knowledge of
anything superior to them, as text-books for the
young.</p>

<p><i>Riding</i> and <i>driving</i> need no recommendation to
insure their popularity, as means of exercise. Both
have many pleasure and health-giving attractions.</p>

<p>Every young man should endeavor to acquire a
thorough knowledge of both riding and driving, not
from a desire to emulate the ignoble <a name="tn_png_214"></a><!--TN: "achievments" changed to "achievements"-->achievements of
a horse-jockey, but as proper <i>accomplishments</i> for a
gentleman.</p>

<p>The possession of a fine horse is a prolific source
of high and innocent enjoyment, and may often be
secured by those whose purses are not taxed for
<i>cigars and wine</i>! Nothing can be more exhilarating
than the successful management of this spirited and
generous animal, whether under the saddle or in harness!
Even plethoric, ponderous old Dr. Johnson,
admitted that "few things are so exciting as to be
drawn rapidly along in a post-chaise, over a smooth
road, by a fine horse!"</p>

<p>Let me repeat, however, that young men should
be content to promote health and enjoyment by the
moderate, gentleman-like gratification of the pride
of skill, in this respect. Like many other amusements,
though entirely innocent and unexceptionable
when reasonably indulged in, its abuse
leads inevitably to the most debasing consequences.&mdash;Our
dusty high-roads very ill supply the place of<a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a>
the extensive public Parks and gardens that furnish
such agreeable places of resort for both riding and
driving, as well as for pedestrians, in most of the large
cities of Europe, but one may, at least, secure better
air and more freedom of space by resorting to them
than to the streets, for every form of exercise. And
as it is a well established fact that agreeable and
novel associations for both the eye and the mind are
essential concomitants of beneficial exercise, we have
every practical consideration united to good taste in
favor of eschewing the streets whenever fate permits.</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"Oh! how canst thou renounce the boundless store<br></span>
<span class="i0">Of charms which Nature to her votaries yields,&mdash;<br></span>
<span class="i0">The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,<br></span>
<span class="i0">The pomp of groves and garniture of fields;<br></span>
<span class="i0">All that the genial ray of morning gilds,<br></span>
<span class="i0">And all that echoes to the song of even,<br></span>
<span class="i0">All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,<br></span>
<span class="i0">And all the dread magnificence of Heaven;&mdash;<br></span>
<span class="i0">O! how canst thou renounce and hope to be forgiven!"<br></span>
<span class="i0"><span class="keepright smcap" style="text-align:right;">Beattie<br></span></span>
</div></div>

<p style="padding-top:.75em;"><i>Eating</i> and <i>drinking</i> are too closely connected
with our general subject of health, to be forgotten
here.</p>

<p>That regard for Temperance which I have endeavored
to commend to you, of course yields a prominent
place to habits in these respects.</p>

<p>In relation to <i>eating</i>, I strongly recommend the
cultivation of <i>simple tastes</i>, and the careful avoidance
of every indulgence tending towards <a name="tn_png_215"></a><!--TN: Period added after "sensuality"-->sensuality.</p>
<p><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a>Some knowledge of <i>Dietetics</i> is essential to the adoption
of right opinions and practice on this point.
For instance, no man should wait for dire experience
to enforce the truths that roast and broiled meats
possess the most nutritious qualities; that all <i>fried</i>
dishes are, necessarily, more or less unwholesome;
that animal oils and fatty substances require stronger
digestive force for their assimilation than persons of
sedentary life usually possess; that warm bread, as a
rule, is unsuited to the human stomach, etc., etc.
No one should consider these matters unworthy of
serious attention, though temporarily free from inconvenience
arising from neglecting them. Eventually,
every human constitution will exhibit painful proofs
of all outrages committed upon the laws by which
its operations are governed; and the greater the
license permitted in youth, the severer will be the
penalty exacted in after years.</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;"Mind and Body are so close combined,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Where Health of Body, Health of Mind you find."<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>Preserve, then, as you value the means of usefulness,
the perfect play of your mental powers&mdash;so
easily trammelled by the clogging of the machinery
of the body&mdash;the unadulterated taste that is content
with a sufficiency of wholesome, well-cooked food to
satisfy the demands of healthful appetite. Cultivate
no love of condiments, sauces and stimulants; indulge
no ambition to excel in dressing salads, classifying
<i>ragouts</i>, or in demonstrating, down to the nicety of<a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a>
a single ingredient, the distinction between a home-made
and an imported <i>pâté de foie gras</i>! Distinctions
such as these may suffice for the worn-out
society of a corrupt civilization, but our countrymen&mdash;<span class="smcap">MEN</span>&mdash;should
shout <span class="smcap">Excelsior</span>!</p>

<p>Abstract rules in relations to the hours proper for
taking meals, however carefully adapted to the security
of health, in themselves considered, must, of
necessity, give place to those artificially imposed by
custom and convenience. Thus, though the practice
of <i>dining late</i> is not sanctioned by Hygeia, it admits
of question, whether, as the usages of the business-world
at present exists, it is not a wiser custom than
any other permitted by circumstance.</p>

<p>All who have given any attention to the subject
know, that neither bodily nor mental labor
can be either comfortably or successfully pursued
directly after a full meal. Hence, then, those whose
occupations require their attention during several
successive hours, may find the habit of dining after
the more imperative labors of the day are accomplished,
most conducive to health as well as convenience.</p>

<p>Still, it should not be forgotten, that long abstinence
is likely to produce the exhaustion that tells
so surely and seriously upon the constitution, of
young persons especially. This may be prevented
by taking, systematically, a little light, simple
nutriment, sufficient to produce what is aptly
termed the <i>stimulus of distention</i> in that much<a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a>
abused organ&mdash;the stomach. This practice regularly
adhered to, will also promote a collateral advantage,
by acting as a security against the too keen sharpening
of appetite that tends to repletion in eating,
and which sometimes produces results similar to
those exhibited by a boa-constrictor after dining
upon a whole buffalo, swallowed without the previous
ceremony of carving! One should never dine
so heartily as to be unfitted for the subsequent
enjoyment of society, or of the lighter pursuits of
literature. <i>Deliberate and thorough mastication</i> will
more beneficially, and quite as pleasurably, prolong
the enjoyments of the table, as a more hurried
disposal of a large quantity of food. And really I
do not know how the most rigid economist of time,
or the most self-sacrificing devotee either of Mammon
or of Literature, can more judiciously devote
an hour of each day than to the single purpose of
<i>dining</i>!</p>

<p>Happily for those whose self-respect does not
always furnish the sustaining power requisite for
the maintenance of a principle, fashion no longer
requires of any man the use of even <i>wine</i>, much
less of stronger beverages. And with reference to
the use of all alcoholic stimulants, as well as of
tobacco, I would remind you that <i>those only who are
not enslaved by appetite, are</i> <span class="smcap">FREE</span>! If you have
acquired a liking for wine or tobacco, and would
abjure either, or both, you will soon be convinced,
by experiment, of the truth of Dr. Johnson's saying,<a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a>
of which, by the way, his own life furnished a
striking illustration, that "<i>abstinence is easier than
temperance</i>."</p>

<p>To prolong arguments against the habits of smoking
and drinking, were a work of supererogation,
here. I will advance but one, which may, possibly,
possess the merit of novelty. Both have the effect,
materially to limit our enjoyment of the presence
and conversation of</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Heaven's last, best gift to man!"</p>

<p>I cannot better dismiss this important topic than
by quoting the following passage from the writings
of Sir Walter Raleigh:</p>

<p>"Except thou desire to hasten thy end, take this
for a general rule&mdash;that thou never add any artificial
heat to thy body by wine or spice, until thou
find that time hath decayed thy natural heat; the
sooner thou dost begin to help nature the sooner she
will forsake thee, and leave thee to trust altogether
to art."</p>

<p>In my youth, advice to young men was constantly
commingled&mdash;whatever its general tenor&mdash;with admonitions
regarding the necessity for industry and
perseverance in those who would achieve worldly
success. In these utilitarian times, when all seem
borne along upon a resistless current, hurrying to
the attainment of some practical end, engrossed by
schemes of political ambition, or devoted to the
acquisition of wealth, a quiet looker-on&mdash;as I am
wont to regard myself&mdash;is tempted to counsel<a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a>
"moderation in all things," contentment with the
legitimate results of honorable effort, the cultivation
of habits of daily relaxation from the severity of
toil, of daily rest from the mental tension that is
demanded for successful competition in the arena of
life.</p>

<p>The impression that <i>sleep</i> is a sufficient restorative
from the wearing effects of otherwise ceaseless labor,
or that <i>change of occupation</i> furnishes all the relief
that nature requires in this respect, is, undoubtedly,
erroneous. "The man," says an eminent student of
humanity, "who does not now allow himself two
hours for relaxation after dinner, will be <i>compelled</i>
to devote more time than that daily to the care of
his health, eventually."</p>

<p>To allow one's self to be so engrossed by any
pursuit, however laudable in itself, as to reserve no
leisure for the claims of Society, of Friendship, of
Taste, is so irrational as to need nothing but reflection
to render it apparent. In a merely utilitarian
view, it is unwise, since, as Ćsop has demonstrated,
the bow that is never unbent soon ceases to be fit
for use; but there is, surely, a higher consideration,
addressed to the reason of man. Pope embodies it,
in part, in the lines</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;"God is paid when man receives,<br></span>
<span class="i4"><i>To enjoy is to obey</i>!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>To have an aim, a purpose in life, sufficiently engrossing
to act as an incentive to the exercise of all
the powers of being, is essential to <a name="tn_png_220"></a><!--TN: "heath" changed to "health"-->health and happi<a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a>ness.
But to pursue any one object to the exclusion
of all considerations for self-culture and intellectual
enjoyment, is destructive of everything
worthy that name.</p>

<p>They who devote all the exertions of youth and
manhood to the acquisition of political distinction, or
of gold, for instance&mdash;cherishing, meanwhile, a sort
of Arcadian dream of ultimately enjoying the pleasures
of intellectual communion, or the charms of
the natural world, when the heat and burden of the
conflict of life shall be done&mdash;exhibit a most deplorable
ignorance of the truth that they will possess in
age only the crippled capacities that disuse has
almost wholly robbed of vitality, together with such
as are prematurely worn out by being habitually
overtaxed.</p>

<p>On the contrary, those who believe that</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"It is not all of life to live,"</p>

<p class="continue">and early establish a true standard of excellence, and
acquaint themselves with the immutable laws of our
being, will so commingle self-ennobling pursuits and
enjoyments with industrious and well-directed attention
to the needful demands of practical life, as to
secure as much of <i>ever-present happiness</i> as falls to
the lot of humanity, together with the enviable
retrospection of an exalted ambition, rightly fulfilled.
They may also hope for the invaluable possession of
intellectual and moral developments to be matured
in that state of existence of which this is but the
embryo. These are truisms, I admit, my young<a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a>
friends, yet the spirit of the age impels their iteration
and re-iteration!</p>

<p>Burke's musical periods lamented the departure
of the "age of chivalry." Would that one gifted as
he may revive the waning existence of the social
and domestic virtues, and inspire my young countrymen
with an ambition too lofty in its aspirations
to permit the sacrifice of mental and moral powers,
of natural affections, and immortal aspirations, upon
the altars of Mammon!&mdash;shrines now yearly receiving
from our country a holocaust of sacrifices, to
which battle-fields are as naught in comparison.</p>

<p>But to return from this unpremeditated digression.
Natural tastes and individual circumstances must,
to a considerable extent, determine the relaxations
and amusements most conducive to enjoyment and
health.</p>

<p>You will scarcely need to be told that persons of
sedentary habits, and especially those devoted to
literary occupations, should make <i>exercise in the
open air</i> a daily recreation, and that it will best
subserve the purposes of pleasure and health when
united with the advantages arising from <i>cheerful
companionship</i>.</p>

<p>Hence the superiority of walking, riding, driving,
boating, and sporting in its various forms, to all in-door
exercises and amusements&mdash;and especially to
those tending rather to tax the brain than exercise
the body&mdash;for those whose mental powers are most
taxed by their avocations.<a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a></p>

<p>On the other hand, there are those to whom the
lighter investigations of literature and science afford
the most appropriate relief from the toils of business.</p>

<p>Permit me, however, to enter my protest against
the belief that a change from the labors and duties
of city life to the close sleeping-rooms, the artificiality
and excitement of a fashionable watering-place
affords a proper and healthful relief to a weary body
and an overwrought brain. Life at a watering-place
is no more an equivalent for the pure air, the
simple habits, the wholesome food, the <i>repose of
mind and heart</i>, afforded by unadulterated country
life, than immersion in a bathing-tub is a satisfactory
substitute for swimming in a living stream, or
a contemplation of the most exquisite picture of
rural scenes, for a glorious canter amid green fields
and over breezy hills! Nor will dancing half the
night in heated rooms, late suppers, bowling-alleys
and billiards, not to speak of still more objectionable
indulgences, restore these devotees to study or business
to their city-homes re-invigorated for renewed
action, as will the least laborious employments of the
farmer, the "sportive toil" of the naturalist, the
varied enjoyments of the traveller amid the wonders
of our vast primeval forests, or of the voyager
who explores the attractions of our unrivalled chain
of inland lakes. People who do their thinking by
proxy, and regulate their enjoyments by the <i>on dit</i>
of the fashionable world, yearly spend money enough
at some crowded resort of the <i>beau monde</i> (heaven
save the mark!) to enable them to make the tour of<a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a>
Europe, or buy a pretty villa and grounds in the
country, or do some deed "twice blessed," in that
"it blesseth him that gives and him that takes."
In Scotland, in England, in the North of Europe generally,
men and women whose social position necessarily
involves refinement of habits and education,
go, in little congenial parties, into the mountains
and among the lakes, visit spots renowned in song
and story, collect specimens of the wonders of nature,
"camp out," as they say at the West, eat simply,
dress rationally&mdash;in short, <i>really rusticate</i>, in
happy independence alike of the thraldom of fashion
and the supremacy of convention. Thus in the Old
World, among the learned, the accomplished, the
high-born. Here in Young America&mdash;let the sallow
cheek, the attenuated limbs, the dull eye and <i>blasé</i>
air of the youthful scions of many a noble old Revolutionary
stock, attest only too truly, a treasonous
slavery to the most arbitrary and remorseless of
tyrants! Would that they may serve, at least, as
beacons to warn you, seasonably, against adding
yourselves to the denizens of haunts where</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"Unwieldly wealth, and cumbrous pomp repose;<br></span>
<span class="i0">And every want to luxury allied,<br></span>
<span class="i0">And every pang that <i>folly pays to pride</i>!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>I would that all my young countrymen might
have looked upon the last hours of my revered
friend, John Quincy Adams, and thus learned the<a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"></a>
impressive lessons taught by that solemn scene;
lessons that&mdash;to use his own appropriate language&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">&mdash;&mdash;"bid us seize the moments as they pass,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Snatch the retrieveless sun-beam as it flies,<br></span>
<span class="i2">Nor lose one sand of life's revolving glass&mdash;<br></span>
<span class="i4">Aspiring still, with energy sublime,<br></span>
<span class="i4">By virtuous deeds to give <i>Eternity to Time</i>!"<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br></span>
</div></div>

<p>It was, indeed, a fitting close of his long, noble
life! Faithful to his duty to his country, he maintained
his post to the last, and fell, like a true defender
of liberty&mdash;renouncing his weapons only with
his life. Borne from the arena of senatorial strife to
a couch hastily prepared beneath the same roof that
had so often echoed his words of dauntless eloquence,
attended by mourning friends, and receiving
the tender ministrations of the companion alike
of his earlier and later manhood, the flickering lamp
of life slowly expired. After, apparently, reviewing
the lengthened retrospection of a temperate, rational,
useful life, from the boyish years</p>

<p class="centerpoem"><a name="tn_png_225"></a><!--TN: Single quotes changed to double quotes around this quotation-->"Whose distant footsteps echoed through the corridors of Time,"</p>

<p class="continue">to the dying efforts of genius and patriotism, the
hushed stillness of that hallowed chamber at length
rendered audible the sublime words&mdash;"<span class="smcap">It is the
last of Earth! I am content!</span>"</p>

<a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"></a>
<p>I think it was during the administration of Sir
Charles Bagot, the immediate successor of Lord
Durham, as Governor General of the Canadas, that I
had the pleasure to dine one day, at the house of a
distinguished civilian who held office under him, in
company with the celebrated traveller L&mdash;&mdash;, and
his friend, the well-known E&mdash;&mdash; G&mdash;&mdash; W&mdash;&mdash;, a
man who, despite wealth, rank, and talent, paid a
life-long penalty for a youthful error. There were,
also, present several members of the Provincial Parliament,
then in session at Kingston, which was, at
that time, the seat of government, and a number of
ladies&mdash;those of the party of Americans with whom
I was travelling, and some others.</p>

<p>The conversation, very naturally, turned upon the
national peculiarities of the <i>Yankees</i>&mdash;as the English
call, not the inhabitants of New England alone, but
the people of the North American States generally&mdash;in
consequence of the fact that the world-wide traveller
had just completed his first visit to our country.
Some one asked him a leading question respecting
his impressions of us as a people, and more than one
good-humored sally was given and parried among
us. At length L&mdash;&mdash; said, so audibly and gravely as
to arrest the attention of the whole company:</p>

<p>"I have really but two serious faults to charge
upon Jonathan."</p>

<p>"May we be permitted to inquire what those are?"
returned I.<a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"></a></p>

<p>"That he <i>repudiates his debts</i>, and <i>doesn't take
time to eat his dinner</i>."</p>

<p>When the general laugh had subsided, Mr.&nbsp;W&mdash;&mdash;
remarked that, except when at the best hotels in
the larger cities, he had found less inducement for
dining deliberately in the United States than in most
civilized lands he had visited, in consequence of the
prevalent bad cookery.</p>

<p>"The words of Goldsmith," said he,&mdash;</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"'Heaven sends us good meat, but the devil sends cooks!'</p>

<p class="continue">were always present to my mind when at table
there! They eschew honest cold roast beef, as
though there were poison in meat but once cooked,
served a second time, though Hamlet is authority for
<i>our</i> taste in that respect.&mdash;The cold venison you did
me the honor to compliment so highly, at lunch, this
morning, L&mdash;&mdash;, would have been offered you <i>fried</i>
by our good Yankee cousins!"</p>

<p>"The patron saint of <i>la cuisine</i> forefend!" cried
a smooth-browed Englishman&mdash;"not re-cooked, I
hope?"</p>

<p>"Assuredly!" returned W&mdash;&mdash;, "I trust these ladies
and Colonel Lunettes will pardon me,&mdash;but such infamous
stupidity is quite common. I soon learned, however,
the secret of preserving my "capacious stomach"
in unimpaired capacity for action, [an irresistibly<a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a>
comic glance downward upon his portly person] and
could, I thought, very readily explain&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">'What is't that takes from <i>them</i><br></span>
<span class="i0">Their stomach, pleasures, and their golden sleep,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Why they do bend their eyes upon the earth,<br></span>
<span class="i0">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;<br></span>
<span class="i0">In thick ey'd musing and curs'd melancholy!'"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>If the frank denunciations of this eccentric
observer of life and manners might otherwise have
been regarded as impolite, his more severe comments
upon his own countrymen proved, at least, that no
national partiality swayed his judgment.</p>

<p>I remember his telling me the following anecdote,
as we chatted over our coffee, after joining the ladies
in the evening:&mdash;In answer to some inquiry on my
part, respecting the social condition of <i>the people</i>&mdash;the
peasantry, as he called them, of the Provinces,
he spoke in unmitigated condemnation of their ignorance,
and especially of their insolence and boorishness.
"Get L&mdash;&mdash; to tell you," said he, "how nearly
he and his servants were frozen to death one fierce
night, while an infernal gate-keeper opposed his
road-right. Then, again, the other morning, Mrs.
M&mdash;&mdash; (our hostess) who like every other lady
here, except, perhaps, Lady Bagot, goes to market
every day, was referred by a man, from whom she
inquired for potatoes, to an old crone, with the words&mdash;'This
<i>lady</i> sell them,&mdash;here is <i>a woman</i> who wants
to buy potatoes!'"</p>

<p>The following morning, while our American party<a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"></a>
were driving out to the superb Fort that protects the
Harbor of Kingston, to visit which we had been
politely furnished with a permit by an official friend,
I endeavored to draw from a very charming and
accomplished lady the secret of her unusual silence
and reserve at dinner the evening before. She is
really a celebrity, as much for her remarkable conversational
powers, as for any other reason, perhaps,
and I had, therefore, the more regretted her not
joining in the conversation.</p>

<p>"What made the mystery more difficult of solution,"
said one of the other ladies, "was the equally
imperturbable gravity of that handsome Frenchman
who sat beside Virginia."</p>

<p>"Handsome!" retorted Virginia, "do you call that
man handsome!&mdash;his high cheek bones and swarthy
complexion show his Indian blood rather too plainly
for my taste, I must confess."</p>

<p>"That commingling of races is very common here,
Virginia," said I, "Mr.&nbsp;E&mdash;&mdash; is a somewhat prominent
member of the Canadian Parliament. I heard
a speech from him, in French, yesterday morning,
which was listened to with marked attention. There
were a number of ladies in the <i>side-boxes</i>, too, and
it is evident from his attention to his dress, if for no
other reason, that Mr.&nbsp;E&mdash;&mdash; is an <i>élégant</i>!"</p>

<p>"All that may be," rejoined Virginia, "but I have
no fancy for light blue 'unwhisperables,' as Tom
calls them, nor for ruffled shirts!"</p>

<p>"<a name="tn_png_229"></a><!--TN: Single quote removed before "A"-->A change has come o'er the spirit of your dream,
most queenly daughter of the 'sunny South!'&mdash;is<a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></a>
this the sprightly <i>Américaine</i> who won all hearts the
other day on the St. Lawrence,&mdash;from that magnificent
British officer, to the quiet old priest whose very
beard seemed to laugh, at least"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"That, indeed, Col. Lunettes!&mdash;but for your ever-ready
gallantry I would exclaim&mdash;</p>

<p class="centerpoem">'Man delights me not, nor woman either!'</p>
<p class="continue">but here we are at the entrance of the famous donjon
keep!"</p>

<p>We spent some time in examining the&mdash;to the
ladies&mdash;novel attractions of the place. By-and-by, the
fair Virginia, who had strayed off a little by herself,
called to me to come and explain the mode of using a
port-hole to her. In a few minutes, she said, in a low
tone, sitting down, as she spoke upon a dismounted
cannon, "Col. Lunettes, I beg you not to allude again
to that&mdash;to the dinner, yesterday, or, at least, to my
embarrassment"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Your embarrassment, my dear girl!" I exclaimed,
"you astonish me! Do explain yourself"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Hush," returned my companion, looking furtively
over her shoulder, "that young Englishman seems
to be engrossing the attention of the rest of the party,
and, perhaps, I shall have time to tell you"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Do, my dear, if anything has annoyed you&mdash;surely
so old a friend may claim your confidence."</p>

<p>"I have heard of the 'son of a gun,'" replied
she, evidently making a strong effort to recall the
natural sprightliness that seemed so singularly to
have deserted her of late; "I don't see why I am<a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></a>
not the <i>daughter of a gun</i>, at this moment, and so
entitled to be very brave! But about this Mr.
E&mdash;&mdash;, Colonel," she almost whispered, bending her
head so as to screen her face from my observation.
"You know Mrs.&nbsp;M&mdash;&mdash; called for me the other
morning to go and walk with her alone, because, as
she said, she wanted to talk a little about old times,
when we were in the convent school at C&mdash;&mdash;
together. Well, as we came to a little "shop," as
she styled it&mdash;a hardware store, <i>we</i> should say&mdash;she
begged me to go in with her a moment, while she
gave some directions about a hall-stove, saying, with
an apology: "We wives of government officers
here, do all these things, as a matter of course."
While she walked back in the place, I very naturally
remained near the door, amusing myself by
observing what was passing in the street. Presently,
a fine horse arrested my eye, as he came
prancing along. His rider seemed to have some ado
to control him, as I thought, at first, but I suddenly
became aware that he was endeavoring to stop him,
in mid career, and that, when he succeeded&mdash;he&mdash;I&mdash;there
was no mistaking it&mdash;his glance almost petrified
me, in short, and I had only just power to turn
quickly in search of Mrs.&nbsp;M&mdash;&mdash;."</p>

<p>The slight form of the speaker quivered visibly,
and she paused abruptly.</p>

<p>"Why, my poor child," said I, soothingly, "never
mind it! How can you allow such a thing to distress
you in this way?"</p>

<p>"If anything of the kind had ever happened to me<a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></a>
before, I should have thought it my fault, in some
way; but when I got back to our hotel, and
reviewed the whole matter, and&mdash;but there come
the rest of the party"&mdash;she added, hurriedly. "Do
you wonder now at my manner at the dinner? I
knew his face the moment the man entered the dining
room; and when Mr.&nbsp;M&mdash;&mdash; introduced him, and
requested him to conduct me, the burning glow that
flashed over his swarthy brow convinced me that
he, too, recognized me. I would sooner have
encountered a basilisk than your elegant, parliamentary
Frenchman!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"Doctor, what may I eat?" inquired a dyspeptic
American, who had just received a prescription
from Abernethy&mdash;the eccentric and celebrated English
physician.</p>

<p>"<i>Eat?</i>" thundered the disciple of Galen, "the
poker and tongs, if you will <i>chew them well</i>!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>What a commingling of nations and characters
there was in the little party of which I made one,
on a serene evening, lang-syne, at Constantinople!
We floated gently over the placid bosom of the
sunset-tinted Golden Horn, rowed by four stout
Mussulmans, and bound for that point of the shore of
the Marmora nearest the suburb of Ezoub where<a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></a>
horses awaited us for a brisk canter of some miles
back to the city. There were, Lord &mdash;&mdash;, an English
nobleman; a Hungarian refugee; a Yankee sea-captain;
a dark-eyed youth from one of the Greek
Islands; and myself&mdash;men severed by birth and education
from communion of thought and feeling, yet
united, for the moment, by a similarity of purpose;
associated by the subtle influence of circumstance,
into a serene commingling of one common nature,
and capacitated for the interchange of impressions
and ideas, at least in an imperfect degree, through
the medium of a strange jargon, compounded originally
of materials as varied as the native languages
of the several individuals composing the group in
our old Turkish <i>Caique</i>, which may have been, for
aught we knew, the identical one that followed
Byron in his Leander-swim!</p>

<p>The conversation naturally partook in character of
the scene before us:&mdash;Near, towered the time-stained
walls of the Seraglio&mdash;so long the cradling-place
of successive Sultans, and then furnishing the embryo
of the voluptuous pleasures of their anticipated
paradise. Beyond, rose the ruin-crowned heights,
the domes and minarets of old Stamboul, rich in historic
suggestions, glowing now in the warmly-lingering
smile of the departing day-god,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright,<br></span>
<span class="i0">But one unclouded blaze of living light!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>Before us, in our way over the crystal waters,<a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"></a>
loomed up the gloomy, verdure-draped turrets of the
"Irde Koule" of this oft-rebelling and oft-conquered
seat of Oriental splendor and imperial power. As
with the "Tower" of London, the mere sight of this
now silent and deserted castle, conjured up recollections
replete with deeds of wild romance, and darker
scenes of blood and crime. Around us flowed the
waters whose limpid depths had so oft received the
sack-shrouded form of helpless beauty, when midnight
blackness rivalled the horror of the foul murder
it veiled forever from mortal ken. Argosies and
fleets had been borne upon these waves, whose
names or whose conflicts were of world-wide renown&mdash;from
the mythical adventurers of the Golden-Fleece
to the triumphant squadrons of the Osmanlis,
all seemed to float before the eye of fancy!</p>

<p>From the broken sentences that, for some time,
seemed most expressive of the contemplative mood
engendered both by our surroundings and by the
placidity of the hour, there gradually arose a somewhat
connected discussion of the present condition
of the Ottoman Porte.</p>

<p>It is not my purpose to inflict upon you a detailed
report of our discourse; but only to relate,
for your amusement, a fragment of it, which somehow
has, strangely enough, floated upwards from
the darkened waters of the past, with sufficient distinctness
to be snatched from the oblivion to which
its utter insignificance might properly consign it.</p>

<p>"There is not," said the British noble&mdash;a man
curious in literature, and a somewhat speculative<a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></a>
observer of life&mdash;"there is not a single purely literary
production in the Turkish language, written by
a living author; not a poem, nor romance, nor essay.
The Koran would almost seem to constitute their all
of earthly lore and heavenly aspiration. What an
anomaly in the biography of modern peoples!"</p>

<p>This last sentence was addressed especially to the
sea-captain and me, the <i>idiomatical</i> English in which
the passing fancy of the speaker found expression
being wholly unintelligible to all except ourselves.</p>

<p>"Their total want of a national literature," said
the American, "does not so materially affect my
comfort, I must confess, as the utter absence of
decent civilization in their renowned capital. For
instance, they have not an apology for a night-police
in their confoundedly dark streets, except the infernal
dogs that infest them. The other night, returning
to my quarters, with my 'Ibrahim' pilot in
front with a lantern, I was persuaded, as one of these
'faithful guardians' fastened his glistening ivories
in my boot-top, that, like one of your 'lone stars' at
New York, Colonel Lunettes, he had 'mistaken his
man,' and supposed me to be the returned spirit of
some one of the countless throng of infidel dogs, upon
whom his public education had instructed him to
make war to&mdash;<i>the teeth</i>!"</p>

<p>"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Greek, in tones as
musical as his dress and attitude were picturesque,
from the pile of boat cloaks upon which he reposed
in the bow of the boat, and opening his dark eyes till
one saw far down into the dreamy depths of his<a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></a>
half-slumbering soul through his quick-lit orbs. He
had caught enough of the <i>sense</i> of the captain's nonsense,
to imagine the joke to the full. "Ha, ha,
ha!" laughed he, again, and the shadowy walls of
the blood-stained "Chateau of Seven Towers," by
which we were gliding, gave back the clear, clarion-like
tone; "but, while this brave <i>fils de la mer</i><a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> thus
sports with the terrors of my country's enslaver
[here a frown, deep, dark, threatening, and a quick
clenching of the jewelled handle of the yataghan he
wore in his belt], the gates of fair Stamboul will
close, and nor foe, nor Frank, nor friend, be given to
the dogs."</p>

<p>"By thunder!" shouted the American, shaking
himself up, as if at sea, with a suspicious sail in
sight, "he is more than half right. Would you have
thought it so late?"</p>

<p>"Even a Yankee, like Captain &mdash;&mdash;, a fair representative
of the <a name="tn_png_236"></a><!--TN: "univeral" changed to "universal"-->'universal nation,' learns to dream
and linger here," responded the Englishman, good-humoredly.</p>

<p>Upon this, I made use of the little knowledge I
possessed of the Turkish, to interrogate our <i>Caidjis</i>
respecting the time further required to reach our
landing-place.</p>

<p>"Allah is great, and Mohammed is his Prophet!"
was all I could fully apprehend of his slowly-delivered
reply.</p>

<p>It was now the captain's turn to laugh, and as his<a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></a>
sonorous peal rippled over the Marmora, he quietly
insinuated his fore-finger and thumb into the disengaged
palm of the devout Mussulman I had so
touchingly adjured.</p>

<p>The only response of the devotee of the Prophet
was a gutteral repetition of "Pekee! good! pekee!
pekee!" But by an influence as effective as it was
mysterious, our swan-like movement was exchanged
for a most hope-encouraging velocity.</p>

<p>"Bravo!" exclaimed my lord.</p>

<p>"Bravissima!" intonated the Hun.</p>

<p>"Go it, boys!" shouted the "old salt."</p>

<p>"By the soul of Mithridates and the deeds of
Thermopolć!" chimed in the scion of the "isles of
Greece," catching the instinctively-intelligible contagion
of the sportive moment.</p>

<p>"And what said Uncle Hal?" you wonder, perhaps.
Oh, I was listening to the low, melancholy,
semi-howl in which the imperturbable Moslems were
slowly chanting "<i>Güzal! pek güzal!</i>"<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> as they
turned their dull eyes lingeringly towards their fast-receding
mosques and minarets.</p>

<p>But, meeting the questioning glances of my companions,
as their mirth began to subside, I contributed
my humble quota to the general stock of fun
by saying, with extreme gravity of voice and manner:</p>

<p>"When will wonders cease in the Golden Horn!
At first, even its unquestionable antiquity did not<a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></a>
redeem this vessel from my contempt&mdash;now I consider
it an '<i>irresistible duck</i>!'&mdash;and I wish, moreover,
to publish my conviction that, though barbarous
in matters of literature and art, the Turks impressively
teach their boastful superiors a <i>religious
respect for cleanliness</i>."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>I remember to have been singularly impressed,
when I read it, with an anecdote somewhat as follows:</p>

<p>As too frequently happens on such occasions, a
discussion in relation to some insignificant matter,
into which a large party of men, who had dined together,
and were lingering late over their wine, had
fallen, gradually increased in vehemence and obstinacy
of opinion, until frenzied excitement ruled
the hour.</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"From words they almost came to blows,<br></span>
<span class="i0">When luckily"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">the attention of one of the most furious of the disputants
was suddenly arrested by the <a name="tn_png_238"></a><!--TN: "appearace" changed to "appearance"-->appearance of one of
the gentlemen present. There was no angry flush on
his brow, no "laughing devil" in his eye, and he sat
quietly regarding the scene before him, serene and
self-possessed as when he entered the apartment
hours before. His astonished companion inquired
the cause of such placidity, in the midst of anger
and turbulence.<a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></a></p>

<p>The gentleman pointed, with a smile, to a half-empty
water-bottle beside him, and replied: "While
the rest of the company have been industriously
occupied in endeavoring to drown the distinctive
attribute of man&mdash;reason&mdash;I have preserved its supremacy
by simply confining myself to a non-intoxicating
beverage."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>I trust you will not think the following somewhat
quaint verses, from the pen of an old and now almost
forgotten poet, a <i>mal-ŕ-propos</i> conclusion to this
letter:</p>

<h3>THE YOUTH AND THE PHILOSOPHER</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A Grecian youth, of talents rare,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Whom Plato's philosophic care<br></span>
<span class="i0">Had formed for Virtue's nobler view,<br></span>
<span class="i0">By precept and example too,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Would often boast his matchless skill<br></span>
<span class="i0">To curb the steed, and guide the wheel;<br></span>
<span class="i0">And as he passed the gazing throng<br></span>
<span class="i0">With graceful ease, and smack'd the thong,<br></span>
<span class="i0">The idiot wonder they expressed,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Was praise and transport to his breast.<br></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At length, quite vain, he needs would show<br></span>
<span class="i0">His master what his art could do;<br></span>
<span class="i0">And bade his slaves the chariot lead<br></span>
<span class="i0">To Academus' sacred shade.<br></span>
<span class="i0">The trembling grove confessed its fright,<br></span>
<span class="i0">The wood-nymphs started at the sight;<br></span>
<span class="i0">The Muses drop the learned lyre,<br></span>
<span class="i0">And to their inmost shades retire.<br></span>
<span class="i0">Howe'er, the youth, with forward air,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Bows to the Sage, and mounts the car;<a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></a><br></span>
<span class="i0">The lash resounds, the coursers spring,<br></span>
<span class="i0">The chariot marks the rolling ring;<br></span>
<span class="i0">And gathering crowds, with eager eyes,<br></span>
<span class="i0">And shouts, pursue him as he flies.<br></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Triumphant to the goal returned,<br></span>
<span class="i0">With nobler thirst his bosom burned;<br></span>
<span class="i0">And now along the indented plain<br></span>
<span class="i0">The self-same track he marks again;<br></span>
<span class="i0">Pursues with care the nice design,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Nor ever deviates from the line.<br></span>
<span class="i0">Amazement seized the circling crowd;<br></span>
<span class="i0">The youths with emulation glowed;<br></span>
<span class="i0">E'en bearded sages hailed the boy,<br></span>
<span class="i0">And all but Plato gazed with joy.<br></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For he, deep-judging sage, beheld<br></span>
<span class="i0">With pain the triumph of the field:<br></span>
<span class="i0">And when the charioteer drew nigh,<br></span>
<span class="i0">And, flushed with hope, had caught his eye,<br></span>
<span class="i0">"Alas! unhappy youth," he cried,<br></span>
<span class="i0">"Expect no praise from me," (and sighed);<br></span>
<span class="i0">"With indignation I survey<br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Such skill and judgment thrown away:</i><br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>The time profusely squandered there</i><br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>On vulgar arts, beneath thy care,</i><br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>If well employed, at less expense,</i><br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Had taught thee Honor, Virtue, Sense;</i><br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>And raised thee from a coachman's fate,</i><br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>To govern men, and guide the state."</i><br></span>
</div></div>

<p>One seldom finds a nicer selection of words than
those of the last lines of these admonitory stanzas.
With the wish that they may gratify your literary
acumen, I am, as ever,</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature2">Your faithful friend,<br></span>
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">Harry Lunettes.</span><br></span>
</div>



<div class="footnotes"><h3 style="margin-top:.5em;">Footnotes:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Concluding lines of Mr.&nbsp;Adams' "Address to the <i>Sun-Dial</i> under the
window of the Hall of the House of Representatives."</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Son of the sea.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> My beautiful! my most beautiful!</p></div>
</div>


<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></a>
<h2><a name="LETTER_VIII" id="LETTER_VIII"></a>LETTER VIII.</h2>

<p class="chapterhead">LETTER-WRITING.</p>

<p class="chapterstart">My dear Nephews:</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="firstwords">There</span> is, perhaps, no form of composition
with which it is as desirable to be practically familiar,
and in which all educated persons should be
accomplished, as that of <i>letter-writing</i>; yet no
branch of an elegant education is more frequently
neglected. Consequently, the grossest errors, and
the utmost carelessness, are tolerated in regard to it.
Rhetorical faults, and even ungrammatical expressions,
are constantly overlooked, and illegibility has
almost come to be regarded as an essential characteristic.</p>

<p>Following the homely rule of the lightning-tamer,
that "<i>nothing is worth doing at all that is not worth
doing well</i>," you will not need argument to convince
you of the propriety of attention to this subject,
while forming habits of life.</p>

<p>Different occasions and subjects require, of course,
as various styles of epistolary composition. Thus
the laconic language adapted to a formal business
letter, would be wholly unsuited to one of friendship;
and the playfulness that might be appropriate<a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></a>
in a congratulatory communication, would be quite
out of place in a letter of condolence.</p>

<p>While it is impossible that any general rules can
be laid down that will be always applicable in individual
cases, a few directions of universal application
may, not inappropriately, be introduced in connection
with our present purpose.</p>

<p>The principal requisites of <i>Letters of Business</i> are,
<i>intelligibility</i>, <i>legibility</i>, and <i>brevity</i>. To secure the
first of these essentials, a clear, concise, expressive
selection of language is required. Each word and
sentence should express <i>exactly</i> and <i>unequivocally</i>
the idea intended to be conveyed, and in <i>characters</i>
that will not obscure the sense by doubtful <i>legibility</i>.
A legible hand should certainly be as essential as
intelligible utterance. We pity the man who by
stammering, or stuttering, not only taxes the time
and patience of his hearers, but leaves them, at
times, uncertain of his meaning, despite their efforts
to comprehend him. What, then, is the misfortune
of those who, like the most genial of wits,
'decline to read their own writing, after it is twenty-four
hours old!' Do not, I pray you, let any
absurd impression respecting the excusableness of
this defect, on the score that <i>genius is superior to the
trifles of detail</i>, etc., lead you either into carelessness
or indifference on the subject. Few men have the
excuse of possessing the dangerous gift of genius, and
to affect the weaknesses by which it is sometimes
accompanied, is equally silly and contemptible. A
man of sense will aim at attaining a true standard<a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></a>
of right, not at caricaturing a defective model.
Depend upon it, a <i>good business-hand</i> is no small
recommendation to young men seeking employment
in any of the occupations of life. The propriety of
<i>brevity</i> in letters of business, will at once commend
itself to your attention. Time&mdash;the wealth of the
busy&mdash;is thus saved for two parties. But remember,
I repeat, that, while this precious treasure is best
secured by expressing what you wish to communicate
in as few words as possible, nothing is gained
by leaving your precise meaning doubtful, by unauthorized
abbreviations, confused sentences, or the
omission of any essential&mdash;as a date, address, proper
signature, important question, or item of information.
Let me add, that <i>rapidity of mechanical execution</i>
is of no mean importance in this regard.</p>

<p><i>Letters of Introduction</i> should be so expressed as
to afford the reader a clue to the particular purpose
of the bearer in desiring his acquaintance, if any
such there be. This will prevent the awkwardness
of a personal explanation, and furnish a convenient
theme for the commencement of a conversation between
strangers. Thus, if it be simply a friend, travelling
in search of pleasure and general information,
whom you wish to commend to the general civilities
of another friend, some such form as the following
will suffice:</p>

<div class="letter">
<p style="text-align:right;">&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p class="smcap" style="text-indent:0em;">My dear Sir:</p>

<p class="firstpara">Allow me the pleasure of introducing to
you my friend, Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, a gentleman whose<a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a>
intelligence and acquirements render his acquaintance
an acquisition to all who are favored with his
society. Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash; visits your city [or town, or part
of the country, or, your celebrated city, or, your enterprising
town, or your far-famed State, etc.] merely
as an <i>observant traveller</i>. Such attentions as it may
be agreeable to you to render him will oblige</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature1">Your sincere friend,<br></span>
<span class="presignature2"	>and obedient servant,<br></span>
<span class="presignature3">&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;.<br></span>
</div>

<p>To Hon. &mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;</p></div>

<p>When you wish to write a letter of introduction
for a person seeking a situation in business, a place
of residence, scientific information, or the like;
briefly, but distinctly, state this to your correspondent,
together with any circumstance creditable to the
bearer, or which it will be advantageous to him to
have known, which you can safely venture to avouch.
(No one is in any degree bound by individual regard
to impair his reputation for probity or veracity in
this, or any other respect.)</p>

<p>A letter introducing an Artist, a Lecturer, etc.,
should contain some allusion to the professional
reputation of the bearer&mdash;thus:</p>

<div class="letter">
<p style="text-align:right;">&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;</p>


<p class="smcap" style="text-indent:0em;">My dear Williamson:</p>

<p class="firstpara">This will be presented to you by our distinguished
countryman, Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;, who proposes
a brief visit to your enterprising city, chiefly
for professional purposes. It affords me great plea<a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></a>sure
to be the means of securing to friends whom I
so highly value, the gratification I feel assured you
and Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash; will derive from knowing each other.</p>

<p>With the best wishes for your mutual success and
happiness, I am, my dear sir,</p>
<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature2">Very truly yours,<br></span>
<span class="presignature3">&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;.<br></span>
</div>

<p>To &mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, Esq.</p></div>

<p>In the instance of a celebrity, occupying at the
time a space in the world's eye, something like this
will suffice:</p>

<div class="letter">
<p style="text-align:right;font-size:.8em;"><span class="smcap">Boston</span>, <i>August 1st, 1863</i>.</p>

<p class="smcap" style="text-indent:0em;">My dear Friend:</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="smcap">It</span> gives me pleasure to present to your
acquaintance a gentleman from whose society you
cannot fail to derive high enjoyment. Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash; [or
the Hon. &mdash;&mdash;, or Gen.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;]<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> needs no eulogy<a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></a>
of mine to render his reputation familiar to you,
identified as it is with the literature of our country
[or the scientific fame, or the eloquence of the pulpit,
etc.] Commending my friend to your courtesy,
believe me, my dear Jones,</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature2">Truly your friend and servant,<br></span>
<span class="presignature3">&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;.<br></span>
</div>

<p>Rev. &mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;.</p></div>


<p>Letters of introduction should always be <i>unsealed</i>,
and, as a rule, should relate only to the affairs of the
bearer, not even passingly to those of the writer or
his correspondent. When it is desirable to write
what cannot, for any reason, be properly introduced
into the open letter, a separate and <i>sealed</i> communi<a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"></a>cation
may be written and sent, with a polite apology,
or brief explanation, with the other.</p>

<p>When letters of introduction are delivered in person,
they should be sent by the servant who admits
you, together with your card, to the lady or gentleman
to whom they are addressed, as the most convenient
mode of announcing yourself, and the object
of your visit.</p>

<p>When you do not find the person you wish to see,
write your <i>temporary address</i> upon your card, as "At
the American Hotel"&mdash;"With Mrs.&nbsp;Henry, 22
Washington-st."&mdash;"At Hon. John Berkley's," etc.
Should you <i>send</i> your letter, accompany it by your
card and <i>present</i> address, and inclose both together
in an envelope directed to the person for whom
they are designed. When your stay is limited and
brief, it is suitable to add upon your card, together
with an accurate <i>date</i>&mdash;"For to-day," or, "To remain
but two or three days." And in case of any explanation,
or apology, or request being requisite, such
as you would have made in a <i>personal</i> interview,
write <i>a note</i>, to be inclosed with the letter of presentation.
Every omission of these courtesies that may
occasion trouble, or inconvenience to others, is ill-bred,
and may easily serve to prejudice strangers
against you.</p>

<p>Sometimes it is well to make an appointment
through the card you leave, or send, with a letter, or
for a stranger whom you wish to meet, as&mdash;"At the
Globe Hotel, <i>this evening</i>," with a date, or thus<a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"></a>&mdash;"Will
pay his respects to Mrs.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, to-morrow
morning, with her permission."</p>

<p>A letter introducing a young man, still "unknown
to fame," to a lady of fashion, or of distinguished
social position, may be expressed somewhat in this
manner:</p>

<div class="letter">
<div style="font-size:.8em;font-style:italic;line-height:10%;">
<p>To</p>
<p style="text-indent:4em;">Mrs.&nbsp;Modish,<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></p>
<p style="text-indent:0em;text-align:center;">No. 14 Belgrave Place</p>
<p style="text-align:right;padding-right:.5em;">Charleston, S.&nbsp;C.</p>
</div>

<p style="text-align:right;font-size:.8em;padding-top:.75em;"><span class="smcap">Astor House, New York</span>, <i>Jan. 27th, 1863</i>.</p>
<p class="smcap" style="text-indent:0em;">Dear Madam:</p>

<p class="firstpara">Permit me to present to you my friend,
Mr.&nbsp;James Stuart&mdash;a gentleman whose polished
manners and irreproachable character embolden me<a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a>
to request for him the honor of an acquaintance with
even so fastidious and accomplished an arbiter of
fashion as yourself.</p>

<p>Mr.&nbsp;Stuart will be able to give you all the information
you may desire respecting our mutual friends
and acquaintances in society here.</p>

<p>Do me the honor to make my very respectful
compliments to the Misses Modish, and to believe
me, dear madam,</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature1">Most respectfully,<br></span>
<span class="presignature2">Your friend and servant,<br></span>
<span class="presignature3 smcap">Robert B. Hawks.<br></span>
</div>
<p class="smcap">Mrs.&nbsp;Modish.</p>
</div>

<p>Letters presenting <i>foreigners</i>, should designate the
country and particular locality to which they belong,
as well as the purpose of their tour, as&mdash;"The Chevalier
Bonné, of Berne, Switzerland whose object in
visiting our young Republic is not only the wish to
compare our social and political institutions with
those of his own country, but the collection of <i>specimens</i>
and <i>information</i> respecting the <i>Natural History</i>
of the United States. Such assistance as you
may be able to render my learned friend, in facilitating
his particular researches, will confer a favor
upon me, my dear sir, which I shall ever gratefully
remember," etc., etc.</p>

<p>The subject of letters of introduction naturally
suggests that of <i>personal introductions</i>, in relation to
which the grossest mistakes and the greatest carelessness
are prevalent, even among well-bred people.<a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"></a></p>

<p>In making persons acquainted with each other,
the form of words may vary almost with every
different occasion, but there are certain rules that
should never be overlooked, since they refer to considerations
of abstract propriety.</p>

<p>Younger persons and inferiors in social rank,
should, almost invariably, be <i>presented to</i> their seniors
and superiors. Thus, one should not say&mdash;"Mr.
Smith, let me introduce Mr.&nbsp;Washington Irving to
you," but "Mr.&nbsp;Irving, will you allow me to introduce
Mr.&nbsp;John Smith to you?" Or, "Permit me to
present Mr.&nbsp;Smith to you, sir," presupposing that
Mr.&nbsp;Smith does not need to be informed to whom he
is about to be introduced. It is difficult to express
upon paper the difference of signification conveyed
by the mode of <i>intonating</i> a sentence. "General
Scott, Mr.&nbsp;Jones," may be so pronounced as to present
the latter gentlemen to our distinguished countryman,
in a simple, but admissible manner, or it
may illustrate the impropriety of naming a man of
mark to a person who makes no pretensions to social
equality with him.</p>

<p>Usually, men should be introduced to women,
upon the principle that precedence is always yielded
to the latter; but, even in this case, an exception
may properly be made in the instance of an introduction
between a <i>very young</i>, or, otherwise, wholly
unindividualized woman, and a man of high position,
or of venerable age. A half-playful variation
from the ordinary phraseology of this ceremony,
may sometimes be adopted, under such circum<a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"></a>stances,
with good taste, as&mdash;"This young lady desires
the pleasure of knowing you, sir&mdash;Miss&nbsp;Williams,"
or, "Mr.&nbsp;Prescott, this is my niece, Miss&nbsp;Ada Byron
Robinson."</p>

<p>When there is a "distinction without a difference"
between two persons, or when hospitality
interdicts your assuming to decide a nice point in
this regard, it may be waived by merely <i>naming</i> the
parties in such a way as to give precedence to
neither&mdash;thus: "Gentlemen, allow me&mdash;Mr.&nbsp;W&mdash;&mdash;,
Mr.&nbsp;V&mdash;&mdash;," or, "Gentlemen, allow me the pleasure
of making you known to each other," and then simply
pronounce the names of the two persons.</p>

<p>By the way, let me call your attention to the
importance of an <i>audible</i> and <i>distinct</i> enunciation
of <i>names</i>, when assuming to make an introduction.
A <i>quiet, self-possessed manner</i>, and <i>intelligibility</i>
should be regarded as essential at such times.</p>

<p>When introducing persons who are necessarily
wholly unacquainted with each other's antecedents of
station or circumstance, it is eminently proper to add
a brief explanation, as&mdash;"Mr.&nbsp;Preudhomne, let me
introduce my brother-in-law, General Peters,&mdash;Mr.
Preudhomne, of Paris," or; "Mrs.&nbsp;Blandon, with your
permission, I will present to you Seńor Abenno, a
Spanish gentleman. Seńor A. speaks French perfectly,
but is unacquainted with our language;"
or, "Mr.&nbsp;Smithson, this is my friend Mr.&nbsp;Brown, of
Philadelphia&mdash;like ourselves, <i>a merchant</i>;" or, "My
dear, this is Captain Blevin, of the good ship <a name="tn_png_251"></a><!--TN: "Never sink" changed to "Neversink"-->Neversink,&mdash;Mrs.
Nephews, sir."<a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"></a></p>

<p>Never say "My wife," or "My <a name="tn_png_252"></a><!--TN: Quote added after "daughter,"-->daughter," or "My
sister," "My father-in-law," or the like, without giving
each their proper ceremonious title. How should
a stranger know whether your "daughter" is&mdash;</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Sole daughter of your house and heart,"</p>


<p class="continue">or Miss&nbsp;"Lucy," or "Belinda," the third or fourth in
the order of time, and, consequently, of precedence,
or what may chance to be the name of your father-in-law,
or half-sister, etc., etc.</p>

<p>Well-bred people address each other by name,
when conversing, and hence the awkwardness occasioned
by this vulgar habit, which is only equalled
by that of speaking of your wife as "My wife,"<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> or
worse still, "<i>my lady!</i>" Is it not enough, when
your friends know that you are married, and are
perfectly familiar with your own name, to speak of
"Mrs.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;," and to introduce them to the mistress
of your house by that designation?</p>

<p>It is a solecism in good manners to suppose it unsuitable
to designate the members of your own family
by their proper titles under all circumstances that
would render it suitable and convenient to do so in
the instance of other persons. Never fall into the<a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"></a>
<i>American</i> peculiarity on this point, I entreat you.
Say&mdash;"My father, Dr. V&mdash;&mdash;," or "My sister, Miss
V&mdash;&mdash;," "Mrs.&nbsp;Col. V&mdash;&mdash;, my sister-in-law," or,
"My sister, Mrs.&nbsp;John Jenkins," with as scrupulous
a regard for rank and precedence, as though dealing
with strangers. Indeed, you virtually <i>ignore all
personal considerations</i>, while acting in a social
relation merely.</p>

<p>The rules of etiquette very properly interdict <i>indiscriminate
introductions</i> in general society. No
one has a right to thrust the acquaintance of persons
upon each other without their permission, or, at least,
without some assurance that it will be agreeable to
them to know each other. Strangers meeting at the
house of a mutual friend, in a morning visit, or the
like, converse with each other, or join in the general
conversation without an introduction, which it is not
usual among fashionable people to give under such
circumstances. If you wish to present a gentleman
of your acquaintance to a lady, you first ask her permission,
either in person or by note, to take him to
her house, if she be married, or to do so at a party,
etc., where you may chance to meet her. In the
instance of a very young lady, propriety demands
your obtaining the consent of one of her parents
before adding to her list of male acquaintances, unless
you are upon such terms of intimacy with her family
and herself, as to render this superfluous; and so
with all your friends. It is better, however, even
where unceremoniousness is admissible, to err upon
the safer side.<a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"></a></p>

<p>Among men, greater license may be taken; but,
<i>as a rule</i>, I repeat, persons are <i>not</i> introduced in the
street, in pump-rooms, in the public parlors of hotels,
or watering-places, meeting incidentally at receptions
or at morning visits, etc.; and not even when they
are your guests at large dinners, or soirées, without
their previous assent or request.</p>

<p>Of course, such rules, like all the laws of convention,
are established and followed for convenience,
and should not be regarded, like those of the Medes
and Persians, as unchangeable. Good sense and good
feeling will vary them with the changes of circumstance.
No amiable person, for instance, will
hesitate to set them aside for the observance of the
more imperative law of kindness, when associated
with those who are ignorant of their existence (as
many really excellent persons are), and would be
pained by their strict observance. Neither should
the most punctilious sticklers for form think it
necessary to make a parade of the mere letter of such
rules, at any time. It is the spirit we want, for the
promotion of social convenience and propriety.</p>

<p>Perhaps it may be as well in this connection as in
any other, to say a word about the matter of <i>visiting
cards</i>.</p>

<p>Fashion sanctions a variety of forms for this necessary
appendage. In Europe, it is very common to
affix the professional or political title to the name, as
"&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;, Professor in the University of Heidelburg,"
or, "&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;, Conseiller d'Etat,"; and an
Englishman in public life often has on his card the<a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"></a>
cabalistic characters&mdash;"In H.M.S."&mdash;(in Her Majesty's
Service). Among the best-bred Americans, I
think the prevalent usage is to adopt the <i>simple signature</i>,
as "Henry Wise," or to prefix the title of
Mr., as "Mr.&nbsp;Seward." Sometimes,&mdash;particularly
for cards to be used away from home&mdash;the place of
residence is also engraved in one corner below the
name.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p>

<p>Europeans occasionally adopt the practice of having
the corners of the reverse side of their cards engraven
across with such convenient words as "<i>Pour
dire Adieu</i>" (to say good bye). "<i>Congratulation</i>"
(to offer congratulations). "<i>Pour affaire</i>" (on an
errand, or on business). "<i>Arrivé</i>" (tantamount to
"<i>in town</i>"). The appropriate corner is turned over,
as occasion requires, and the sentence is thus brought
into notice on the <i>same side with the name</i>.</p>

<p><i>Business cards</i> should never be used in social life,
nor should flourishes, ornamental devices, or generally
unintelligible characters be employed. A
smooth, <i>white</i> card, of moderate size, with a plain,
legible inscription of the name, is in unexceptionable
taste and <i>ton</i>, suitable for all occasions, and sufficient
for all purposes, with the addition, when circumstances
require it, of a pencilled word or sentence.
But to return to our main subject.</p>

<p><i>Letters of Recommendation</i> partake of the general
character of those of introduction. It is sufficient to
add, in regard to them, that they should be <i>conscientiously</i>
expressed. All that can be truthfully said
for the advantage of the bearer, should be included;<a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"></a>
but, as I have before remarked, no one is obliged to
compromise his own integrity to advance the interests
of others in this manner, more than in any other.</p>

<p><i>Letters of Condolence</i> require great care and delicacy
of composition. They should relate chiefly, as
a rule, to the subject by which they are elicited, and
express <i>sympathy</i> rather than aim at <i>administering
consolation</i>. No general directions can be made to
embrace the peculiarities of circumstance in this
regard. Suffice it to say that the inspiration of
genuine feeling will dictate rather expressions of
kindly interest for the sufferer you address, of respect
and regard for a departed friend, or an appreciation
of the magnitude of the misfortune you deplore,
rather than coldly polished sentences and prolonged
reference to one's self.</p>

<p><i>Letters of Congratulation</i> should embody cheerfulness
and cordiality of sentiment, and be at an equal
remove from an exaggeration of style, suggesting
the idea of insincerity or of covert ridicule, and from
chilling politeness, or indications of indifference. To
"rejoice with those who rejoice" is indeed a pleasing
and easy task for those who are blessed with a
genial nature, and enrich themselves by partaking in
the good fortune of others. Letters expressing this
pleasure admit of a little more egotism than is sanctioned
by decorum in some other cases. One may
be allowed to allude to one's own feelings when so
pleasurably associated with those of one's correspondent.</p>

<p><i>Brevity</i> is quite admissible in letters both of con<a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"></a>dolence
and felicitation&mdash;referring, as they properly
do, chiefly to <i>one topic</i>; it is in better taste not to introduce
extraneous matter into them, especially when
they are of a merely ceremonious nature.</p>

<p><i>Letters to Superiors in Station or Age</i> demand a
respectful and laconic style. No familiarity of
address, no colloquialisms, pleasantries, or digressions,
are admissible in them. They should be commenced
with a ceremoniously-respectful address
carefully and concisely expressed, and concluded
with an elaborate formula, of established phraseology.
The name of the person to whom they are
written should be <a name="tn_png_257"></a><!--TN: "place" changed to "placed"-->placed near the lower, left hand
edge of the sheet, together with his ceremonious
title, etc. No abbreviations of words&mdash;and none of
titles, unsanctioned by established usage, should be
introduced into such letters, and they should bear at
the commencement, below the date, and on the left
hand side of the paper, the name of the person addressed,
thus:</p>

<p class="letter">
<p style="text-align:right;font-size:.8em;"><span class="smcap">Washington City</span>, <i>Feb. 2d, 1863</i>.</p>
<p class="smcap" style="text-indent:0em;">Honorable Edward Everett:&mdash;</p>
<p class="firstpara smcap">Sir,</p>
<p style="text-align:right;">.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.</p>
<p>.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.</p>
<div class="closing">
<span class="presignaturea">I am, sir,<br></span>
<span class="presignature1">Very respectfully,<br></span>
<span class="presignature2">Your humble servant,<br></span>
<span class="presignature3 smcap">J. F. Carpenter.<br></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height:50%">
<p class="smcap" style="text-indent:0em;">Hon. Edward Everett,</p>
<p>Secretary of State, for the U.&nbsp;S.</p></div></div>

<a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"></a>

<p>Be careful to remember that it is unsuitable to
commence a communication to an <i>entire stranger</i>
an official letter, or one of ceremony, in reply to a
gentleman acting in the name of a committee, etc.,
etc., with "Dear Sir." This familiarity is wholly out
of place under such circumstances, and it is matter
of surprise that our public men so frequently fall into
it, even in addressing public functionaries representing
foreign countries here, etc. In this respect, as
in many others, their "quality," as that most discerning
satirist, <i>Punch</i>, has recently said of the style
of one of our men in high office&mdash;is not "<i>strained</i>!"
The veterans of Diplomatic or of Congressional life
should let us see that practice has refined their style
of speaking and writing, rather than remind us that
they have come to the <i>lees</i> of intellect!</p>

<p>I have, for several years past, remarked the published
letters of one of the distinguished men of the
Empire State, as models of graceful rhetoric and
good taste. I refer now, not to the political opinions
they may have expressed, but to their <i>literary execution</i>.
They indicate the pen of genius&mdash;no matter
what the occasion&mdash;whether declining to break
ground for a canal, to lay the corner-stone of a
university, acknowledging a public serenade, or
expounding a political dogma, a certain indescribable
something always redeems them alike from common-place
ideas, and from inelegance of language.
See if your newspaper profundity will enable you to
"guess" the name of the individual to whom I
refer.<a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></a></p>

<p><i>Diplomatic Letters</i> require a style peculiar to
themselves, in relation to which it would be the
height of temerity in me to adventure even a hint.
The Public Documents of our own country and of
England, afford models for those of you who shall
have occasion for them, as members of the "Corps
Diplomatique."</p>

<p><i>Letters of Friendship and Affection</i> must, of
course, vary in style with the occasions and the
correspondents that elicit them. A light, easy,
playful style is most appropriate. And one should
aim rather at correctness of diction than at anything
like an elaborate parade of language.</p>

<p><i>Grammatical inaccuracies</i> and <i>vulgarisms</i> are
<i>never</i> allowable among educated people, whether
in speaking or writing; nor is <i>defective spelling</i>
excusable.</p>

<p><i>Punctuation</i> and attention to the general rules of
composition should not be overlooked, as thus only
can unmistakable intelligibleness be secured.</p>

<p>Avoid all ambitious pen-flourishes, and attempts
at ornamental caligraphy, and aim at the acquisition
of a legible, neat, gentleman-like hand, and a pure,
manly, expressive style, in this most essential of all
forms of composition.</p>

<p>The possession of excellence in this accomplishment
will enable you to disseminate high social and
domestic pleasure. Nothing affords so gratifying a
solace to friends, when separated, as the reception
of those tokens of remembrance and regard. They
only who have wandered far, far away from the ties<a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></a>
of country, friends, and home, can fully appreciate
the delight afforded by the reception of letters of a
satisfactory character. And the welcome assurances
of the safety, health, and happiness of the absent
and loved, is the best consolation of home-friends.</p>

<p><i>Practice</i>, <i>patience</i>, and <i>tact</i>, are equally essential
to the acquisition of ease and grace in this desirable
art. <i>Wit</i>, <i>humor</i>, and <i>playfulness</i> are its proper
embellishments, and <i>variety</i> should characterize its
themes. A certain <i>egotism</i>, too, is not only pardonable,
but absolutely requisite, and may even become
delicately complimentary to the recipient of one's
confidence.</p>

<p>Let me remind you, too, that&mdash;though "offence
of <i>spoken</i> words" may be excused by the excitement
of passing feeling&mdash;the deliberate commission
of unkind, or, worse still, of unjust, untruthful,
injurious language, to paper, argues an obliquity of
moral vision little likely to secure the writer either</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,<br></span>
<span class="i0">The <i>soul's calm sunshine</i>,"<br></span>
</div></div>


<p class="continue">or the respect and regard of others.</p>

<p>Facility in writing familiar letters may be increased
by the habit of <i>mentally</i> recording, before
inditing them, as opportunity affords material, such
incidents of travel, items of personal interest, or
gossiping intelligence, etc., as may be thought best
suited to the tastes of your correspondents. And
it is well, before closing such communications, not
only to glance over them to satisfy yourself of their<a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a>
freedom from mistakes, but by that means to recall
any omission occasioned by forgetfulness.</p>

<p>Notes of <i>Invitation</i>, of <i>Acceptance</i>, and <i>Regret</i>,
require, of course, brevity and simplicity of expression.
The <i>prevailing mode</i> of the society you are
connected with, is usually the proper guide in relation
to these matters of form, for the time being.
Thus the mere formula of social life at Washington,
Boston, Charleston, Paris, or St. Petersburg, may
be somewhat varied, as <i>usage</i> alone frequently
determines these niceties, and all eccentricities and
peculiarities in this respect, as in most others, are in
bad taste. Cards, or Notes, of Invitation to Dinners
and Soirées, are frequently printed, and merely
names and dates supplied in writing. The example
of the <i>best society</i> (in the most elevated sense of
that much-abused phrase) everywhere, sanctions
only the most unpretending mode of expression and
general style, for such occasions. The utmost
beauty and exquisiteness of finish in the mere
<i>material</i>, but the absence of all pretentious ornament,
is thought most unexceptionable.</p>

<p><i>Invitations to Dinner</i> should be acknowledged at
your earliest convenience, and&mdash;whether accepted or
declined&mdash;in courteously ceremonious phraseology.
In the instance of invitations<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> to Balls and Evening-<a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></a>Parties,
Weddings, etc., haste is not so essential;
but a seasonable reply to such civilities should by
no means be neglected.</p>

<p>When you wish to take a friend&mdash;who is a
stranger to the hostess&mdash;with you to an evening
entertainment, and are upon sufficiently established
terms with her to make it quite proper to do so,
acknowledge your invitation at once, and request
permission to take your friend&mdash;thus affording an
opportunity, if it is requisite, for the return of an
invitation enclosed to you for your proposed companion.
Some form like the following will answer
the purpose:</p>

<div class="letter">

<p>Mr.&nbsp;Thomas Brown has the honor to accept <a name="tn_png_262"></a><!--TN: Period added after "Mrs"-->Mrs.
Mason's very polite invitation for next Thursday
evening.</p>

<p>With Mrs.&nbsp;Mason's permission, Mr.&nbsp;Brown will
be accompanied by his friend, Mr.&nbsp;Crawford, of
Cincinnati, who is at present temporarily in New
York.</p>
<div style="font-size:.8em;line-height:50%">
<p class="smcap">Carlton House,</p>

<p style="text-indent:3em;font-style:italic;">Monday morning, December 28th.</p>
</div></div>

<p>Among intimate friends, it is sometimes most
courteous, when <i>declining an invitation</i>, in place of
a mere formal "regret" to indite a less ceremonious
note, briefly explanatory, or apologetic. <i>Essential<a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></a>
good-breeding</i> is the best guide in these occasional
deviations from <a name="tn_png_263"></a><!--TN: "ceremoneous" changed to "ceremonious"-->ceremonious rules.</p>

<p>Formal notes of invitation, and the like, should
not be addressed to several persons inclusively. Of
course, a gentleman and his wife are invited in
this inclusive way, as are the unmarried sisters of a
family, when residing in the same house; but
visitors to one's friends, a married lady and her
daughters, as well as the younger gentlemen of a
family, should, severally, have separate notes, directed
to them individually, where ceremony is
requisite, though all may, for convenience, be
enclosed in the same envelope, with a general
direction to the elder lady of the house.</p>

<p>Letters, or notes, commenced in the <i>third person</i>,
should be continued throughout in the same form.
It is obviously incorrect (though of frequent occurrence),
to adopt such phraseology as&mdash;"Mr.&nbsp;Small
presents his compliments to Miss&nbsp;Jones," etc., and
to conclude with "Yours respectfully, G.&nbsp;Small."
This mode of expression (the third person), is only
adapted to brief communications of a formal nature.
No <i>address and signature</i> are required when the
names of the recipient and of the writer are introduced
into the body of the note, as they necessarily
are. The place of residence (if written), and the
date, are placed at the left hand side of the paper,
<i>below</i> the principal contents.</p>

<p>Letters designed to be mailed&mdash;such as are written
to persons living at a distance from your own place
of residence&mdash;should have your proper <i>mail address</i><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></a>
legibly written on the right hand side of your sheet,
<i>above</i> the rest of the communication, together with
the date.</p>

<p>Notes addressed to persons residing in the same
place with yourself, require only the name of the
street you reside in, and your number, with the <i>day
of the week</i>&mdash;as "Clinton Place, Thursday P.&nbsp;M.,"
or, "No. 6 Great Jones <a name="tn_png_264"></a><!--TN: "st." changed to "St."-->St., Monday morning"&mdash;which
is usually placed below the other portions of
the missive. It is usual to write <i>short notes of ceremony</i>
so as to have the few lines composing them in
<i>the middle</i> of the small sheet used.</p>

<p>Forms of signature and address vary in accordance
with the general tenor of letters. When they are of
an entirely ceremonious character, or addressed to
superiors, usage requires an elaborate address and
subscription; but the style of familiar epistles permits
throughout every variety of language that good
taste and good feeling may invent or sanction. Only
let there be a general harmony in your compositions.
Do not fall into the inadvertency of the person who
addressed a missive full of the most tender expressions
of regard to his mistress, and signed it&mdash;"Yours
respectfully, Clark, Smith &amp; Co."</p>

<p><i>Legibility</i>, <i>Intelligibility</i>, and <i>Accuracy</i> are requisite
in the <i>direction</i> of all epistolary compositions.</p>

<p>Correct taste demands some attention to the subject
of <i>Writing-Materials</i>. It is now becoming the
practice to use small-sized paper for communications
of ceremony and friendship, continuing the contents
through several sheets, if necessary, and numbering<a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></a>
each in proper succession. It is, also, usual to
write ceremonious letters on but one side of a sheet,
and to leave a wide margin upon the left hand
side, and a narrower one on the opposite edge of the
paper.</p>

<p>The finest, smoothest paper should always be used,
except for mere business matters; and, though some
passing fashion may sanction tinted paper, pure white
is always unexceptionable. All fancy ornaments,
colored designs, etc., etc., are in questionable taste.
If ornamental bordering, or initial lettering is
adopted, the most chaste and unpretending should
be preferred.</p>

<p>Except for <i>mailing</i>, envelopes should correspond
exactly with the sheet inclosed. Envelopes sent
by post should be strong and large-sized. Sometimes
it is well to re-enclose a small envelope, corresponding
with the written sheet, in a large, firm cover, and to
write the full direction upon that.</p>

<p>Sealing wax should always be used for closing all
epistles, except those of an entirely business nature.
<i>Stamps</i> and <i>seals</i> may vary with taste. A plain
form with an unbroken face, suffices; or initials, a
device and motto, one or both; or hereditary heraldic
designs may be preferred.</p>

<p>Letters intended to go by mail on the continent of
Europe, should be written on a single, large sheet of
<i>thin</i> paper, and <i>not enveloped</i>.</p>

<p><i>It is as ill-bred not to reply to a communication
requiring an acknowledgment, or to neglect proper
attention to all the several matters of importance to<a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></a>
which it relates, as it is not to answer a question
directly and personally addressed to you.</i></p>

<p><i>Promptitude</i> is also demanded by good-breeding,
in this regard. Necessity only can excuse the impoliteness
of subjecting a friend, or business-correspondent,
to inconvenience or anxiety, occasioned by
delay in replying to important letters.</p>

<p>Tyros in epistolary composition may derive advantage
from noting the peculiar excellences of the
published letters of celebrated authors and others;
not for the purpose of servile imitation, but as affording
useful general models, or guides. Miscellaneous
readers may note the genial humor and patient elaborateness
characterizing the letters of the "Great
Unknown," the felicities of expression sometimes
observable in the familiar missives of Byron, and of
his friend Tom Moore (when the latter is not writing
to his much-put-upon London publisher for table-supplies,
etc.!) amuse himself with the gossiping capacity
for details exhibited by those of Horace Walpole,
and con, with wondering admiration, the epistolary
illustrations of the well-disciplined, thoroughly-balanced
character of the great American model, of
whose writings it may always be said&mdash;whether an
"order," written on a drum-head, or the draught of a
document involving the interests of all humanity is
the subject&mdash;that they are "<i>well done</i>."</p>

<p>Among the collections of letters I remember to
have read, none now occur to me as offering more
variety of style than those included in the "Memoirs
of H.&nbsp;More." They are a little old-fashioned now,<a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></a>
perhaps; but some of them, both for matter and
manner, are, in their way, unsurpassed in English
literature. Some of those of <i>Sir W.&nbsp;W.&nbsp;Pepys</i>, I
recollect as peculiarly pleasing.</p>

<p>Several of the published letters of Dr. Johnson,
and one or two of those of our own Franklin, are to
be regarded as among the curiosities of literature,
rather than as precedents which circumstances will
ever render available, or desirable. Johnson's celebrated
letter to Lord Chesterfield, declining his proffered
patronage, for instance&mdash;and Franklin's, concluding
with the witty sarcasm&mdash;</p>

<div class="letter">
<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature2"><a name="tn_png_267"></a><!--TN: ""You are now my enemy, and I am" indented for ease of reading-->"You are now my enemy, and I am<br></span>
<span class="presignature3">"Yours,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">B. Franklin</span>.<br></span>
</div>
</div>


<p>At some future time, perhaps, the literary treasures
of our country will be enriched by specimens
of the correspondence of such of our contemporaries
as inspire the highest admiration for their general
style of composition. Who could fail to peruse with
interest, letters from the pen of Prescott, who never
makes even such a physical infirmity as his, a plea
for inaccuracy, or carelessness of expression? And
who would not hail with delight any draught presented
by the bounteous hand of Irving, from,</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"The well of English undefiled,"</p>

<p class="continue">whence he himself has long quaffed the highest
inspiration!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></a>

<p>"There they are!" shouted James.</p>

<p>"Here they come!" exclaimed Miss&nbsp;Mary Marston.</p>

<p>"They have made good time, the lazy dogs, for
once!" said I.</p>

<p>"Oh, I'm so glad!" echoed the silvery cadences
of Nettie Brown, who seemed about to dance to the
music of her own merry voice.</p>

<p>"I hope"&mdash;&mdash;began the dove-like murmur of a
fair invalid: she ceased, and her dewy eyes told all
she would have said.</p>

<p>"God grant us good news!" said our venerable
<i>compagnon de voyage</i>, fervently, a shade of anxiety
clouding his usually benignant countenance.</p>

<p>"Ladies, excuse me! I beg you to remember
that they may not bring anything&mdash;let me prepare
you for a disappointment!" These words were
uttered, with apparent reluctance, by a young man,
whose pale face and dark melancholy eyes seemed
to lend almost prophetic emphasis to his warning
tones.</p>

<p>Nettie ceased to clap her little hands; "Jovial
James" looked as grave as his usually rollicking,
fun-twinkling eyes permitted; the stately Mary
could only look fixedly towards the approaching
Arabs, the serenity of our patriarchal friend was
more than ever disturbed; sweet Isidore grew
marble pale, and leaned heavily back upon the sculptured
pillar against which we had secured her camp-<a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></a>seat,
and your uncle Hal&mdash;well! he is a "proverbial
philosopher," you know!</p>

<p>There we were, amid the solemn magnificence of
the ruined palaces and temples of once-mighty
Thebes.</p>

<p>Our little party was gathered in front of the great
Propylon of the famous Temple of Luxor, whose
mysterious grandeur we had come many thousands
of miles to behold. Massive pillars, covered with
minutely-finished picture-writing and mystic hieroglyphics,
sufficient for the life-long study of the
curious student; enormous architraves, half-buried
colossi, far-reaching colonnades, "grand, gloomy and
peculiar;" the world-famed Memnon; the grim,
tomb-hallowed mountains&mdash;all the wonders of the
Nile, of <i>El Uksorein</i>, of Karnac, surrounded us!</p>

<p>But humiliating reflections upon the mutability of
human greatness and human power, the eager speculations
of the disciples of Champollion, sarcophagi
and sculptured ceilings, and scarabći and Sesostris,
alike sunk into matters of insignificance and indifference
when compared with the expectation of
<i>Letters from Home</i>!</p>

<p>That most amiable and hospitable of Mussulmans,
Mustapha Aga, <i>the traveller's friend</i>, had engaged
the Sheik (heaven spare the mark!) of one of the
squalid Arab villages, whose mud walls cluster
upon the roofs of the grand halls and porticoes of
ancient Thebes&mdash;reminding one of <i>animalcul&oelig;</i> by
comparison&mdash;to accompany my servant and one or<a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></a>
two of our dusky satellites to a point in the
vicinity, to which the American and English consuls
at Cairo had engaged to forward our letters, etc.</p>

<p>Our motley band of couriers was now seen
advancing along the low bank of the river, and all
was eager anticipation and impatience.</p>

<p>The ceremony of distribution was speedily accomplished,
and an observer of the scene, like our calm,
silent host, the kindly Mustapha, might almost read
the contents of the different letters of the several
members of our little group reflected in the faces of
each.</p>

<p>"Jovial James" sunk down at once at the feet of
the fair Nettie, who had sacrilegiously seated herself
upon the edge of an open sarcophagus, with a lap
full of treasures, before which her hoarded antiques&mdash;and
she was the most indefatigable <i>collector</i> of our
corps&mdash;relapsed again into the nothingness from
which her admiration had, for a time, redeemed
them. Something very much like a tear glistened
in the bright eyes of the frolicksome youth as he
murmured, half-unconsciously "Mother," and sunshine
and shadow played in quick succession over
the mirroring features of the fair girl.</p>

<p>The usually placid Mary Marston fairly turning
her back upon us, beat a retreat towards a prostrate
column and <a name="tn_png_270"></a><!--TN: Comma removed after "and"-->
half-concealed herself among its crumbling
fragments; and our sweet, fast-fading flower, for
whose comfort each vied with the other, the beautiful
Isidore, clasped her triple prizes between her<a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></a>
slight palms, and folding them to her meek bosom,
lifted her soft eyes toward the heaven that looked
alike on Egypt and on her native land, and whispered
"<i>Home!</i> Oh, father take me <i>Home</i>!"</p>

<p>"Not one word does Frank say about <i>remittances</i>&mdash;the
most important of all subjects!" cried
James, with his elbows on his knees, and a half-filled
sheet held out before him in both hands. "He is
the most provoking fellow!&mdash;just look, Nettie, how
much blank paper, too, sent all the way from Manhattan
Island to Upper Egypt," he added, with a
serio-comic tap on the paper.</p>

<p>"Good enough for you!" retorted his frequent
tormentor; "you wouldn't write from Rome to him,
as I begged you to"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"But, most amiable Miss&nbsp;<i>Consolation 'on a monument</i>,
smiling at grief,' don't you recollect that <i>you</i>
favored him with three 'great big' sheets, crammed,
crossed, and kissed"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Do go away, James Wilson! you are a regular
<i>squatter</i>, as they say at home; really, if you are not
established on my skirt!" laughed his merry companion,
reddening, however, at his skillful sally.</p>

<p>James, well used to repulses, made not even a
pretence of removing his quarters; but, tracing with
his forefinger in the sand, began to tease his pretty
neighbor for news from home, protesting that <i>men</i>
were the poorest letter-writers, and that <i>his</i> correspondents
in particular, <i>never said anything</i>!</p>

<p>But what had become of the thoughtful friend<a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a>
whose warning voice had checked too eager expectation
in his companions, whilst</p>

<p class="centerpoem">&mdash;&mdash;"thou, oh Hope, with eyes so fair,"</p>

<p class="continue">made wild tumult in each eager breast? I marked
his face, as he stood apart from the excited group
gathered about the bearer of our dispatches. It was
almost as immobile and coldly calm as those of the
polished colossi around us, save for the burning eyes
that seemed actually to devour the several directions
that were glanced over, or read aloud by others. His
hands, too, were tightly clutched, as though he were
thus self-sustained.&mdash;Poor fellow! I had frequently
noticed his manner before, where the happiness of
others arrested attention; it indicated, to me, a
serenity like that of the expiring hero who waved
his life-draught to another, hiding, with a smile, the
outward signs of tortured nature! Almost before
the last package was unfolded, he was advancing
with rapid strides along the majestic avenue leading
from our stand-point towards the ruins of Karnac,
and was soon lost to sight amid its massive ornaments.
How easily might some friendly hand have
shed balm upon his sad and solitary spirit, on that
memorable day in far-off Nile-Land, when so
many hearts were gladdened with the sweet sunlight
enkindled by <i>letters</i>!&mdash;so many faces illumined
with smiles reflected from the ever-glowing altars of
<span class="smcap">Country</span> and <span class="smcap">Home</span>!</p>

<p><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></a></p><hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Sir Walter Scott, as his son-in-law informed me,
despite the vast amount of intellectual labor he
otherwise imposed upon himself, with as little flinching,
apparently, as though his mind were a powerful
self-regulating steam-engine, had the habit of <i>always
answering letters on the day of their reception</i>!
Mr.&nbsp;Lockhart told me that, during the researches he
made among the private papers of his immortal
friend, while preparing materials for his biography,
he almost invariably remarked, from the careful
notations upon them, that when any delay had
occurred in replying to a letter, it arose from the
necessity of some previous investigation, or the like.
My astonishment upon perusing the long, elaborately-written
epistles that Mr.&nbsp;Lockhart subsequently
gave to the world, was augmented by my knowledge
of this fact, and by my remembrance of the innumerable
demands made upon his time by social and
public duties. But "we ne'er shall look on his like
again!" Well might his pen be styled the wand of
the mighty Wizard of the North.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>A gentle tap at the library-door interrupted the
after-dinner chat of my old friend and myself. A
fair young face presented itself in answer to the bidding
of my host, and, upon seeing me was quickly
withdrawn.</p>

<p>"Come in, my daughter, come&mdash;what will you
have?"<a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></a></p>

<p>I rose immediately to withdraw, as the young
lady, thus encouraged, somewhat timidly advanced
towards her father.</p>

<p>"Pray, do not disturb yourself, Colonel Lunettes,"
said she; "I only want to speak to pa one moment;
don't think of going away, I beg"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>My host, too, interposed to prevent my leaving the
room, and I, therefore, took up a book and re-seated
myself.</p>

<p>"Excuse me for interrupting you, pa, but may
I"&mdash;here a whisper, and then so audibly that I
could not help overhearing&mdash;"do please, dear pa!"</p>

<p>"Well, we'll see about it&mdash;when is the concert?"
rang out the clear voice of the father.</p>

<p>"But, pa, I ought to answer the note to-night or
very early to-morrow morning&mdash;it would not be
polite to keep Mr.&nbsp;Blakeman"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"A note, eh?" interrupted the old gentleman,
"let me see it&mdash;go bring it to me."</p>

<p>I thought I could not be mistaken in the indication
of reluctance to obey this direction evinced by
the slow step of my usually sprightly-motioned young
favorite.</p>

<p>"Come, Fanny, come," said her father, when she
re-entered, "you have no objection to showing
<i>me</i>"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Oh, no, indeed, pa,&mdash;but you are so critical," the
young lady began to protest.</p>

<p>"Critical! am I though!" exclaimed the parent,
with some vivacity, "perhaps so&mdash;at least I judge
somewhat, of a man's claims to the acquaintance of<a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></a>
my daughter by these things." And, adjusting his
spectacles, he opened the note his daughter offered.
"Bless my soul!" he cried, at the first glance, "what
bright-colored paper, and how many grand flourishes&mdash;really,
my dear!" There was a brief silence
and then the father said mildly, but firmly, "Fanny,
I prefer that you should not accept this invitation."</p>

<p>"Will you tell me why, pa?"</p>

<p>"Because the writer is not a <i>gentleman</i>! No man
of taste and refinement would write such a note as
this to a lady, with whom he has only the ceremonious
acquaintance that this young man has with
you. He is evidently <i>illiterate</i>, too,&mdash;his note is not
only inelegantly expressed, but it is mis-spelled"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Oh, pa"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"I assure you it is so. Your own education is
more defective than it should be with the advantages
you have had, if you cannot perceive this&mdash;read it
again, and tell me what word is mis-spelled," said her
father, returning the production under discussion to
Fanny.</p>

<p>The young lady sat down by the lamp to con the
task assigned her, and my host said to me&mdash;"It is
unpardonable, now-a-days, for a young man to be
ignorant in such matters as these. When <i>we</i> were
young, Hal, the means of acquiring knowledge generally,
were limited by circumstances; but who that
wishes, lacks them at present?&mdash;Well, my daughter"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Yes, pa, I see,&mdash;of course it was a mere slip of
the pen"&mdash;<a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"></a>&mdash;</p>

<p>"A slip of the pen!" retorted the father, "and is
that a sufficient excuse? Proper respect will teach a
young man of right feelings towards your sex,
to take good care that no such carelessness retains a
place in his first billet to a lady&mdash;it is an <i>indication
of character</i>, my child! Depend upon it, that the
man who writes in this way,&mdash;encircling some of his
words with a flourish, abbreviating others, mis-spelling,
and all upon mottled paper, with a highly
<i>ornate</i> border, does not understand himself, and will
be guilty of other solecisms in good manners and
good taste, that will be very likely to embarrass and
shock a young lady accustomed to"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"The society of <i>gentlemen of the old school</i>, like
pa and Col. Lunettes!" exclaimed Fanny, in her
usual laughing manner, snatching up the condemned
missive, and flying out of the room.</p>

<p>In the course of the evening, my old friend and I
joined the ladies in the drawing-room.</p>

<p>A merry group around a centre-table, attracted
me, and as the fair Fanny made a place beside her
agreeable little self for me, I was soon settled to my
satisfaction in the midst of the fair bevy.</p>

<p>"What are you all so busy about?" I inquired, as
I seated myself.</p>

<p>"Oh, criticising!" cried one.</p>

<p>"Acquiring knowledge under difficulties," replied
another.</p>

<p>"Accomplishing ourselves in the Art Epistolary,
by the study of models!" returned a third.</p>

<p>And sure enough,&mdash;the table was strewed with<a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></a>
cards, and notes, and an empty fancy-basket told
where these sportive critics had obtained their materials.
I soon gathered that the scrutiny Fanny's
note had undergone in the library, was the moving
cause of this sudden resuscitation of defunct billet-doux
and forgotten cards.</p>

<p>"Only look at this one, Col. Lunettes!" exclaimed
a pretty girl opposite me, handing across a visiting
card, with the name written with ink, in rather
cramped characters, and surrounded with a variety
of awkward attempts at ornamental flourishes. "Isn't
that sufficient to condemn the perpetrator to 'durance
vile' in the <i>paradise of fools</i>?"</p>

<p>"Well, here is a beautiful note, at any rate,"
exclaimed the eldest daughter of the house, "even
papa would not find fault with this"&mdash;</p>

<p>"What are you saying about papa?" inquired the
master of the mansion, pausing in his walk up and
down the room, and leaning upon the back of his
daughter's chair.</p>

<p>"Won't you join us, sir?" returned the young
lady, making a motion to rise; "let me give you my
seat."</p>

<p>"No, no, sit still, child&mdash;let us hear the note that
you think unexceptionable."</p>

<p>"It is as simple as possible," said she, "but though
it only relates to a matter of business, I remember
noticing, when I opened it, the elegant writing
and"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Well, let us hear it, my daughter."</p>

<p>Thus impelled, the fair reader began:<a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></a></p>

<div class="letter">
<p>"Henry Wynkoop presents his respectful compliments
to Miss&nbsp;Campbell, and begs leave to inform
her that the goods for which she inquired, a few
days since, have arrived, and are now ready for her
inspection.</p>

<div style="font-size:.8em;line-height:50%">
<p class="smcap" style="text-indent:4em;">"240 Main St.</p>
<p style="font-style:italic;text-indent:0em;">Wednesday Morning, May 22d."</p>
</div>
</div>

<p>"I should have said," added Miss&nbsp;Campbell,
"that I had simply requested Mr.&nbsp;Wynkoop to send
me word about some shawls, when any of the family
happened in there, and did not think of troubling
him to send a note."</p>

<p>"Let me see," said her father, taking the paper
from her hand, "yes! just what one might expect
from that young fellow&mdash;fine, handsome, plain paper
[a glance at poor Fanny] and a neat modest seal&mdash;all
because <i>a lady</i> was in question; and one can
read the writing as if it were print. Look at it,
Lunettes! A promising young merchant&mdash;a friend
of ours, here. An <i>educated</i> merchant&mdash;what every
man should be, who wishes to succeed in mercantile
life in this country."</p>

<p>"Yes," returned I, "ours is destined, if I do not
greatly mistake, to be a land of <i>merchant princes</i>,
like Venice of old, and I quite agree with you that
American merchants should be <i>educated gentlemen</i>!"</p>

<p>"This young Wynkoop," continued my friend, "is
destined yet to fill some space in the world's eye,
unless I have lost my power to judge of men. He<a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></a>
seems to find time for everything&mdash;the other evening
he was here&mdash;(the girls had some young friends)&mdash;and,
happening to step into the library, I found him
standing with one of the book-cases open, and just
reaching down a volume&mdash;'I beg your pardon, sir,
if I intrude,' said he, 'but I was going to look for
a passage in the "Deserted Village," as I am not so
fortunate as to possess a copy of Goldsmith.' Of
course I assured him that the books were all at his
service, and apologized for closing the door, and seating
myself at my desk, saying that a rascally Canadian
lawyer had sent me a letter so badly written
that I could scarcely puzzle it out, and that his bad
French was almost unintelligible at that. I confess
I was surprised when he offered to assist me, saying
very modestly, that nothing was more confusing
than <i>patois</i> to the uninitiated, but that he had
chanced to have some experience in it. So he
helped me out very cleverly, in spite of my protestations
at his losing so much time, and when he found
he could not aid me farther, looked up his lines, put
back my book, and quietly bowing, slipped out of
the room. When I went back to the girls, later in
the evening, I heard my young friend singing with
some lady, in a fine clear voice, and, soon after,
discovered him in another room dancing, '<i>money
musk</i>' with my own wife for his partner!"</p>

<p>While this little sketch was in progress of narration,
the inspection of the miscellaneous display upon
the table had been silently progressing. And each
pretty critic had made some discovery.<a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a></p>

<p>"Here is a 'regret' sent for the other night," said
Fanny, "what do you think of that, Col. Lunettes?"
And a large sheet of note paper was put into my
hand, clumsily folded, and containing only the
words "Mr.&nbsp;Augustus Simpkin regrets."</p>

<p>"A good deal is left for the imagination," I replied,
"regrets what?"</p>

<p>"<i>That he is a numskull</i>, perhaps, but I fear there
is not that encouragement for his improvement!"
broke in the Chairman of this Committee of Investigation.</p>

<p>The general laugh that followed this spicy comment
had no sooner subsided, than another note caught
my eye, by its handsome penmanship. Glancing it
over, I handed it to one of the young ladies without
comment. She 'looked unutterable things,' as she
quietly refolded the missive, and was about to slip it
out of sight; but the dancing eyes of the lively
Fanny had caught the whole movement, and she
insisted upon what she called <i>fair play</i>. So the
paper was again subjected to perusal&mdash;this time
aloud.</p>

<div class="letter">

<p style="text-align:right;font-size:.8em;"><span class="smcap">Baltimore</span>, <i>July 24, '61</i>.</p>

<p>"William Jones takes this means of making an
apology for not calling for Miss&nbsp;Mary last evening.
I assure you no offence was intended, and hope you
did not take it so.</p>
<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature2">"Yours affectionately,<br></span>
<span class="presignature3 smcap">"P. William Jones.<br></span>
</div>
<p style="text-indent:0em;">"The <span class="smcap">Miss&nbsp;Campbells</span>."</p>
</div>



<a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"></a>

<p>"How did that get into the card-basket?" exclaimed
Miss&nbsp;Campbell, in consternation, "it ought to
have been destroyed at the time"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"It has risen up in judgment against the writer
now," said Fanny, "but he is much improved since
then. He knows better now than to say 'the <a name="tn_png_281"></a><!--TN: "Mis" changed to "Miss"--><i>Miss
Campbells</i>', or"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Or sign himself 'Yours affectionately,' to a document
commenced in the third person. So he does,
child, and he proved himself essentially polite by
writing the note&mdash;the hand is really very commendable.
I have no doubt the young man will yet
acquire considerable <i>note-ability</i>!" And throwing
the tell-tale paper into the fire, the charitable commentator
proceeded in his walk.</p>

<p>"<i>A propos</i>"&mdash;"<i>A propos</i>" was echoed round the
merry circle, as a servant handed a note to Miss
Campbell.</p>

<p>"Miss&nbsp;Fanny Campbell," read her sister, and
resigned the billet to its rightful owner.</p>

<p>Every one protested that it should be common
property, unless its contents were a secret; and the
blushing, half-pouting beauty was constrained to
open and inspect her note where she sat.</p>

<p>"I insist upon <i>fair play</i> in Miss&nbsp;Fanny's case,
also," said I, coming to the rescue, "and shall do
myself the honor of acting as her champion." With
that I spread out her gossamer handkerchief, and
throwing it over the top of my cane, affected to
screen the rosy face beside me. Taking advantage
of my <i>ruse</i>, my pretty favorite opened her note, and,<a name="Page_282" id="Page_282"></a>
partly retreating behind my broad shoulder, soon
possessed herself of its contents.</p>

<p>"There," said she, throwing it into the middle of
the table, "you may all read it and welcome!"</p>

<p>Brown heads and black, sunny curls and chestnut
"bands," were immediately clustered together over
the prize, and Fanny, springing away, like a bird,
was, in a moment, perched on an arm of the large
chair in which her father was now ensconced, with
her arm around his neck, and her beaming eyes
glancing out from his snowy locks.</p>

<p>"Let Colonel Lunettes see it, you rude creatures!"
exclaimed my lively favorite, from her retreat, and
the note was immediately presented to me. Wiping
my glasses with deliberation suitable to the occasion,
I "pressed my hand upon my throbbing heart,"
and read as follows:</p>

<div class="letter">
<p>"It will afford Mr.&nbsp;Howard Parkman great pleasure
to attend Miss&nbsp;Fanny Campbell to a Concert to
be given by the "Hungarian Family," to-morrow
evening.</p>

<p>"If she will permit him that honor, Mrs.&nbsp;and Miss
Parkman, accompanied by Mr.&nbsp;P., will call for Miss
Campbell at half past seven o clock.</p>

<div style="font-size:.8em;line-height:50%;">
<p class="smcap">"Coleman St.,</p>
<p style="font-style:italic;text-indent:4em;">"Tuesday P.&nbsp;M."</p>
</div>
</div>

<p>"That's another rival for you, Colonel Lunettes,"
exclaimed one of the girls.</p>

<p>"I fear my doom is sealed!" returned the old <a name="tn_png_282"></a><!--TN: "sol dier" changed to "soldier"-->sol<a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"></a>dier
thus addressed, with an air of mock resignation.
"But who is this formidable youth, Miss&nbsp;Campbell?"</p>

<p>"A Bostonian, I believe," replied the young
lady; "cousin Charley introduced him to us at
Mrs.&nbsp;Gay's ball the other evening, and asked us to
call upon his mother and sister&mdash;they are friends of
his. He was here this morning with cousin Charley,
but we were out."</p>

<p>"How stylish!" said one of our critical circle,
re-examining the elegant billet of the stranger.</p>

<p>"Quite <i>au fait</i>, too, you see, young ladies," I
added, "he invites Miss&nbsp;Fanny to go with a proper
<i>chaperon</i> to the concert, as he is so slightly acquainted
with her."</p>

<p>As I limped across the room towards them, I heard
my friend say to his daughter, who still retained her
seat, "certainly, unless you prefer to go with Mr.
Blakeman."</p>

<p>"Oh, pa!" protested the sweet girl, "but what
excuse shall I make to Mr.&nbsp;Blakeman?"</p>

<p>"Tell him, in terms, that your father does not permit
you to go anywhere, alone, with a young man
with whom he has no acquaintance&mdash;Lunettes, you're
not going?" rising as he spoke.</p>

<p>"It is high time&mdash;my carriage must be waiting.
Miss&nbsp;Fanny, permit me the privilege of an old
friend,"&mdash;kissing her glowing cheek&mdash;and, as she
skipped out into the hall with her father and me, I
whispered&mdash;"About this young Bostonian? Is it
all over with him?"<a name="Page_284" id="Page_284"></a></p>

<p>"What, Hal&mdash;jealous?" exclaimed her father,
laughing&mdash;"do you fear the flight of our gazelle,
here?"</p>

<p>"No danger of my eloping! No, indeed! at least
with any one except&mdash;<i>Colonel Lunettes</i>!" replied
the charming little witch, as her nimble fingers fastened
my wrappings.</p>

<p>"Bravo!" cried her father; "that would be glorious!
Seventeen and"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Eighty-two," interrupted your old uncle; "May
and December! But, happily for me, fair Fanny,
<i>my heart</i> can never grow old while I have the happiness
of knowing you."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>I hope none of you will ever, even when writing
in a foreign language, fall into the mistake made by
a young Pole, with whom I once had a slight
acquaintance. He was paying his addresses to a
young lady, and, while most assiduously making his
court to the fair object of his passion, was temporarily
separated from her, by her leaving home on a
pleasure excursion. At the first stopping-place of
her party, the lady found a letter awaiting her,
written in the neatest manner, and in excellent English&mdash;which
her lover <i>spoke</i> in a <i>very</i> imperfect manner.
It appeared to the recipient of this complimentary
effusion, however, at the first glance, that its
contents were not especially relevant to the occasion
of a first <i>billet-doux</i> from her admirer. Reading it<a name="Page_285" id="Page_285"></a>
more deliberately, something familiar in the language
struck her suddenly, and after pondering a moment,
she turned over the leaves of a new book which
was among the literary stores of our travelling-party,
and soon came to the exact counterpart of passage
after passage, as recorded in the letter of the gallant
Pole!</p>

<p>The volume was, I think, "Hannah More's Memoirs,"
which had probably been recommended to
the young student of our language by his teacher, or
some friend, as containing good <i>specimens of the
epistolary style</i>!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>With the hope that you may all escape being the
subjects of such merriment as was occasioned by the
discovery of my fair friend, I remain, as ever,</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature2">Affectionately yours,<br></span>
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">Harry Lunettes.</span><br></span>
</div>


<div class="footnotes"><h3 style="margin-top:.5em;">Footnotes:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Always be scrupulously careful to give <i>titles</i>, and with accuracy.
The proper designation of a <i>gentleman</i> not in office, is&mdash;<i>Esquire</i>.
(This, of course, should not be given to a tradesman, or menial.) That
of a judge, member of Congress, mayor of a city, member of a State
legislature, etc., etc., is&mdash;<i>Honorable</i>; that of a
clergyman&mdash;<i>Reverend</i>; that of a bishop&mdash;<i>Right Reverend</i>. You are, of
course, familiar with the proper <i>abbreviations</i> for these titles. In
writing the address of a letter, it is desirable to know the <i>Christian</i>
name of the person to whom it is to be directed. Thus, if a physician,
"Charles Jones, M.&nbsp;D.," is better than "Dr. Jones." So, "Dr. De Lancey,"
or "Bishop Potter," are obviously improper. The correct form to be used
in this instance, is:</p>

<div class="letter" style="line-height:50%">
<p style="margin-left: 10%;">"<i>To the</i></p>
<p style="margin-left:20%;">"<i>Right Rev. Alonzo Potter, D.&nbsp;D.</i>"</p>
</div>

<p>The proper address of a <i>Minister</i> representing our government abroad,
is&mdash;"the Honorable &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;, Minister for the U.S. of America, near the
Court of St. James, or St. Cloud," etc. That of a <i>Chargé d'Affaires</i>,
or Consul, etc., varies with their respective offices. A <i>Chargé
d'Affaires</i> is sometimes familiarly spoken of as "<i>Our Chargé</i>," at such
a Court&mdash;or as the "<i>American Chargé</i>."</p>

<p>A clergyman may be addressed as "<i>Rev. Mr.</i> &mdash;&mdash;," if you do not know the
first name, or <i>initial</i>, and so may a doctor of divinity; but in the
latter case it would, perhaps, be better to write&mdash;"Rev. Dr.
James,"&mdash;though the more accurate mode will still be, if attainable,
"Rev. William James, D.D."</p>

<p>Gentlemen of the Army and Navy should always be designated by their
proper titles, and it is well not to be ignorant that a man in either of
these professions, when</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">"He hath got his sword ...<br></span>
<span class="i0">And seems to know the use on't,"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">may not like to be reminded that the <i>slow promotion</i> he has attained is
<i>unknown to his friends</i>!</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> It is etiquette to address communications to a lady according to the
style she adopts for <i>her card</i>. Thus, the elder of two married ladies,
bearing the same name and of the same family, may properly designate
herself simply as Mrs.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, without any Christian name (her position in
society and the addition upon her card, of her <i>locale</i> being supposed
sufficient to identify her). The wives of her youngest brother, or those
of her sons, are then "Mrs.&nbsp;N.&nbsp;C.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;," "Mrs.&nbsp;Charles &mdash;&mdash;," and so on.
The eldest of a family of sisters is, "Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;," the younger are "Miss
Nellie &mdash;&mdash;," "Miss Julia&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;," etc. In writing to, or conversing with
them, you thus individualize them. But when you are upon ceremonious
terms with them, <i>in the absence of the elder,</i> you address one of the
younger sisters, with whom you are conversing, as "Miss &mdash;&mdash;," only,
omitting the individualizing Christian name. Of course, when writing
under such circumstances, a note of ceremony designed for the young
ladies of a family, collectively, should be addressed to "<i>The
Misses</i> &mdash;&mdash;;" and if for one of them, alone, to "Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;," or, "Miss
Mary G. &mdash;&mdash;," as the case may be.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> This reminds me of another habit that is becoming prevalent in this
<i>new</i> land of ours&mdash;that of men's entering themselves upon the Registers
of Hotels, Ocean Steamers, etc., as "M.&nbsp;A.&nbsp;Timeson and <i>lady</i>!" or, "Mr.
G.&nbsp;Simpson and <i>wife</i>." What can possibly be the objection to the good
old established form of "Mr.&nbsp;and Mrs.&nbsp;M.&nbsp;A.&nbsp;Timeson," or "George and
Mrs.&nbsp;<a name="tn_png_253"></a><!--TN: Quote added after "Simpson,"-->Simpson," or "Mr.&nbsp;G.&nbsp;Simpson. Mrs.&nbsp;and the Misses Simpson?"</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> Persons belonging to the Army and Navy use their full titles, with
the addition of "U.S.A.," or "U.S.N."</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> I was somewhat surprised lately, in perusing an agreeable novel,
written by one of our countrywomen, to observe her use of the word
"<i>ticket</i>" as synonymous with <i>invitation</i>, or <i>card of invitation</i>. A
"<i>ticket</i>" admits one to a concert, the opera, or theatre but one
receives an "<i>invitation</i>," or "<i>card of invitation</i>" to a dinner, ball,
or evening-party, at a friend's house. All misnomers of this kind savor
of under-breeding&mdash;they are <i>vulgarisms</i>, in short, unsanctioned either
by taste or fashion.</p>
</div>
</div>

<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286"></a>
<h2><a name="LETTER_IX" id="LETTER_IX"></a>LETTER IX.</h2>

<p class="chapterhead">ACCOMPLISHMENTS.</p>

<p class="chapterstart">My dear Nephews:</p>

<p class="firstpara">Though accomplishments are a very
poor substitute for the more substantial portions of a
thorough education, no one should be so indifferent
to the embellishments of life as wholly to neglect
their cultivation.</p>

<p>With Europeans some attention to this subject
always makes part of a thorough education, but
among a <i>new people</i>, differing so essentially from the
nations of the Old World in social habits, the leisure
and inclination that induce such a system of early
discipline are both still wanting&mdash;speaking generally.
It is not the lack of wealth&mdash;of that we have enough&mdash;but
of a cultivated, discriminating taste, the
growth of time and favoring circumstances, which
is not yet diffused among us. But, though our young
men, even of the more favored class, do not enjoy
the carefully-elaborated system of early training,
common abroad, personal effort will produce a result
similar in effect, if well-directed and steadfastly pur<a name="Page_287" id="Page_287"></a>sued,
and the best of all knowledge&mdash;that most beneficial
in its influence upon character&mdash;is acquired by
unaided individual exertion. Young Americans,
above the men of all other countries, should lack no
incentive to add, as occasion may permit, tasteful
polish to the more essential solidity of mental
acquirements.</p>

<p>I know of nothing better calculated to foster
refinement and purity of life than the cultivation of
a <i>Taste</i> for the <i>Fine Arts</i>. I do not refer to a <i>dillettante</i>
affectation of familiarity with the technicalities
of artistic language, or to fashionable pretension and
an assumption of connoisseurship, but to honest,
manly, ćsthetical perceptions, quickened and elevated
by familiarity with the true principles of
Art, and by the study of the highest productions of
genius.</p>

<p>Some knowledge of the practice, as well as of the
principles of <i>drawing</i>, is a very agreeable and useful
accomplishment, and one that may be acquired with
little or no instruction, save that to be obtained from
books.</p>

<p>Among the advantages collaterally arising from
familiarity with this art, is the increased quickness
and enjoyment it lends to a <i>discernment of the beautiful</i>
in nature, both in its minute manifestations and
its grand developments. A fondness for <a name="tn_png_287"></a><!--TN: Comma removed after "sketching"--><i>sketching</i>
leads, also, to a partiality for rural excursions, and
for the physical sciences; and all those tastes where
the main purposes of life permit their indulgence,
serve to elevate, refine, and expand the higher facul<a name="Page_288" id="Page_288"></a>ties,
to give them habitual dominion over the propensities
and to restrain sensuous enjoyments within
their legitimate limits.</p>

<p><i>A Taste for Music</i> must, of course, be ranked
among the elegances of social life, but it should not
be forgotten that a <i>practical knowledge</i> of any one
branch of this Art has no direct effect to enlarge the
mind, like that of Painting, for instance. It is only
a sensuous pleasure, though a refined one, and is, as
I have had frequent occasion to remark, too frequently
permitted to engross both time and faculties
that should properly be, in part, at least, more diffusively
employed. Musical skill, though a pleasant
acquirement, is not a sufficient substitute for an
acquaintance with general Literature and Art; nor
will its most exquisite exhibitions always furnish an
equivalent for intellectual pleasures, whether of a
personal or social nature.</p>

<p><i>Dancing</i> should be early learned, not only because,
like musical knowledge, it is a source of social and
domestic enjoyment, but as materially assisting in
the acquirement of an easy and graceful carriage and
manner. It is a good antidote, too, to <i>mauvaise
honte</i>, and almost essential among the minor accomplishments
of a man of the world.</p>

<p><i>Riding</i> and <i>Driving</i> should never be neglected
by those who possess the means of becoming familiar
with them. Convenience, health and pleasure combine
to recommend both. No indulgence of the
<i>pride of skill</i>, however, should be permitted to exalt
these accessories of a polite education into the main<a name="Page_289" id="Page_289"></a>
business of life, as I believe I have before reminded
you.</p>

<p>The <i>broadsword exercise</i>, <i>pistol-shooting</i>, <i>athletic
sports and games</i>, <i>sporting</i>, <i>gymnastic exercises</i>, etc.,
etc., may be ranked among the minor manly
accomplishments with which it is desirable to be
familiar.</p>

<p>Of no small importance, and of no insignificant
rank as an accomplishment, is a <i>ready and graceful
elocution</i>. Possessed by professional men, its value
can scarcely be overrated, and no young man, whatever
his aims in life, should esteem it unworthy of
attention, since private as well as public life afford
constant occasion for its exercise. To read <i>intelligibly</i>,
<i>audibly</i>, and <i>agreeably</i>, to speak with taste and
elegance, to address an audience&mdash;whether a mass
assemblage of the sovereign people, or the servants
of the people, in Congress assembled, or an intelligent
audience gathered for intellectual instruction and
enjoyment, each require careful and persevering
practice, critical discrimination and disciplined taste.
And what young American&mdash;with that control of
circumstances which especially distinguishes us from
all other peoples, with the high aspirations and purposes
to which all are equally entitled&mdash;shall say
that he will not have the most urgent occasion for,
and derive high advantage from the acquisition of
the <i>Art of Elocution</i>? But, apart from considerations
of utility, correct speaking and writing are
indispensable requisites to the privileges of good
society, and elegant polish in this respect is the<a name="Page_290" id="Page_290"></a>
desirable result and certain indication of natural
refinement.</p>

<p>I will only add that elocutionary skill always
affords the possessor the means of promoting social
and domestic enjoyment, and that the finest sentiments
and the most eloquent language lose half
their proper effect when uttered in a mumbling or
muttering tone, as well as in too loud or too low a
voice.</p>

<p>Closely allied to the accomplishment of which we
have been speaking, is that of <i>Conversational ease
and elegance</i>, an art in which all other nations are
excelled by the French, and in which we, perhaps,
most successfully emulate them.</p>

<p>Unfortunately for our social advancement in this
respect,</p>

<p class="centerpoem" style="font-style:italic;">"The well of English undefiled"</p>
<p class="continue">is not the only source from which the <i>vehicle of
thought</i> is derived. The use of slang phrases, of
crack words, even among the better educated classes
of society&mdash;and that in writing as well as in conversation&mdash;is
becoming noticeably prevalent. Nothing
can be more detrimental to the advancement of
those who desire to acquire colloquial polish than
the habit of using this inelegant language, and
there is nothing into which one may glide more
insensibly, when it becomes familiar from association.</p>

<p>You will, perhaps, say that the amusement
afforded to others by the occasional adoption of these<a name="Page_291" id="Page_291"></a>
mirth-provoking vulgarisms affords an apology for
their use; and that would be a legitimate excuse,
did the matter end there. But who can hope successfully
to establish the line of demarcation that
shall separate the legitimate sphere of their applicability
from that in which they cannot properly claim
a place? We know how much we are all under
the dominion of <i>habit</i> in regard to the artificial
observances of life, and that once established, any
practice in which we indulge ourselves may manifest
itself unconsciously to us. Hence, then, it is no
more safe to acquire the habit of interlarding our
discourse with inelegances of expression, ungrammatical
language, Yankeeisms, <i>localisms</i> (to coin a
word if it be not one, more expressive here than
<i>provincialisms</i>) or vulgarisms of any kind, than to
permit ourselves the perpetration of other solecisms
in good-breeding, with the protection only of a
<i>mental limitation</i> to their undue encroachment upon
our claims to refined associations.</p>

<p>There is, therefore, no safe rule, except that
dictating the unvarying adoption of the <i>purest and
most expressive idiomatic English</i> we can command.
I remember to have heard it said of a celebrated
conversationist, whom I knew in my younger
days, that he not only always used a <i>good</i> word to
express his meaning, but the <i>very best</i> word afforded
by our language.</p>

<p>The habit of <i>thinking clearly</i> might naturally be
supposed to produce the power of conveying ideas
to others with distinctness, were not the impression<a name="Page_292" id="Page_292"></a>
controverted by much evidence to the contrary. I
must believe, however, that the difference between
persons, in this respect, arises more frequently from
want of attention to the subject, than from all
other causes combined. I know of no other way
of sufficiently explaining the awkward, slipshod,
unsatisfactory mode of talking so common even
among educated people. Were we accustomed to
regarding conversational pleasures as among the
highest enjoyments of existence, and of making
them a part of our daily life&mdash;as the French of all
ranks do&mdash;a vast difference would exist between
what is, and what might be. With what intensity
of interest, with what vivacity of manner do the
polite and cultivated French <i>talk</i>! The <i>salons</i> of
the leaders of <i>ton</i> in Paris are nightly filled with
the literati, the artists, the soldiers and statesmen
concentered in that brilliant capitol. And they
assemble not to eat, not even to dance, to the exclusion
of all other gratifications, but to <i>talk</i>&mdash;to
exchange ideas upon topics and incidents of passing
interest&mdash;to receive and to communicate instruction,
as well as enjoyment. And even the common
people&mdash;whether eating their frugal evening repast
at a little table placed in the street, or seated in
groups in the garden of the Tuileries&mdash;how they
talk! with what <i>abandon</i>&mdash;to use their own word&mdash;with
what geniality, with what sprightliness! The
very children, sporting like so many birds of
gorgeous plumage, and musical tones, in the public
gardens and promenades, prattle of matters inte<a name="Page_293" id="Page_293"></a>resting
to them, with a graceful vivacity nowhere
else to be seen. All classes give <i>themselves up to
it&mdash;take time for it</i>, as one of the necessities of
daily life! But I should apologize for this digression.</p>

<p>The advantage of <i>habitual practice</i>, then, cannot
be too highly commended to those who would
acquire colloquial skill. There is, also, no better
mode of fastening knowledge in the mind than
by accustoming one's self to clothing ideas in
spoken language, and the mere attempt to do so,
gives distinctness to thought.</p>

<p>But while fluency and ease are the results of
practice, the <i>embellishments</i> of <i>conversation</i> require
careful culture. Wit, Humor, Repartee, though to
some extent natural gifts, may undoubtedly be
improved, if not attained, by artificial training.</p>

<p>It is said that Sheridan, one of the most celebrated
wits and conversationists of his day, prepared
himself for convivial occasions, like an
intellectual gladiator, ready to enter the lists in a
valiant struggle for supremacy. He may be said to
have made Conversation a <i>Profession</i>, to which he
gave his whole attention, as did the celebrated
youth who exceeded all his fellows in the tie of his
neck-cloth, to that mysterious art!</p>

<p>Sheridan's practice was, to make brief notes,
before going into society, of appropriate topics and
witticisms for each occasion, upon which he relied
for sustaining his reputation as a boon companion
and accomplished talker. There is a good story<a name="Page_294" id="Page_294"></a>
told of his being exceedingly nonplussed, on some
important occasion, by having his memoranda purloined
by a friend, who, while waiting to accompany
the wit to an entertainment to which both
were invited, stole his thunder from his dressing-table,
where it had been placed in readiness. The
unlucky literary Boanerges was as powerless as
Jupiter robbed of his bolts!</p>

<p>But if one would not desire preparation as elaborately
artificial as that ascribed to this spoiled fondling
of English aristocracy, there seems to be a propriety
in making some mental, as well as external
arrangements before entering society. Thus, passingly
to reflect, while making one's toilet for such
an occasion, upon the general character of the company
one is to meet, and upon the subjects most
appropriate for conversation with those with whom
one will probably be individually associated, may
not be amiss. Nor will it be unwise to recall such
reminiscences of personal adventures, popular intelligence,
etc., as the day may have furnished.</p>

<p>Happily, however, for those who distrust their
power to surprise by erudition, or delight by
wit, <i>good-sense</i>, accompanied by <i>good-humor</i> and
<i>courtesy</i>, render their possessors the most enduringly
agreeable of social and domestic companions.
The <i>favorites of society</i> are usually those
who wound no one's self-love, either by imposing
upon others a painful sense of inferiority, or by
rudeness, impertinence, or assumption. Few have
sufficient magnanimity to <i>forgive superiority</i>, but<a name="Page_295" id="Page_295"></a>
good-nature and politeness need no excuse with
any.</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"Oh, let the ungentle spirit learn from hence,<br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>A small unkindness is a great offence</i>!<br></span>
<span class="i0">*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>All may shun the guilt of giving pain.</i>"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>Wit, however racy, should never find a place in
conversation when pointed at the expense of another,
and, indeed, <i>personalities</i>, even when free from condemnation
on this score, are usually in bad taste.
People of sensibility and refinement are much more
likely to be annoyed than gratified by being made
the auditors of conversation, even when politely intended,
which brings them into especial notice.</p>

<p>Hence, nothing requires more delicacy and tact
than the <i>language of compliment</i>, which should
always be carefully distinguished from that of mere
flattery. The one is the expression of well-bred courtesy,
the other is oppressive and embarrassing to all
rightly constituted persons, and discreditable to the
taste by which it is dictated.</p>

<p>As a general rule, it is better to talk of things
than of persons, and William Penn's rule to "<i>say
nothing of others, unless you can say something good
of them</i>," should have no exception. Let nothing
tempt you into the habit of indulging in gossip,
scandal, and unmanly puerility&mdash;not even a good-natured
desire to assimilate yourself to the companionship
of temporary associates. In this respect,
as in many others,<a name="Page_296" id="Page_296"></a></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"Vice is a monster of such hideous mien,<br></span>
<span class="i0">As to be hated, needs but to be seen;<br></span>
<span class="i0">But seen too oft, familiar with her face,<br></span>
<span class="i0">We first endure, then pity, then embrace."<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>No conscientiously-enlightened man can reflect
for a moment upon the heinousness of <i>slander</i>, or
indeed of evil speaking when not allied with falsehood,
without abhorrence; and yet, how few can
assume that, in Heaven's High Chancery, there is no
such dark record against them.</p>

<p>Permit me to remind you that a mere difference
of <i>intonation</i> or of <i>emphasis</i>, in repeating conversational
remarks, will sometimes suffice to convey a
wholly erroneous impression to others, and that a
mysterious glance, a nod, a shrug, a smile, may be
made equivalent to the "offense of <i>spoken words</i>."</p>

<p>I have recommended the adoption of good, pure
English as the most unexceptionable colloquial coin.
Recurring to this point, let me express the opinion
that the most pretentious, or erudite language, is
not always that best adapted to the purposes of practical
life. No one is bound to speak ungrammatically
or incorrectly, even when communicating with
the illiterate, but the <i>simplest</i> phraseology, as well
as the most laconic, is often the most appropriate
and expressive, under such circumstances.</p>

<p>Companionship with the educated justifies the
use, without justly incurring the charge of <i>pedantry</i>,
of every mode of conveying ideas that we are assured
is <i>intelligible</i> to them. Thus classical scholars may
use the learned languages, if they will, in mutual in<a name="Page_297" id="Page_297"></a>tercourse;
and the popular and familiar words and
phrases we have borrowed from the French, are
often a convenient resource, under similar circumstances.
All this is best regulated by good-breeding
and taste. It is always desirable to err on the safe
side, where there is a possibility of misapprehension,
or of incurring the imputation of affectation, or of a
love of display.</p>

<p>This last consideration, by the way, affords an
additional incentive to the selection of such companionship
as is best suited to elicit the exercise of
conversational grace, and stimulate the mental cultivation
upon which it must be based. In addition to
this advantage, is that thus afforded of familiarizing
one's self with the usages of those who may be regarded
as <i>models</i> for the inexperienced. The modesty so
becoming in the young, will inspire a wish to <i>listen</i>
rather than talk; but&mdash;though to be an attentive
and interested listener is one of the most agreeable
and expressive of compliments&mdash;remember that
<i>practice</i>, if judiciously directed, cannot be too soon
attempted, to secure this desirable attainment.</p>

<p>These remarks, I am fully aware, have been desultory
and digressive, but they were designed to be
rather suggestive than satisfactory; and experimental
knowledge will, I trust, more than compensate
you for my conscious deficiencies. I will add only a
general remark or two, and then no longer tax your
patience.</p>

<p>The ladies&mdash;dear creatures!&mdash;are most prone, it
must be admitted, to the use of <i>exaggerated</i> language,<a name="Page_298" id="Page_298"></a>
in conversation; with them the superlative form of
the adjective will alone suffice for the full expression
of feeling or opinion. But this peculiarity is by no
means confined to those in whom enthusiasm and its
natural expression are most becoming. The sterner
sex are far from being exempt from this habit, which
often involves <i>looseness of thought</i>, <i>inaccuracy of
statement</i>, or <i>positive untruthfulness</i>. It is desirable,
as <i>a point of ethics</i>, to practise care in this regard.
Using the strongest forms of expression on ordinary
occasions, leaves one no <i>reserved corps</i> of language
for those requiring unusual impressiveness. <i>Accuracy</i>
is the great essential, many times, in the choice
of language. A clear idea, clearly and unequivocally
expressed, is indicative of a good and well-disciplined
intellect, each, as I have before intimated, the
result of <i>attention</i> and <i>practice</i>.</p>

<p>Well-bred people are careful, when obliged to differ
with others in conversation, to do so in polite
language, and never to permit the certainty of being
in the right to induce a dictatoral or assuming manner.
When only a difference of opinion or of taste
is involved, young persons, particularly, should scrupulously
abstain from any appearance of obstinacy,
or self-sufficiency, and defend their impressions, if at
all, with a courteous deference to others. Usually,
nothing is gained by argument in general society.
No one is convinced, because no one wishes to be,
and many persons, even when 'convinced, will argue
still,' because unwilling, from wounded self-love, to
admit it. Much acrimony of feeling is engendered<a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"></a>
in this way&mdash;pertinacity often causing an unpleasant
conclusion to what was begun in entire good-feeling.
No one is bound to renounce a claim to his individual
rights in this respect, but modesty and courtesy
will never sit ill upon the young, while steadfastly
defending even a point of principle. "Never," said
Mr.&nbsp;Madison, in an admirable letter of advice to a
nephew, "<i>never forget that, precisely in proportion
as you differ from others in opinion, they differ with
you</i>." Let me add, that they who are honestly seeking
knowledge and truth, will carefully review and
re-weigh opinions, tastes, and principles in regard to
which they find themselves differing essentially with
those whom age, experience, and learning render
their admitted superiors.</p>

<p>And if contradiction and opinionativeness are
inadmissible in good society, at least equal taste and
tact are required in conveying information to others.
Some graceful phrase, some self-renouncing admission
or explanation, which may secure you from the
envy or dislike that wounded vanity might otherwise
engender, should not be forgotten when circumstance
or education give you an advantage over others in
the intercourse of domestic or social life.</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"As in smooth oil the razor best is whet,<br></span>
<span class="i0">So wit is by politeness sharpest set;<br></span>
<span class="i0">Their want of edge from their offense is seen,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Both pain us least when exquisitely keen,<br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>The fame men give is for the joy they find</i>!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>It is usually in bad taste to talk of one's self in<a name="Page_300" id="Page_300"></a>
general society. Humility of language, in this respect,
may easily be interpreted into insincerity, and
it is at least equally difficult, on the other hand, to
avoid the imputation of egotism. Frankness with
those to whom you are bound by the ties of friendship,
will, many times, be the best proof you can give
of the sincerity of your confidence and regard, but
this will in no degree interfere with a certain <i>self-abnegation</i>
in ordinary social intercourse. Politeness
may dictate our being listened to with a semblance of
interest, when our own health, affairs, adventures, or
misfortunes are the subject of detailed discourse on
our part, but the sympathy of the world is not easily
enkindled, and pity is often mingled with contempt.
People go into society to be amused, not to have
their courtesy taxed by appeals to sensibilities upon
which others have no claim. Carlyle has well said,
"<i>Silently swallow the chagrins of your position;
every position has them</i>." And it is so; but one's
"private griefs" are not lessened by exposure, nor
made more endurable by being constantly the theme,
either of one's thoughts or conversation. Let me add
that their legitimate use is to teach us a ready sympathy
with the sorrows and trials of others, rather
than a hardened self-engrossment.</p>

<p>While you endeavor, therefore, to</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Conceal yoursel' as weel's ye can<br></span>
<span class="i2">Frae critical dissection,"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">seek to excel in personal agreeability, not for the sake
of superiority so much as to secure the means of giv<a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"></a>ing
pleasure to others, and of entitling yourself to
the favorable regard of those whose society it is desirable
to enjoy. Even the readiest admirers of wit
may weary of the very brilliancy of its flashes, if the
coruscations too constantly recur, as the eye tires of
sheet-lightning, often repeated; but who will weary
of geniality, amiability, and</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Good breeding, the blossom of good sense,"</p>
<p class="continue">any sooner than will the eye of the lambent light of
fair Diana?</p>

<p>No single characteristic of conversation, perhaps, so
universally commends the possessor to the favor of
society, as <i>cheerfulness</i>. "<i>A laugh</i>," said an eminent
observer of society, "<i>is the best vocal music; it
is a glee in which everybody can take part!</i>" I remember,
once, being for some weeks in a hotel with
a number of invalids, one of whom, though a constant
sufferer, always met me with a pleasant smile,
and uttered his passing salutations in a voice cheery
as a hunter's horn. Really, his simple "Good morning,
Colonel Lunettes," was so replete with good-humor,
courtesy, and cheerfulness, as to do one good
like a cordial. It so impressed me that, at length,
I responded, "Good morning, <i>cheerful sir</i>,&mdash;I believe
you never fail to greet your friends in a manner that
gives them pleasure." His pleasant smile grew
pleasanter, and his bright eye brighter, as he replied&mdash;"I
always make <i>a principle</i> of speaking
cheerfully to the sick, especially&mdash;they, of all others,
are most susceptible to outward impressions."<a name="Page_302" id="Page_302"></a>
"There is a world of philosophy, as well as of humanity,
in what you say," returned I, "and I can
personally testify to the good effects of your kindly
habit."</p>

<p>But it is not alone the sick, the sad, or the sensitive
who hail a cheerful companion with delight&mdash;these
<i>Human Sunbeams</i> bring warmth and gladness to all&mdash;even
the least susceptible feel the effects of
their genial presence, almost unconsciously, and frequently
seek and enjoy their conversation when even
elegance and erudition would fail of attraction.</p>

<p>The same tact and self-respect that will preserve
you from exhibitions of vanity and egotism, will
dictate discrimination in the selection of topics of
conversation, bearing upon matters of taste and sentiment,
as well as of opinion and principle.&mdash;All
affectation or assumption of superiority in this respect
is offensive and worse than useless. Those with
whom you have mental affinities will understand and
appreciate you; but beware, especially if sensitively
constituted, how you expose your sensibilities to the
ridicule, or your principles to the professed distrust
of those with whom, for any reason, you cannot
measure colloquial weapons upon entirely equal
terms.</p>

<p>On the contrary, again, no well-bred man ever
rudely assails either the predilections or the principles
of others in general society. This is no more
the proper arena for intellectual conflicts than for
political sparring, or theological disputes. Whatever
tends to disturb the general harmony of a circle, or<a name="Page_303" id="Page_303"></a>
to give pain to any one present, is inexcusable, however
truthful and important in the abstract, however
wise or witty in itself considered, may be observations
tending to either or both results.</p>

<p>This brings me to dwelling a moment upon a kindred
point&mdash;the discourtesy sometimes exhibited by
young men towards ladies and clergymen, in the use
of equivocal language, and the introduction of exceptionable
subjects in their hearing. Anything that
will crimson the cheek of true womanhood, or invade
the <i>unconsciousness</i> of <i>innocence</i>, is unworthy
and unmanly, to a degree of which it is not easy
to find language to express sufficient abhorrence.
The defencelessness of the dependent sex, in this, as
in all other respects, is their best protection with all
who&mdash;</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Give the world assurance of a <i>man</i>!"</p>

<p>And the same shield is presented by those whose
profession precludes their adopting the means of self-defence
permitted to the world at large. Nothing
can be more vulgar&mdash;setting aside the immorality of
the thing&mdash;than to speak disrespectfully of religion, or
of its advocates and professors, in society&mdash;what then
shall be said of those who assail the ears of the
acknowledged champions of Christianity with infidel
sentiments, contemptuous insinuations, or profane
expletives? Depend upon it, a <i>man of the world</i>,
whatever his honest doubts, or unorthodox convictions,
will be as little likely to present himself as a
mark in regard to these matters for the <i>suspicious
distrust</i>, or the <i>palpable misapprehension</i> of society,<a name="Page_304" id="Page_304"></a>
as to subject himself to the charges of extreme <i>juvenility</i>
and <i>low breeding</i> by assailing a clergyman with
ridicule, or a woman with libertinism, however
exquisite may be his wit in the one case, or apparently
refined his insinuations, in the other.</p>

<p>While recommending to your attention the selection
of suitable and tasteful subjects of general conversation,
I should not omit to remind you that
nothing but acknowledged intimacy sanctions the
manifestation of curiosity respecting the affairs of
others. As a rule, <i>direct questions</i> are inadmissible
in good society. Listen with politeness to what may
be voluntarily communicated to you by your associates,
regarding themselves, but on no account, indulge
an impertinent curiosity in such matters; and
when courtesy sanctions the manifestation of interest,
express your desire for information in polite language,
and with a half-apologetic manner, that will
permit reserve, without embarrassment to either
party. Let me add, that an uncalled-for exhibition
of your familiarity with the private affairs of a friend,
when his own presence and manner should furnish
your proper clue to his wishes, is to prove yourself
unworthy of his confidence. As well might one
boast of his acquaintance with the great, or assume
an unceremonious manner towards them, on unsuitable
occasions. In either case, one is liable to the
repulse sustained by an unfortunate candidate for
fashionable distinction, who, approaching a member
of English <i>haut ton</i> in the streets of London, said,
"I believe I had the honor of knowing you in the<a name="Page_305" id="Page_305"></a>
country, sir."&mdash;"<i>When we again meet in the country</i>,"
was the reply, "I shall be pleased to renew the
acquaintance!"</p>

<p><i>Quickness of repartee</i> may be reckoned among the
graces of the colloquial art, and those who are gifted
with activity of intellect, and have acquired facility
in the use of expressive language, should possess the
power thus to embellish their social intercourse.
Every one is now and then inspired in this way, I
believe; but few persons, comparatively, even
among the most practised conversationists, excel in
this respect. How few, for instance, would have responded
as readily, in an emergency, as did the half-drunk
servant of Swift:</p>

<p>"Is my fellow here?" inquired the Dean, pushing
open the door of a low tavern much frequented by
his often-missing <i>valet</i>.</p>

<p>A nondescript figure came staggering forward,
and stuttered out&mdash;"<i>Your L-Lordship's f-a-l-l-o-w
can't b-be f-found in all I-Ire-Ireland!</i>"</p>

<p>I have lately met, somewhere in my reading, with
the following anecdote of the elder Adams, as he is
frequently called. I remember, at this moment no
better illustration of ready repartee:</p>

<p>"How are you this morning, sir?" asked a friend
who called to pay his respects to this patriotic
son of New England, during the latter days of his
life.</p>

<p>"Not well," replied the invalid; "I am not well.
I inhabit a weak, frail, decayed tenement, open to<a name="Page_306" id="Page_306"></a>
the winds, and broken in upon by the storms, and
what is worse, <i>from all I can learn, the landlord
does not intend to make repairs</i>!"</p>

<p><i>A ready and graceful reply to a compliment</i>, may,
also, be regarded as a conversational embellishment.
It is not polite to <i>retort</i> to the language of courtesy
with a charge of insincerity, or of flattery. <i>Playfulness</i>
frequently affords the best resource, or the
<i>retort courteous</i>, as in Lord Nelson's celebrated reply
to Lady Hamilton's questions of "Why do you differ
so much from other men? Why are you so superior
to the rest of your sex?" "If there were more
Emmas, there would be more Nelsons." One may
say, "I fear I owe your commendation to the partiality
of friendship;" or, "I trust you may never be
undeceived in regard to my poor accomplishments;"
or, "Really, madam, your penetration enables you
to make discoveries for me." Then again, to one of
the lenient sex, one may reply&mdash;"Mrs.&nbsp;Blank sees
all her friends through the most becoming of glasses&mdash;her
own eyes." And to an older gentleman, who
honors you with the fiat of a compliment, thus
proving that it may sometimes be false that</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"The vanquished have no friends,"</p>

<p>"Really, sir, I do not know whether I am most overwhelmed
by admiration for your wit and politeness,
or by gratitude for your kindness." Or some phrase
like this will occasionally be appropriate&mdash;"I am
afraid, sir, I shall plume myself too highly upon your<a name="Page_307" id="Page_307"></a>
good opinion. You do me much honor;" or, "It
will be my <i>devoir</i>, as well as my happiness, for the
future, to deserve your commendation, sir;" or,
"You inspire as much as you encourage me, dear
sir&mdash;if I possess any claim to your flattering compliment,
you have yourself elicited it." To a compliment
to one's wit, or the like, one may reply&mdash;"Dullness
is always banished by the presence of
Miss&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;;" or, "Who could fail to be, in some degree,
at least, inspired in such a presence?" Then,
again, a reply like this will suffice&mdash;"I am only
too happy in being permitted to amuse you, madam."</p>

<p>Permit me in this connection, a few words respecting
<i>conversation with ladies</i>. Though all mere silliness
and twaddle should be regarded as equally
unworthy of them and yourselves, yet, in general
association with the fairest ornaments of creation,
<i>agreeability</i>, rather than profundity, should be your
aim, in the choice of topics. Sensitive, tasteful,
refined,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"And variable as the shade<br></span>
<span class="i0">By the light quivering aspen made,"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">their vividness of imagination and sportiveness of
fancy demand similarity of intellectual gifts, or the
graceful tribute of, at least, temporary assimilation.
<i>Playfulness</i>, <i>cheerfulness</i>, <i>versatility</i>, and <i>courtesy</i>
should characterize colloquial intercourse with ladies;
but the deference due them should never degenerate<a name="Page_308" id="Page_308"></a>
into mere servile acquiescence, or mawkish sentimentality.</p>

<p>The utmost <i>refinement of language and of matter</i>
should always be regarded as essential, under such
circumstances, to the discourse of a well-bred man;
and should, of course, distinguish his <i>manner</i> as well.
Thus, all slang phrases, everything approaching to
<i>double entendre</i>, all familiarity of address, unsanctioned
by relationship or acknowledged intimacy, all
mis-timed or unsanctioned use of nick-names and
Christian names, are as inadmissible in good society
as are personal familiarities, nudging, winking, whispering,
etc.</p>

<p>Too much care cannot be taken in avoiding all
subjects that may have the effect to wound or distress
others. I think I have before remarked that
people go into society for enjoyment&mdash;relaxation
from the grave duties and cares of life&mdash;not to be
depressed by the misanthropy of others, or disturbed
by details of scenes of horror. I have known persons
who had such a morbid taste for such things as
always to insist upon reading aloud, even in the
hearing of children and ladies, the frightful newspaper
details of rail-road accidents and steamboat
explosions. I remember, in particular, once having
the misfortune to be acquainted with such a social
incubus, to whom a death in the neighborhood was
a regular God-send, and to whom the wholesale
slaughter made by the collision of rail-cars served as
colloquial capital for weeks&mdash;indeed until some pro<a name="Page_309" id="Page_309"></a>vident
body corporate supplied new material for his
cormorant powers of mental digestion! His letters
to distant friends were a regular <i>bill of mortality</i>,
filled with minute accounts of the peculiar form of
disease by which every old woman of his acquaintance
was enabled to shuffle off this mortal coil, and of
every accident that occurred in the country for miles
around&mdash;from the sudden demise of a poor widow's
cow, to the broken leg of a robber of bird's-nests! I
shall never forget the revulsion of feeling he produced
for me, one serene summer evening, as I was
placidly strolling over the sands by the sea-shore,
drinking in the glory of old Neptune's wide-spread
realm, by inflicting upon me, not only <i>himself</i>&mdash;which
was enough for mortal patience&mdash;but a long
rigmarole about the great numbers of fishes washed
upon the shore by a recent storm, who had had their
eyes picked out by birds of prey, while still struggling
for life in an uncongenial element! On
another occasion, I had the misfortune to be present
when a young lady was thrown into violent
hysterics by his mentioning, with as much <i>gusto</i> as
an inveterate "collector" would have exhibited in
boasting the possession of a <i>steak</i> from the celebrated
"antediluvian beef," immortalized by Cuvier,<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> that
he had picked up a small foot with a lady's boot on<a name="Page_310" id="Page_310"></a>
it, while visiting the scene of a late rail-road accident!</p>

<p>But avoiding these aggravated forms of grossness
is not enough. True politeness requires attention to
the peculiarities of each of the company you are with&mdash;teaching,
for instance, your abstaining from allusions
to their personal defects or misfortunes, to the
embarrassment of conversing with deaf persons, in
the presence of those thus afflicted, to lameness,
when some one present has lost a limb, to the peculiarities
of age, in the hearing of elderly persons, to
the vulgar impression that all lawyers are knaves,
when one of the sons of that noble profession is
among your auditors&mdash;to the murderous reputation
of the disciples of Esculapius, etc. This rule will
teach, too, the use of a less offensive term than that
of "old maid," when speaking of women of no particular
age, in the hearing of such as are by courtesy
only, without the pale alluded to; and the propriety
of not appealing to such authority in relation to
matters of remote personal remembrance!</p>

<p>In no country with the social institutions of which
I am familiar, do the peculiar opinions obtain, which
prevail in this country respecting <i>age</i>. "Young
America" regards every one as old, apparently, who
has attained majority, and <i>women</i>, in particular, are
subjected to a most unjust ordeal in this respect.
The French have a popular saying that no woman
is agreeable until she is forty; and in both France
and England, <i>marriage</i>&mdash;which first entitles a young
lady to a decided position in society&mdash;usually occurs<a name="Page_311" id="Page_311"></a>
at a much later period in her life than with us. In
neither of those countries are girls <i>brought out</i> at an
age when here they are frequently already mothers!
But to return: nothing is more ill-bred, than this
too frequent assumption of the claims of women to
be exempt from social obligations and deprived of
their proper places in society, in this country, while
still retaining all their pristine claims to agreeability.
Polished manners, cultivated tastes and personal
attractions, are not to have their claims abrogated
by Time. You remember the poet says:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"The little Loves are infants ever,<br></span>
<span class="i0">The Graces are of every age!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>I well remember being intensely chagrined by an
exhibition of under-breeding in this way while
making a morning visit, with a young countryman
of ours, upon a beautiful English girl, a distant relative
of his.</p>

<p>After discussing London fogs, and other kindred
topics, Jonathan suddenly burst forth, as if suddenly
inspired with a bright thought.</p>

<p>"How's the old lady?"</p>

<p>The largest pair of blue eyes, opening to their
full extent, turned wonderingly upon the querist.</p>

<p>"Your <i>mother</i>,&mdash;is she well this morning?"</p>

<p>"Mamma is pretty well, thank you; but it is not
possible that you regard her as <i>old</i>! Mamma is in
the very prime of life, only just turned of five and
forty! Dear mother! she is looking very pale and
sad in her widow's cap, but we have never thought<a name="Page_312" id="Page_312"></a>
of her as <i>old</i>," and a shadow, like the sudden darkening
of a fair landscape, dimmed those deep blue eyes
and that fine forehead.</p>

<p>But enough upon this collateral point.</p>

<p>I trust you will need no argument to convince you
of the vulgarity and immorality of permitting yourselves
the practice of <i>repeating private conversation</i>.
Nothing will more surely tend to deprive you of
the respect and friendship of well-bred people, since
nothing is more thoroughly understood in good
society, than a tacit recognition of that essential
security to social confidence and good-feeling which
utterly interdicts the repetition of private conversation.</p>

<p>Let me only add to these rambling observations
the assurance that a <i>ready compliance</i> with the
wishes of others, in exercising any personal accomplishment,
is a mark of genuine good-breeding.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>During one of my visits to London, some years
since, the Duke of &mdash;&mdash; invited me to run down with
him, for a few days, to his magnificent estate in
&mdash;&mdash;shire.</p>

<p>Riding one morning with my host and a numerous
party of his guests, we paused to breathe
our horses, and enjoy the fine prospect, upon the
summit of a hill overlooking the wide-spread acres
of his lordship.</p>

<p>"Here the estate of my neighbor, Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, joins<a name="Page_313" id="Page_313"></a>
my land," said the Duke, pointing, with his riding-whip,
towards a narrow, thickly-wooded valley, at
our feet. "You catch a glimpse of his turrets
through the oaks yonder. This spot always reminds
me," pursued our host, laughing, "of an amusing
incident of which it was the scene, years ago, when
the family of my neighbor had not become as distinguished
as it now is, among the philanthropists of
the age. A young friend of ours, who was spending
the shooting-season here with my sons, while
eagerly pursuing his game, one morning, unconsciously
trespassed upon the preserves of Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;.
The report of his fowling-piece brought Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;
suddenly to his side, just as he was triumphantly
bagging his bird. My excellent neighbor, with all
his admirable qualities, is sometimes a little choleric,
and you know, Col. Lunettes, [bowing and
smiling] that nothing sooner rouses the ire of a true
Englishman, than an invasion of the <i>Game Laws</i>."</p>

<p>"'Sir!' cried Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;, in a voice trembling with
ill-suppressed fury, 'do you know that you are trespassing,&mdash;that
these are <i>my</i> grounds?'</p>

<p>"My young guest was not permitted fully to
explain, before the angry man again burst forth with
a tirade, which he concluded, by asking&mdash;'What
would you do yourself, sir, under such circumstances?
How would you feel disposed to treat a gentleman
who had encroached upon your rights in this way?'</p>

<p>"'Well, really, sir, since you ask me, I think I
should <i>invite him to go with me to the house and
take a mouthful of <a name="tn_png_314"></a><!--TN: Double quote removed at end of paragraph-->lunch</i>!'<a name="Page_314" id="Page_314"></a></p>

<p><a name="tn_png_314a"></a><!--TN: Double quote added before "This"-->"This was irresistible! Even &mdash;&mdash;'s indignation
was cooled by such inimitable <i>sang froid</i>, and he at
once adopted the suggestion of the young sportsman.
My witty guest not only secured the refreshment
he needed, but, eventually, helped himself to a
<i>bonne bouche</i> of more substantial character, by his
marriage with one of the blooming daughters of
my neighbor, to whom he was introduced on that
memorable occasion!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>A young American of my acquaintance, met, not
long since, in the <i>salons</i> of a distinguished <i>Parisienne</i>,
one of the most learnedly scientific of the
French authors of our times.</p>

<p>"I am as much surprised as I am delighted, to
meet you here to-night, Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;," said my friend,
<a name="tn_png_314b"></a><!--TN: Single quote changed to a double quote before "I"-->"I supposed you too much occupied in profound
research and study, to find time for such enjoyments."</p>

<p>"I am, indeed, much occupied at present," returned
the <i>savant</i>; "but I can neither more agreeably
nor more profitably spend a portion of my time than
in the society of my refined and cultivated friend,
Madame &mdash;&mdash;, and that of the intellectual and
accomplished visitors I always meet at her house."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Speaking, in the body of this letter, of the uselessness
of <i>arguing</i> with the hope of convincing others,<a name="Page_315" id="Page_315"></a>
reminded me, by association, of a little incident
illustrative of my opinion, of which I was once a
witness, during a summer sojourn at Avon Springs&mdash;a
little quiet watering-place in the Empire State,
as you may know.</p>

<p>There was a pleasant company of us, and our
intercourse was agreeable and friendly&mdash;all, apparently,
disposed to contribute to the general stock of
amusement, and to make the most of our somewhat
limited resources in the way of general entertainment.
There were pretty daughters and managing
mammas, heiresses, and ladies without fortune, who
were quite as attractive as those whose fetters were
of gold, the usual complement of brainless youths,
antiquated bachelors and millionaire widowers (so
reputed), with a sprinkling of nondescripts and old
soldiers, like myself.</p>

<p>It was our custom to muster, in great force, every
morning, and go in a mammoth omnibus from our
hotel to the "Spring" to bathe and drink the
delectable sulphur-water, there abounding. On
these occasions, every one was good-humored, obliging,
and cheerfully inclined to make sacrifices for
the comfort and convenience of others. The <i>ladies</i>,
especially, were the objects of particular care and
courtesy, being always politely assisted up and
down the high, awkward steps of our lumbering
conveyance, with their bathing parcels, etc.</p>

<p class="centerpoem">&mdash;&mdash;"All went merry as a marriage bell,"</p>

<p class="continue">until one unlucky day when some theological point<a name="Page_316" id="Page_316"></a>
became matter of discussion between two men of
opposite opinions, just as we were commencing our
return-ride from the Spring. Others were soon
drawn, first into listening, and then into a participation
in the conversation, until almost every man
in the company had betrayed a predilection for the
distinctive tenets of some particular religious sect.
Thus, Baptists, Presbyterians, Methodists, Congregationalists,
Episcopalians, Unitarians, and Romanists
stood revealed, each the ardent champion of his
own peculiar views. The ladies had the good sense
to remain silent, with the exception of an "Equal
Rights" woman, whose wordy interposition clearly
proved that</p>

<p class="centerpoem" style="font-style:italic;">"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread!"</p>
<p class="continue">Well! of course, no one was convinced by this
sudden outbreak of varied eloquence of the fallacy
of opinions he had previously entertained, and of
the superior wisdom of those of any one of his
companions. Indeed, so eager was each in the
maintenance of his own ground, as scarcely to heed
the arguments of his opponents, except as furnishing
a fresh impulse for advancing his own with
increasing pertinacity.</p>

<p>Presently, flushed cheeks, angry glances, and
louder tones gave token that the meek spirit of the
long-suffering <i>Prince of Peace</i> was not dominant in
the breasts of these, the professed advocates of his
doctrines. Rude language, too, gradually took the
place of the professed courtesy with which the discus<a name="Page_317" id="Page_317"></a>sion
had begun, and the ladies looked uneasily from
the windows, as if to satisfy themselves that escape
from such disagreeable association was near at hand.
Happily for them, our Jehu, though unmindful of
any particular occasion for haste, at length drew up
before Comstock's portico. But, in place of the
usual patient waiting of each for his turn to alight,
and the usual number of extended hands that were
wont to aid the ladies in their descent, every one of
the angry combatants crowded hastily out of the
vehicle, almost before it had fairly stopped, wholly
disregardful alike of the toes of his neighbors and
the claims before universally accorded to the gentler
portion of our company, and hurried up the steps,
apparently forgetful of everything except the uncomfortable
chafings of wounded self-love! Each
man, evidently, regarded himself as the most abused
of mortals, and the rest as a parcel of obstinate fools,
for whom it were a great waste of ammunition to
assume the martyr's fate! And I am by no means
sure, that the cheerful amicability that had before
prevailed among us was ever fully restored after
this unhappy outbreak of <i>religious feeling</i>!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>The gayest of capitals experienced a sensation!
The wittiest of circles, where all was wit, were, for
once, content to listen only! The brave, the great,
the learned, and the fair, contended for the smiles
and the society of the Marquis de Plusesprit, the<a name="Page_318" id="Page_318"></a>
handsomest, the most accomplished, and the wittiest
man in Paris!</p>

<p>One day, while this social <i>furore</i> was at its height,
a celebrated physician received a professional visit
from an unknown, whose pale cheeks and sunken
eyes bore testimony to the suffering to which he
described himself as being a prey. The man of
science prepared a prescription, but assured his
patient that what would most speedily effect his
restoration was change of scene and agreeable
society.</p>

<p>"Seek in congenial companionship relief from
the mental anxiety by which you are evidently
oppressed," said the modern Esculapius&mdash;"fly from
study and self-contemplation;&mdash;above all, <i>court the
society of the Marquis de Plusesprit</i>!"</p>

<p>"Alas! doctor," returned the stranger, "<i>I am
Plusesprit!</i>"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Speaking of Repartee, reminds me of a pretty scene
of which I was a witness, not long since, while ruralizing
for a week with an old friend and his charming
daughters, at their beautiful and hospitable home,
on the banks of the Hudson. By the way, I have
before introduced you to their acquaintance&mdash;the
pleasant family of <i>letter-writing memory</i>!&mdash;</p>

<p>An elderly foreign gentleman, of large information
and agreeable manners, but not one of fortune's
favorites, had been dining with us, by special invitation,
and the lovely daughters of my host had vied<a name="Page_319" id="Page_319"></a>
with each other in doing honor to one in whom sensitiveness
may have been rendered a little morbid
by the effect of the tyrant Circumstance. Every
hour succeeding his arrival had served more effectually
to melt away a certain constraint of manner,
by which he seemed at first oppressed, and his expressive
face grew bland and genial under the sunny
influences of courteous respect and appreciation, until
when he rose to go away at sunset, he seemed almost
metamorphosed out of the man of the morning.</p>

<p>The sisters three, accompanied their agreeable
visitor to the vine-draped veranda, where I was
already seated, attracted by the beauty of the evening,
and of my local surroundings. I had been particularly
admiring a fine large orange-tree, at the
entrance of the porch, which was laden with flowers
and fruit, and, with glittering pearls from a shower
just bestowed upon it by the gardener.</p>

<p>"Will you not come again, before Colonel Lunettes
<a name="tn_png_319"></a><!--TN: Comma removed before "us"-->leaves us, Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;?" asked my sweet young
friend Fanny, in her most cordial tones, linking her
arm in that of one sister, and clasping the waist of the
other, as she spoke, "we will invoke the Loves and
Graces to attend you"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"The Graces!" exclaimed the guest, quickly,&mdash;extending
his hands towards the group, and bowing
profoundly&mdash;"then you will come yourselves!&mdash;<i>the
Graces are before me!</i>" And then he added, with a
courtly air&mdash;"Really, Miss&nbsp;Fanny, you too highly
honor a rusty old man"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"An old man," interrupted Fanny, with the utmost<a name="Page_320" id="Page_320"></a>
vivacity, dissolving the "linked sweetness" that had
intwined her with her sisters, and extending her
beautiful arm towards the superb orange-tree before
her, "an old man!&mdash;here is a fitting emblem of
our friend Mr.&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;;&mdash;all the attractiveness of youth
still mingled with the matured fruit of experience!"</p>

<p>Charming Fanny! God bless her!&mdash;she is one of
those earth-angels whose manifold gifts seem used
only to give happiness to others!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>I called one evening, not long since, to pay my
respects to the daughter of a recently-deceased and
much-valued friend. She had been persuaded into
a journey to a distant city, in search of the health and
spirits that had been exceedingly impaired by watching
beside the death-bed of her departed mother.
Her appearance could scarcely fail, as it seemed to
me, to interest the most insensible stranger to her
history;&mdash;for myself, I was inexpressibly touched by
the language of the colorless face and languid eyes
to which a simple black robe lent additional meaning.</p>

<p>Just as I began to indulge a hope that the faint
smile my endeavors at cheerful conversation had
caused to flicker about her lips&mdash;as a rose-tint illumines
for a moment the white summit of an Alpine
height&mdash;there entered the drawing-room of our hostess
a bevy of noisy women, young and old, who
gathered about the sofa, where my friend and I were<a name="Page_321" id="Page_321"></a>
seated near our hostess, and rattled away like so
many pieces of small (very small!) artillery.</p>

<p>I saw plainly that the mere noise was almost too
much for the nerves of the silent occupant of the sofa
corner; but what was my surprise at hearing them
go into the most minute particulars respecting the
recent death of a gentleman of our acquaintance!
His dying words, his very death-struggles were carefully
reported, and the grief of the survivors graphically
described!</p>

<p>Unfortunately, having relinquished my seat beside
the mourner to one of these women, I was
powerless in my intense wish to attract her attention
from the subject of their discourse; but my eyes
were riveted upon her, with the keenest sympathy
for the torture she must be undergoing. Her pale
face had gradually grown white as a moonbeam,
until, at length, as though strengthened by desperation,
she sprang from her seat, and essayed to leave
the room. One step forward, a half-stifled sob, and
the slender form lay extended on the floor in hapless
insensibility.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"While Mr.&nbsp;Smith is tuning his guitar, let us beg
Mrs.&nbsp;Williams to redeem her promise of reciting
Campbell's 'Last Man' for us," said a graceful hostess,
mindful of the truth that some of her guests
preferred eloquence and poetry to sweet sounds, and
desirous, too, of drawing out the accomplishments of
all her guests.<a name="Page_322" id="Page_322"></a></p>

<p>Mrs.&nbsp;Williams, gifted with</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"The vision and the faculty divine,"</p>


<p class="continue">glanced a little uneasily at the ever-twanging guitar
as she politely assented to the requests that eagerly
seconded that of her hostess. Mr.&nbsp;Smith still continued
to hum broken snatches of an air, twisting the
screws of his instrument with complete self-engrossment,
the while.</p>

<p>"I will not interrupt Mr.&nbsp;Smith," said the lady,
in more expressive tones than were ever elicited from
catgut by the efforts of that gentleman, moving with
a step graceful as that of a gazelle to the other end
of the room.</p>

<p>Our little circle gathered about her, and enjoyed,
in an exquisite degree,</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"The feast of reason, and the flow of soul,"</p>

<p class="continue">that so far surpasses the merely sensuous pleasure
afforded by music, when not associated with exalted
sentiment.</p>

<p>As the company broke into little groups, after
thanking Mrs.&nbsp;Williams for the high gratification for
which we were her debtors, I overheard Mr.&nbsp;Smith
say, with a discontented air, to a youth with a
"<i>lovely moustache</i>," who had "accompanied" him in
his previous musical endeavors, "I'll never bring
my instrument <i>here</i> again!"</p>

<p>At this critical moment, our hostess approached
with a water-ice, as a propitiatory offering, and
expressed the hope that the guitar was now renewed<a name="Page_323" id="Page_323"></a>
for action. The musician, with offended dignity,
only condescended to reply, as he deposited his idol
in a corner&mdash;</p>

<p>"Thank you, ma'am; I supposed your friends
were <i>fond of music</i>!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Discussing the mooted subject of <i>beards</i> one morning
lately, with some sprightly young ladies of my
acquaintance, the following specimen of quickness
of repartee was elicited. I record it for your amusement.</p>

<p>"Among the ancients, I believe," said a fair girl,
"a long, snowy beard was considered an emblem
of the wisdom of the possessor."</p>

<p>"And how is it in modern times?" inquired another
lady, "does wisdom keep pace, in exact proportion
with length of beard?"</p>

<p>"No, indeed," exclaimed the first speaker, laughingly,
"for,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"If beards long and bushy true wisdom denote,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Then Plato must bow to a hairy he-goat!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>What would an educated foreigner&mdash;Kossuth, for
instance, who learned English <i>by the study of Shakspeare</i>&mdash;make
of the following specimens of colloquial
American language?</p>

<p>"Do tell, Jul," exclaimed a young lady, "where
<i>have</i> you been marvelling to? You look like Time
in the primer!"<a name="Page_324" id="Page_324"></a></p>

<p>"No you don't," returned the young lady addressed,
"you can't come it over dis chil'!"</p>

<p>"No, no," chimed in a youth of the party, "you
can't come it quite, Miss&nbsp;Lib! Don't try to poke
fun at us!"</p>

<p>"You've all been <i>sparking</i> in the woods, I
guess!"</p>

<p>"Oh, ho," laughed one of the speakers, "I thought
you'd get it through your hair, at last&mdash;that's rich!"</p>

<p>"Why!" retorted the interlocutor, tartly, "do
you think I don't know tother from which?"</p>

<p>"I think you 'know beans' as well as most
Hoosiers," replied her particular admirer, in a tone
of unmistakable blandishment.</p>

<p>"Everybody knows Jul's <i>some pumpkins</i>," admitted
one of her fair companions.</p>

<p>"Come, Jul, rig yourself in a jiffy," said a bonny
lassie, who had not yet spoken, "you are in for a
spree!"</p>

<p>"What's in the wind&mdash;who's to stand the shot?"
cautiously inquired the damsel addressed.</p>

<p>"We're bound on a spree, I tell you! You must
be <i>green</i> to think we'll own the corn now! Come,
fix up, immediately, if not sooner!" so saying, the
energetic speaker seized her friend round the waist
and gallopaded her out of the room.</p>

<p>Presently some one said, "Well, Jul and Lotty
have made themselves scarce!&mdash;I&mdash;&mdash;by George,
it makes a fellow open his potato-trap to hang around
waitin' so," and an expansive yawn attested the
sincerity of this declaration.<a name="Page_325" id="Page_325"></a></p>

<p>"I could scare up my traps a heap sight quicker,
I reckon, and tote 'em too, from here to the river,
nigger fashion," rejoined a Southerner, of the group.</p>

<p>"Some chicken fixins and pie doins wouldn't be
so bad&mdash;would they, though?" whispered a tall,
Western man to his next neighbor.</p>

<p>"And a little suthin to wet your whistle, too,"
added another, overhearing the remark&mdash;"you're a
trump, anyhow!"</p>

<p>"Then you do <i>kill a snake</i>, sometimes, Mr.
Smith," inquired one of his auditors, smiling significantly.</p>

<p>"Does your anxious mother know you're out?"
retorted Mr.&nbsp;Smith, twirling his fingers on his nose.</p>

<p>"Don't be wrathy, Smith&mdash;what's your tipple,
old fellow?" put in one of the young men, soothingly
stroking the broad shoulders of that interesting
youth.</p>

<p>"You're E Pluribus&mdash;you're a brick," returned
Mr.&nbsp;Smith, softening, "but where in thunder are
those female women? They'ave sloped and given us
the mitten, I spose"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"You ain't posted up, my boy, if you think they'd
given us the slip," answered his friend.</p>

<p>"By jingo! it takes the patience of all <a name="tn_png_325"></a><!--TN: "th" changed to "the"-->the world
and the rest of mankind to dance attendance upon
them&mdash;they ain't as peart as our <i>gals o' wind</i>!"
cried Mr.&nbsp;Smith, in an ecstasy of impatience.</p>

<p>"How's your ma, Mr.&nbsp;John Smith?" inquired
the merry voice of "Jul," who had entered unperceived,
"you'd better dry up!"<a name="Page_326" id="Page_326"></a></p>

<p>"Here we are, let's be off," shouted a young gentleman.</p>

<p>"All aboard," echoed another.</p>

<p>"Now we'll go it with a rush!" burst from a
third, and, suiting the action to the word, my
<i>dramatis personć</i> vanished like the wind.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Having the happiness to pass a morning at the
<i>Louvre</i> with my early and lamented friend, Washington
Allston, he said to me, as arm in arm we
sauntered slowly through one of the Galleries&mdash;"Come
and study one of my particular favorites
with me&mdash;one might as well attempt to taste all the
nondescript dishes at a Chinese state-dinner as to
enjoy every picture in a collection, at a single visit.
I do not even glance at more than one or two, unless
I know that I shall have months before me for
renewing my inspection&mdash;better take away one distinct
recollection, to add to one's <i>private collection</i>,
than half a dozen confused, imperfect copies!"</p>

<p>I think it was a <i>Murillo</i> before which the artist
paused while speaking; the celebrated work representing
a monk, who had been interrupted by death
while writing his own biography, as being permitted
to return to earth to complete his self-imposed task.
I am not sure but this picture, however, was added
some years later to the treasures of the Louvre, by
Napoleon&mdash;for we were both young men then&mdash;however,
it matters not. I was quite as much occu<a name="Page_327" id="Page_327"></a>pied
in observing the <i>living picture</i> before me, as
that of the great master. And, though memory has
proved somewhat treacherous, I still vividly recollect
the spiritualized face of this true child of genius,
as he contemplated the magnificent impersonation.
His brow grew radiant, and his eye! ah, who shall
portray that soul-lit eye, or justly record the poetic
language that fell, almost unconsciously, from his
half-inspired lips! Sacredly are they cherished
among the hoarded memories of youthful friendship?
It was only my purpose to recall for your benefit
the opinion and practice of one so fully competent
to advise in relation to our subject.</p>

<p>What Disraeli has somewhere said of eating,
may, with equal nicety of epicureanism, be applied
to the enjoyment of Ideal Art, and of that of
which it is the type&mdash;natural beauty:&mdash;"To eat,
really to eat," asserts the discriminatingly sensuous
Jew, "one should eat alone, in an easy dress, by a
soft light, and of a single dish at a time!" For myself&mdash;but
there's no accounting for tastes!&mdash;I should
desire on all such occasions,</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"One fair spirit for my minister,"</p>

<p class="continue">or rather, for my sympathizing companion!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>As an illustration of the advantage to a man in
public life, of <i>ready elocution and ready wit</i>, let me
sketch for you a little scene of which I was the<a name="Page_328" id="Page_328"></a>
amused and interested witness, one morning some
months ago, while on a visit at Washington.</p>

<p>A <i>Chaplain</i> was to be elected for the House of
Representatives. General Granger, of New York,
proposed a Soldier of the Revolution as well as of the
Cross&mdash;the Rev. Mr.&nbsp;Waldo&mdash;adding a few impressive
facts in relation to his venerable and interesting
friend&mdash;as that he was then in his ninety-fourth
year, had borne arms for his country in his youth,
etc.</p>

<p>Upon this, some member, upon the <i>opposition
benches</i>, as the English say, called out:</p>

<p>"What are his claims? where did he serve?"</p>

<p>"The gentleman will permit me to refer him to
the Pension Office," returned General Granger, with
the most smiling urbanity; "he will there find the
more satisfactory answer to his queries."</p>

<p>"What are Mr.&nbsp;Waldo's politics?"</p>

<p>"Though a most amiable gentleman and devout
Christian, he belongs, sir, to&mdash;the <i>Church Militant</i>!"</p>

<p>"Is he a <i>Filibuster</i>?"</p>

<p>"Even so, sir! Mr.&nbsp;Waldo filibustered for the
<i>Old Thirteen</i>, against George the Third, in the
American Revolution!"</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature1">I am, my dear boys, as ever,<br></span>
<span class="presignature2">Your affectionate,<br></span>
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">"Uncle Hal."</span><br></span>
</div>



<div class="footnotes"><h3 style="margin-top:.5em;">Footnotes:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Speaking in one of his public lectures, of the recent discovery
(amid the eternal snows of Siberia, I think), of the carcass of a
<i>mastodon</i>, upon which the hunting-dogs of the explorers had
fed&mdash;"<i>Thus</i>," said the great naturalist, "<i>did modern dogs gorge
themselves upon antediluvian beef!</i>"</p></div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329"></a>
<h2><a name="LETTER_X" id="LETTER_X"></a>LETTER X.</h2>

<p class="chapterhead">HABIT.</p>

<p class="chapterstart">My dear Friends:</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="firstwords">If</span> you wish to have power to say, in the
words of the imperial slave of the beautiful Egyptian,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"Let me,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.<br></span>
<span class="i0">With those hands that grasp'd the heaviest club,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Subdue my worthiest <i>self</i>,"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">you must not wholly overlook the importance of
<i>Habit</i>, while establishing your system of life.</p>

<p>Always indicative of character, habit may yet, to
a certain extent, do us the greatest injustice, through
mere inadvertency. Indeed, few young persons
attach much importance to such matters, until compelled
by necessity to unlearn, with a painful effort,
what has been insensibly acquired.</p>

<p>Permit me, then, a few random suggestions, intended
rather to awaken your attention to this branch of
a polite education, than to furnish elaborate directions
in relation to it.</p>

<p>Judging from the prevalent tone of social intercourse
among our countrymen, both at home and<a name="Page_330" id="Page_330"></a>
abroad, one might naturally make the inference, that
most of them regard <i>Rudeness</i> and <i>Republicanism</i> as
synonymous terms. Depend upon it, that as a people,
we are retrograding on this point. Our upper class&mdash;or
what would fain be deemed such&mdash;in society,
may more successfully imitate the fashionable follies
and conventional peculiarities of the Old World, than
their predecessors upon the stage of action did; but
fashion is not good breeding, any more than arrogant
assumption, or a defiant independence of the
amenities of life, is true manliness. Breaking away
from the ceremonious old school of habit and manner,
we are rapidly running into the opposite extreme,
and the masses who, with little time or inclination
for personal reflection, on such subjects, naturally
take their clue, to some extent, from the assumed
exponents of the laws of the fickle goddess, exaggerating
the value of the defective models they seek to
imitate, into the grossest caricature of the whole, and,
mistaking rudeness for ease, and impudence for independence,
so defy all abstract propriety, as, if not to
"make the angels weep," at least to mortify and disgust
all observant, thinking men, whose love and
pride of country sees in trifles even, indications
more or less auspicious to national advancement.</p>

<p>All this defiance of social restraint, this professed
contempt for the suavities and graces that should
redeem existence from the complete engrossment of
actualities, is bad enough at home; but its exhibition
abroad is doubly humiliating to our national dignity.
Every American who visits foreign countries, whether<a name="Page_331" id="Page_331"></a>
as the accredited official representative of his government,
or simply in the character of a private
citizen, owes a duty to his native land, as one of
those by the observance of whom strangers are forming
an estimate of the social and political advancement
of the people who are making the great experiment
of the world, and upon whom the eyes of all
are fixed with a peculiar and scrutinizing interest.</p>

<p>It has been well said of us, in this regard, that
"<i>our worst slavery is the slavery to ourselves</i>."
Trammelled by the narrowest social prejudices at
home, Americans, breaking loose from these restraints
abroad, run riot, like ill-mannered school-boys, suddenly
released from the discipline which, from its
very severity, prompts them to indulge in the extreme
of license. Thus, we lately had accounts of
the humiliating conduct of some Americans, who,
being guests one night at the Tuileries, actually
so far forgot all decency as to intrude their
drunken impertinence upon the personal observation
of the Emperor! And, when informed, the next
morning, that, at the instance of their insulted host,
the police had followed them, when they left the
palace, to ascertain whether they were not suspicious
characters who had surreptitiously obtained admittance
to the imperial fęte, they are reported to have
pronounced the intelligence "<i>rich!</i>" Shame on
such exhibitions!&mdash;they disgrace us nationally.</p>

<p>If our countrymen would be content to learn from
older peoples on these points, it would be well. In
the Elegant and Ideal Arts, in Literature, in general<a name="Page_332" id="Page_332"></a>
Science, the superiority of our predecessors in the history
of Progress, is cheerfully admitted. Can we,
then, learn nothing from the matured civilization of
the Old World in regard to the <i>Art of Living</i>? Shall
we defy the race to which we belong, on this point
alone? This secret is possessed in greatest perfection
by those who have longest studied its details, and
some long existent nations who display little practical
wisdom in matters of political science, are greybeard
sages here. So then, let us learn from them
what they can easily save us the trouble of acquiring
by difficult experiments for ourselves, and, concentrating
our energies upon higher objects, give them
back a full equivalent for their knowledge of the best
mode of serving the <i>Lares</i>, the <i>Muses</i>, and the <i>Graces</i>,
by a successful illustration of the truth, that <i>as a
people we are capable of self-government</i>! We shall,
then, no longer have the wife of an American minister
ignorantly invading the Court Rules at Madrid,
by sporting the colors sacred to royal attire there,
and so giving occasion for national offense, as well
as individual conflict, nor furnish Punch with material
for the admonitory reflection that the bond of
family union between John Bull and his cousin Jonathan
must be somewhat uncertain "when so small a
matter as the <i>tie of a cravat can materially affect the
price of stocks</i>!" And, when vulgar bluster and
braggadocio are no longer mistaken for the proper
assertion of national and individual independence,
we shall not have an American gentleman who, like
our justly-distinguished countryman, George Pea<a name="Page_333" id="Page_333"></a>body,
constantly exhibits the most urbane courtesy,
alike towards foreigners and towards the citizens of
the native country to which his life has been one
prolonged pćan, accused of <i>toadying</i>, because he
quietly conforms to the social usages of the people
among whom he lives!</p>

<p>But pardon me these generalities. I have been
unintentionally led into them, I believe, by my keen
sense of mortification at some of the incidents to
which I have alluded.</p>

<p>Coming then to details, let us, primarily, resolve
to be slaves to nothing and to no one&mdash;neither to
others nor to ourselves; and to endeavor to establish
such habits as shall entitle each of us, in the estimation
of discriminating observers, to the distinctive
name of <i>gentleman</i>.</p>

<p><i>Constant association with well-bred and well-educated
society</i>, cannot be too highly estimated as an
assistant in the acquisition of the attributes of which
we propose to speak. A taste for such companionship
may be so <a name="tn_png_333"></a><!--TN: "strengthed" changed to "strengthened"-->strengthened by habit as to form a
strong barrier to the desired indulgence of grosser
inclinations. "Show me your friends, and I'll tell
you what you are," is a pithy Spanish proverb.
Choose yours, I earnestly entreat, in early life, with
a view to self-improvement and self-respect. And,
while on this point, permit me to warn you against
mistaking pretension, wealth, or position, for intrinsic
merit; or the advantages of equality in elevated
social rank, for an equivalent to mental cultivation,
or moral dignity.<a name="Page_334" id="Page_334"></a></p>

<p>One of the collateral benefits resulting from proper
social associations, will be an escape from <i>eccentricities</i>
of manner, dress, language, etc.; erroneous
habits in relation to which, when once established,
often cling to a man through all the changes of time
and circumstance.</p>

<p>But, as observation proves that this, though a
safeguard, is by no means always a sufficient defense,
it is well to resort to various precautions,
additionally&mdash;as a prudent general not only carefully
inspects the ramparts that guard his fortress, but
stations sentinels, who shall be on the look-out for
approaching foes.</p>

<p>So then, my dear boys, do not regard me as descending
to puerilities unworthy of myself and you,
when I call your attention to such matters as your
attitude in standing and sitting, or any other little
individualizing peculiarities.</p>

<p>Some men fall into a habit of walking and standing
with their heads run out before them, as if doubtful
of their right to keep themselves on a line with
their fellow-creatures. Others, again, either elevate
the shoulders unnaturally, or draw them forward so
as to impede the full, healthful play of the lungs.
This last is too much the peculiar habit of <i>students</i>,
and contracted by stooping over their books, undoubtedly.
Then again, you see persons swinging
their arms, and see-sawing their bodies from side to
side, so as to monopolize a good deal more than their
rightful share of a crowded thoroughfare, steamer
cabin, or drawing-room floor. Nothing is more <a name="tn_png_334"></a><!--TN: "un comfortable" changed to "uncomfortable"-->un<a name="Page_335" id="Page_335"></a>comfortable
than walking arm in arm with such a
man. He pokes his elbows into your ribs, pushes
you against passers-by, shakes you like a reed in the
wind, and, perhaps, knocks your hat into the gutter
with his umbrella&mdash;and all with the most good-humored
unconsciousness of his annoying peculiarity.
If you are so unfortunate as to be shut up in a carriage
with him, his restless propensity relieves itself
to the great disturbance of the reserved rights of
ladies, and the frequent impalement upon his protruding
elbows of fragments of fringe, lace, and
small children! At table, if it be possible, his
neighbors gently and gradually withdraw from his
immediate vicinity, leaving a <i>clearing</i> to his undisputed
possession. He usually may be observed to
stoop forward, while eating, with his plate a good
foot from the customary locality of that convenience,
pushed before him towards the middle of the table,
and his arms so adjusted that his elbows play out
and in, like the sweep of a pair of oars.</p>

<p>A little seasonable attention to these things will
effectually prevent a man of sense from falling into
such peculiarities. Early acquire the habit of standing
and walking with your chest thrown out&mdash;your
head erect&mdash;your abdomen receding rather than protruding&mdash;not
leaning back any more than forward&mdash;with
your arms <i>scientifically</i> adjusted&mdash;your hat on
the <i>top</i> (not on the back, or on one side) of your
head&mdash;with a self-poised and firm, but elastic tread;
not a tramp, like a war-horse; not a stride, like a
fugitive bandit; not a mincing step, like a conjurer<a name="Page_336" id="Page_336"></a>
treading on eggs; but, with a compact, manly, homogeneous
sort of bearing and movement.</p>

<p>Where there has been any discipline at least, if
not always, inklings of character may be drawn
from these tokens in the outer man. For instance&mdash;the
light, quick, cat-like step of Aaron Burr, was as
much a part of the man as the Pandemonium gleam
that lurked in the depths of his dark, shadowed eyes.
I remember the one characteristic as distinctly as
the other, when I recall his small person and peculiar
face. So with the free, firm pace by which the
noble port of De Witt Clinton was accompanied&mdash;one
recognized, at a glance, the high intellect, the
lofty manhood, embodied there.</p>

<p>Crossing the legs, elevating the feet, lounging on
one side, lolling back, etc., though quite excusable
in the <i>abandon</i> of bachelor seclusion, should never
be indulged in where ceremony is properly required.
In the company of ladies, particularly, too much
care cannot be exhibited in one's attitudes. It is then
suitable to sit upright, with the feet on the floor, and
the hands quietly adjusted before one, either holding
the hat and stick (as when paying a morning visit),
or the dress-hat carried in the evening, or, to give
ease, on occasion, a book, roll of paper, or the like.
Habits of refinement once established, a man feels at
ease&mdash;he can trust himself, without watching, to be
<i>natural</i>&mdash;and nothing conduces more to grace and
elegance than this quiet consciousness. Let me add,
that true comfort, real enjoyment are no better secured
under any circumstances, by indulging in anything<a name="Page_337" id="Page_337"></a>
that is <i>intrinsically unrefined</i>, and that a certain
<i>habitual self-restraint</i> is the best guarantee of ease,
propriety and elegance, when a man would fain do
entire justice to himself.</p>

<p>Habits connected with matters of the table, as indeed
with all sensuous enjoyments, should always be
such as not to suggest to others ideas of merely selfish
animal gratification. Among minor characteristics,
few are so indicative of genuine good-breeding
as a man's mode of <i>eating</i>. Upon Poor Richard's
principle, that "nothing is worth doing at all that is
not worth doing well," one may very properly attach
some consequence to the formation of correct habits
in relation to occasions of such very frequent recurrence.
It is well, therefore, to learn to sit uprightly
at table, to keep one's individual "aids and appliances"
compactly arranged; to avoid all noise and
hurry in the use of these conveniences; neither to
mince, nor fuss with one's food; nor yet to swallow
it as a boa-constrictor does his,&mdash;rolled over in the
mouth and bolted <i>whole</i>; or worse still, to open the
mouth, to such an extent as to remind observers that
alligators are <i>half mouth</i>. Eating with a knife, or
with the fingers; soiling the lips; using the fork or
the fingers as a tooth-pick; making <i>audible</i> the
process of mastication, or of drinking; taking soup
from the <i>point</i> of a spoon; lolling forward upon the
table, or with the elbows upon the table; soiling the
cloth with what should be kept upon the plate;
putting one's private utensils into dishes of which<a name="Page_338" id="Page_338"></a>
others partake; in short, everything that is odd, or
coarse, should nowhere be indulged in.</p>

<p>Cut your meat, or whatever requires the use of the
knife, and, leaving that dangerous instrument conveniently
on one side of your plate, eat with your fork,
using a bit of bread to aid, when necessary, in taking
up your food neatly.</p>

<p>When partaking of anything too nearly approaching
a liquid to be eaten with a fork, as stewed tomato,
or cranberry, <i>sop</i> it with small pieces of bread;&mdash;a
<i>spoon</i> is not used while eating meats and their
accompaniments. Never take up large bones in the
fingers, nor bite Indian corn from a mammoth ear.
(In the latter case, a long <i>cob</i> running out of a man's
mouth on either side, is suggestive of the mode in
which the snouts of dressed swine are adorned for
market!) If you prefer not to cut the grain from
the ear, break it into small pieces and cut the rows
lengthwise, before commencing to eat this vegetable.</p>

<p>When you wish to send your plate for anything,
retain your knife and fork, and either keep them
together in your hand, or rest them upon your
bread, so as not to soil the cloth.</p>

<p>Should you have occasion for a tooth-pick, hold
your napkin, or your hand, before your mouth while
applying it, and on no account resort to the <i>perceptible</i>
assistance of the tongue in freeing the mouth
or teeth from food.</p>

<p>Have sufficient self-control, when so unfortunate<a name="Page_339" id="Page_339"></a>
as to be disgusted with anything in your food, to
refrain from every outward manifestation of annoyance,
and if possible, to conceal from others all
participation in your discovery.</p>

<p>Accustom yourself to addressing servants while at
table, in a low, but intelligible tone, and to a good-natured
endurance of their blunders.</p>

<p>Avoid the appearance of self-engrossment, or of
abstraction while eating, and, for the sake of health
of mind and body, acquire the practice of a cheerful
interchange of both civilities and ideas with those
who may be, even temporarily, your associates.</p>

<p>It is now becoming usual among fashionable
people in this country to adopt the French mode of
conducting ceremonious dinners, that of placing such
portions of the dessert as will admit of it, upon the
table, together with plateaux of flowers, and other
ornaments, and having the previous courses served
and carved upon side-tables, and offered to each
guest by the attendants. But it will be long before
this custom obtains generally, as a daily usage, even
among the wealthier classes. It will, so far continue
rather an exception than a rule, that the <i>art of
carving</i> should be regarded as well worth acquiring,
both as a matter of personal convenience, and as
affording the means of obliging others. Like every
other habit connected with matters of the table,
exquisite <i>neatness</i> and discrimination should characterize
the display of this gentlemanly accomplishment.
Aim at dexterous and rapid manipulation,
and shun the semblance of hurry, labor, or <a name="tn_png_339"></a><!--TN: Period added after "fatigue"-->fatigue.<a name="Page_340" id="Page_340"></a>
Familiarity with the <i>anatomy</i> of poultry and game,
will greatly facilitate ease and grace in carving.</p>

<p>Always help ladies with a remembrance of the
moderation and fastidiousness of their appetites. If
possible, give them the choice of selection in the
cuts of meats, especially of birds and poultry.</p>

<p>Never pour gravy upon a plate, without permission.
A little of the filling of fowls may be put
with portions of them, because that is easily laid
aside, without spoiling the meat, as gravy does, for
many persons.</p>

<p>All meats served in mass, should be carved in
<i>thin slices</i>, and each laid upon one side of the plate,
carefully avoiding soiling the edge, or offending the
delicacy of ladies, in particular, by too-ensanguined
juices.</p>

<p>Different kinds of food should never be mixed on
the plate. Keep each portion of the accompaniments
of your meats neatly separated, and, where
you <i>pay for decency and comfort</i>, take it as a
matter of course that your plate, knife, and fork are
to be changed as often as you partake of a different
dish of meat.</p>

<p><i>Fish</i> is eaten with bread and condiments only;
and the various kinds of meat with vegetables
appropriate to each. <i>Game</i>, when properly cooked
and served, requires only a bit of bread with it.</p>

<p>By those who best understand the art of eating,
<i>butter</i> is never taken with meats or vegetables. The
latter, in their simple state, as potatoes, should be
eaten with salt; most of them need no condiment, in<a name="Page_341" id="Page_341"></a>
addition to those with which they are dressed before
coming to table. Salads, of course, are prepared
according to individual taste; but the well-instructed
take butter at dinner only after, or as a substitute for,
the course of pastry, etc. with bread, if at all. The
English make a regular course of bread, cheese, and
butter, preceding the dessert proper&mdash;nuts, fruit,
etc.; but they never eat both butter and cheese at
the same time.</p>

<p>Skins of baked potatoes, rinds of fruit, etc., etc.,
should never be put upon the cloth; but <i>bread</i>, both
at dinner and breakfast, is placed on the table, at the
left side of the plate, except it be the small bit used
to facilitate the use of the fork.</p>

<p>Never drum upon the table between the courses,
fidget in your chair, or with your dress, or in any
manner indicate impatience of due order and deliberation,
or indifference to the conversation of those
about you. A <i>gentleman</i> will take time to dine
decorously and comfortably. Those whose subserviency
to <i>anything, or any one</i>, prevents this, are
not <i>freemen</i>!</p>

<p>Holding, as I do, that</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"<i>To enjoy is to obey,</i>"</p>

<p class="continue">let me call your attention, in this connection, to the
truth that the pleasures of the table consist not so
much in the <i>quantity</i> eaten as in the <i>mode of eating</i>.
A moderate amount of simple food, thoroughly and
deliberately masticated, and partaken of with the
agreeable accessories of quiet, neatness and social<a name="Page_342" id="Page_342"></a>
communion, will not only be more beneficial to
the physical man, but afford more positive enjoyment,
than a larger number of dishes, when hurriedly
eaten in greater quantities.</p>

<p>I have frequently remarked among our young
countrymen a peculiarity which a moment's reflection
will convince you is exceedingly injurious to
health&mdash;that of swallowing an enormous amount of
fluid at every meal. Reflect that the human
stomach is scarcely so large as one of the goblets
which is repeatedly emptied at dinner, by most
men, and that all liquids taken into that much-abused
organ, must be absorbed before the assimilation
of solid food commences, and you will see, at
once, what a violation of the natural laws this
practice involves. Here, again, is one of the evil
effects of the fast-eating of fast Americans. Hurrying
almost to feverishness, at table, and only half
masticating their food, the assistance of <i>ice-water</i> is
invoked to facilitate the process of swallowing, and
to allay the more distressing symptoms produced by
haste and fatigue!</p>

<p>Before we leave these little matters, let us return
for an instant, to that of the <i>position</i> assumed while
<i>sitting</i>. The "<i>Yankee</i>" peculiarity, so often ridiculed
by foreigners, of tipping the chair back upon
the two hind feet, is not yet obsolete, even in our
"best society." Occasionally some uninstructed
rustic finds his way into a fashionable drawing-room,
where "modern antique furniture," as the manufacturers
call it in their advertisements, elicits all the<a name="Page_343" id="Page_343"></a>
proverbial ingenuity of his native land, to enable
him to indulge in his favorite attitude. "I thought
I saw the ghost of my chair!" said a fair friend to
me, as soon as a visitor had left us together, one
morning, not long since. "I was really distressed
by his efforts to tilt it back&mdash;these fashionable chairs
are so frail, and he would have been intensely
mortified had he broken it! Have you seen the
last 'Harper,' Colonel?"</p>

<p>Do not permit yourself, through an indifference to
trifles, to fall into any unrefined habits in the use of
the handkerchief, etc., etc. Boring the ears with
the fingers, chafing the limbs, sneezing with unnecessary
sonorousness, and even a too fond and ceaseless
caressing of the moustache, are in bad taste.
Everything connected with <i>personal</i> discomfort,
with the mere physique, should be as unobtrusively
attended to as possible.</p>

<p>When associated with women of cultivation and
refinement&mdash;and you should addict yourself to no
other female society&mdash;you cannot attend too carefully
to the niceties of personal habit. Sensitive,
fastidious, and very observant of <i>minutić</i>&mdash;indeed
often judging of character by <i>details</i>&mdash;you will
inevitably lose ground with these discriminating
observers, if neglectful of the trifles that go far
towards constituting the <i>amenities of social life</i>.
An elegant modern writer is authority for the fact
that the Gauls attributed to woman, "an additional
sense&mdash;the <i>divine sense</i>." Perhaps the Creator may
have bestowed this gift upon the defenseless sex, as<a name="Page_344" id="Page_344"></a>
a counterpoise to the superior strength and power of
man, even as he has given to the more helpless of
the lower creatures swiftness of motion, instead of
capacity for resistance. But be that as it may, no
man should permit himself any habit that will not
bear the scrutiny of this <i>divine sense</i>&mdash;much less,
one that will outrage all its fine perceptions.</p>

<p>Apropos of <i>details</i>&mdash;I will take leave to warn
you against the <i>swaggering manner</i> that some young
men, whose bearing is otherwise unexceptionable,
fall into among strangers, apparently with the
mistaken idea that they will thus best sustain their
claims to an unequivocal position in society. So in
the sitting-rooms at hotels, in the pump-rooms at
watering-places, on the decks of steamers, etc.,
persons whose juvenility entitles them to be classed
with those who have nursery authority for being
"seen and not heard," are frequently the most
conspicuous and noisy. Shallow, indeed, must be
the discernment of observers who conceive a favorable
impression of a young man from such an
exhibition!</p>

<p>In company, do not stand, or walk about while
others sit, nor sit while others stand&mdash;especially
ladies. Acquire a light step, particularly for in-door
use, and a <i>quiet</i> mode of conducting yourself,
generally. Ladies and invalids will not then dread
your presence as dangerous&mdash;like that of a rampant
war-horse, ill-taught to</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Caper nimbly in a lady's chamber!"</p>

<a name="Page_345" id="Page_345"></a>

<p>If you are fond of playing at chess and other
games, it will be worth your while to observe yourself
until you have fixed habits of entire politeness,
under such circumstances. All unnecessary movements,
every manifestation of impatience or petulance,
and all exultation when successful, should be
repressed. Thus, while seeking amusement, you may
acquire self-control.</p>

<p>Begin early to remember that health and good
spirits are easily impaired, and that <i>habit</i> will materially
assist us in the patient endurance of suffering
we should manifest for the sake of those about us&mdash;attendants,
friends, "the bosom-friend dearer than
all," whom no philosophy can teach insensibility to
the semblance of unkindness from one enthroned in
her affections.</p>

<p>Don't fall into the habit, because you are a branch
of the <i>Lunettes</i> family, of using glasses prematurely.
<i>Students</i> are much in error here. Every young
divinity-student, especially, seems emulous of this
troublesome appendage. Depend on it, this is all
wrong, either absurd affectation, or ignorance equally
unfortunate.</p>

<p>Ladies, it is said, are the <i>readers</i> of America, but
who ever sees the dear creatures donning spectacles
in youth? Enter a female college and look for the
glasses that, were the youthful devotees of learning
there assembled of the other sex, would deform half
the faces you observe. Much better were it to inform
yourselves of the laws of optics, and use the organs
now so generally abused by the young, judiciously,<a name="Page_346" id="Page_346"></a>
resting them, when giving indications of being
overtaxed, rather than endeavoring to supply artificial
aid to their natural strength. Students, especially,
should always read and write with the <i>back to the
light</i>, so seated that the light falls not upon the
eyes, but upon the book or paper before them.
That reminds me, too, how important it is that one
should not <i>stoop forward</i> more constantly than is
necessary, while engaged in sedentary pursuits, but
lean back rather than forward, as much as possible,
throwing out the chest at the same time. Many
books admit of being raised in the hand, in aid of
this practice, and the habit of rising occasionally,
and expanding the chest, and straightening the limbs
will be found to relieve the weariness of the sedentary.</p>

<p>But nothing so effectually prevents injury to
health, from studious habits, as <i>early rising</i>. This
gives time for the out-door exercise that is so requisite
as well as for the use of the eyes by <i>daylight</i>.
There is a great deal of nonsense mixed up with our
literature, which seizes the fancy of the young,
because embodied in poetry, or clothed with the
charm of fiction. Of this nature is what we read
about, "trimming the midnight lamp," to search for
the Pierean spring. Obey the</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Breezy call of incense-breathing morn,"</p>

<p class="continue">and she will environ you with a joyous band of
blooming Hours, and guide you gaily and lightly<a name="Page_347" id="Page_347"></a>
towards sparkling waters, whose properties are Knowledge
and Health!</p>

<p>But if you would habitually rise early, you must
not permit every trivial temptation to prevent your
also <i>retiring early</i>. The laws of fashionable life are
sorely at variance with those of Health, on this
point, as well as upon many others; but, happily,
they are not <i>absolute</i>, and those who have useful purposes
to accomplish each day, must withstand the
tyranny of this arbitrary despot. Time for the toilet,
for exercise, for intellectual culture and mental
relaxation, is thus best secured. By using the earlier
hours of each day for our most imperative occupations,
we are far less at the mercy of contingent circumstances
than we can become by any other system
of life. "Solitude," says Gibbon, "is the school of
Genius," and the advantages of this tuition are most
certainly secured before the idlers of existence are
abroad!</p>

<p>Avoid the habit of regarding yourself as an invalid,
and of taking nostrums. A knowledge and observance
of the rules of <i>Dietetics</i> are often better than
the concentered wisdom of a Dispensary, abstinence
more effective than medical applications, and the
recuperative power of Nature, when left to work out
her own restoration, frequently superior to the most
skillful aid of learned research. But when compelled
to avail yourself of medical assistance, seek that
which <i>science</i> and <i>integrity</i> render safest. No sensible
man, one would think, will intrust the best boon of
earth to the merciless experiments of unprincipled and<a name="Page_348" id="Page_348"></a>
ignorant charlatans, or credulously swallow quack
medicines recommended by old women: and yet,
while people employ the most accomplished hatter,
tailor, and boot-maker, whose services they can
secure, they will give up the <i>inner</i> man to the influence
of such impositions upon the credulity of
humanity!</p>

<p>Assuming, as an accepted truth, that it is your
purpose, through life, to admit the rights of our fair
tyrants</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"In court or cottage, wheresoe'er their home,"</p>

<p class="continue">I will commend to you the early acquisition of habits
appropriate to our relations to women as their <i>protectors</i>.
In dancing, riding, driving, walking, boating,
travelling, etc., etc.,&mdash;wherever the sexes are
brought together in this regard (and where are they
not, indeed, when commingled at all?)&mdash;observe the
gentle courtesies, exhibit the watchful care, that go
far towards constituting the settled charms of such
intercourse. It is not to be forgotten, as I think I
have before remarked, that women judge of character,
often, from trifling details; thus, any well-bred
woman will be able to tell you which of her acquaintances
habitually removes his hat, or throws aside his
cigar, when addressing her, and who, of all others, is
most watchful for her comfort, when she is abroad
under his escort. Be sure, too, that this same fair
one could confess, if she would make a revelation on
the subject, exactly what men she shuns because
they break her fans, disarrange her bouquets, tear her<a name="Page_349" id="Page_349"></a>
flounces, touch her paintings and prints with moist
fingers (instead of merely <i>pointing</i> to some part)
handle delicate <i>bijouterie</i> with dark gloves, dance
with uncovered hands, etc., etc. But even if you
are her <i>confidant</i>, she will not tell you how often her
quick sensibility is wounded by fancying herself the
subject of the <i>smirks</i>, <i>whispers</i>, and <i>knowing glances</i>
in which some men indulge when grouped with their
kindred bipeds, in society!</p>

<p>At the risk of subjecting myself to the charge of
repetition, I will endeavor, before concluding this
letter, to enumerate such Habits as, in addition to
those of which I have already spoken, I deem most
entitled to the attention of those who are establishing
a system of life.</p>

<p><i>Habits of reading and studying</i> once thoroughly
formed, are invaluable, not only as affording a ready
resource against <i>ennui</i>, or idleness, everywhere and
under all circumstances, but as necessarily involving
the acquisition of knowledge, even when of the most
desultory character. It is wonderful how much general
information may be gleaned by this practice of
reading <i>something</i> whenever one has a few spare
grains of the "<i>gold-dust of Time</i>,"&mdash;minutes. I
once found a remarkably well-informed woman of
my acquaintance waiting to make breakfast for her
husband and me, with a little old <i>dictionary</i> open in
her hand. "For what word are you looking, so
early?" I inquired, as I discovered the character of
the volume she held. "For no one in particular,"
returned she, "but one can always add to one's<a name="Page_350" id="Page_350"></a>
stores from any book, were it only in the matter of
<i>spelling</i>." But the true way, of course, to derive
most advantage from this enjoyment is to <i>systematize</i>
in relation to it, reading well-selected books with
care and attention sufficient to enable us permanently
to add the information they contain to our
previous mental possessions.</p>

<p>You will only need to be reminded how much ease
and elegance in <i>Reading aloud</i> depend upon <i>habit</i>.</p>

<p>Without the <i>Habit of Industry</i>, good resolutions,
the most sincere desire for self-improvement, and the
most desirable natural gifts, will be of comparatively
little avail for the practical purposes of existence.
This unpretending attribute, together with <i>System</i>
and <i>Regularity</i>, has achieved more for the good of
the race, than all the erratic efforts of genius combinedly.</p>

<p>"Don't run about," says a sensible writer, "and
tell your acquaintances you have been unfortunate;
people do not like to have unfortunate men for
acquaintances. Add to a vigorous determination, a
cheerful spirit; if reverses come, bear them like a
philosopher, and get rid of them as soon as you can."
<i>Cheerfulness</i> and <i>Contentment</i>, like every other
mental quality, may be cultivated until they materially
assist us in enduring</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,"</p>
<p class="continue">and early attention to the attainment of these mental
habits is a matter of both personal and relative duty.</p>

<p>Cherish <i>self-respect</i> as, next to a firm religious<a name="Page_351" id="Page_351"></a>
faith, the best safeguard to respectability and peace
of mind. Entirely consistent with&mdash;indeed, in a
degree, productive of the most careful consideration
of the rights of others, the legitimate development of
this quality will tend to preserve you from unwise confidences,
from injudicious intimacies, and from gross
indulgences and unworthy pursuits. This will
sustain you in the manly acknowledgment of <i>poverty</i>,
if that shall chance to be your lot, when pride and
principle contend for the mastery in practical
matters, and enable you to realize fully, that</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"To bear, is to conquer our fate!"</p>

<p class="continue">This will strengthen you to the endurance of that
which nothing but absolute insignificance can escape&mdash;<i>calumny</i>.
It will preserve you alike from an
undue eagerness in defending yourself from unjust
aspersion, and from a servile fear of "the world's
dread laugh," from meriting and from resenting
scandal, and convince you that its most effectual
contradiction consists in a <i>virtuous life</i>. By listening
to the dictates of this powerful <i>coadjutor of
conscience</i>, you will believe with the poet, that</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Honor and Fame from no <i>condition</i> rise,"</p>

<p class="continue">and thus, with straightforward and unvarying purpose,
illustrate your adoption of the motto,</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"<i>Act well your part</i>, there all the honor lies!"</p>

<p>While I would earnestly counsel you to avoid that
constant <i>self-consciousness</i> which is nearly allied to<a name="Page_352" id="Page_352"></a>
vanity and egotism, if not identical with them, you
will find the habitual practice of <i>self-examination</i>
greatly conducive to improvement. A calm, impartial
analysis of words and actions, tracing each
to their several motives, must tend to assist us to
<i>know ourselves</i>, which an ancient philosopher, you
may remember, pronounced the highest human
attainment. Arraign yourself, without the advantage
of <i>special pleading</i>, to borrow a legal phrase, at
the bar of conscience, regarding this arbiter as the
voice of Divinity enshrined within us, whenever
assailed by doubts respecting any course of conduct
you have adopted, or propose to adopt, and where
you are thus taught to draw the line of demarcation
between right and wrong,</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Let that aye be your border."</p>

<p>In this connection permit me to recommend the
regular study of the <i>Bible</i>, and a systematic attendance
upon public worship on the Sabbath. Do not
read this most wonderful of books as <i>a task</i>, nor yet
permit the trammels of early associations, hereditary
prejudice, or blind superstition, to interfere with
your search for the truths contained in its pages.
Try to read the Scriptures as you would any other
book, with the aid of such collateral information as
you may be able to obtain respecting the origin of
the several, and wholly, distinct productions of which
it is composed, the authors of each, the purposes for
which they were composed, and, in short, possess
yourself of every available means of giving reality,<a name="Page_353" id="Page_353"></a>
simplicity, and truthfulness to your investigations.
Study the <i>Life of Christ</i>, as written by the personal
friends who were most constantly and intimately
associated with him. Ponder upon his familiar
sayings, remembered, and recorded in their simple
memoranda, by the unlettered men who most frequently
listened to them, compare the acts of Christ
with his doctrines as a teacher, and judge for yourselves
whether history, ancient or modern, has any
parallel for the <i>Perfection of the Model</i> thus exhibited
to the human race. Decide whether he was not
the only earthly being who "never did an injury,
never resented one done to him, never uttered an
untruth, never practised a deception, and never lost
an opportunity of doing good." Having determined
this point in your own minds, adopt this glorious
pattern for imitation, and adhere to it, until you find
a truer and better model. We have nothing to do
in judging of this matter with the imperfect illustrations
afforded by the lives of professed imitators of
Christ of the perfectibility to which his teachings tend.
Why look to indifferent copies, when the great original
is ever before us! Why seek in the frailty and
fallibility of human nature a justification of personal
distrust and indifference?</p>

<p>No <i>gentleman</i>&mdash;to come to practicalities again&mdash;will
indulge in ridiculing what intelligent, enlightened
persons receive as truth, on any point, much less
upon this. Nor will a well-bred man permit himself
the habit of being <i>late at church</i>&mdash;were it only that
those who stand in a <i>servile relation to others</i>, are<a name="Page_354" id="Page_354"></a>
often deprived of time for suitable preliminaries
of the toilet, etc., he will carefully avoid this vulgarity.</p>

<p>The tendency to <i>materialism</i>, so strongly characterizing
the age in which we live, produces, among
its pernicious collateral effects, a disposition to
reduce "Heaven's last, best gift to man" to the same
practical standard by which we judge of all matters
of the outer life,&mdash;of <i>each other</i> especially. Well
might Burke deplore the departure of the Age of
Chivalry! But not even the prophetic eye of
genius could discern the degeneracy that was to
increase so rapidly, from the day in which he wrote,
to this. As a mere matter of personal gratification,
I would cherish the inclination to <i>idealize</i> in regard
to the fairer part of creation! There is enough that is
stern, hard, baldly utilitarian, in life; we have
no need to rob this "one fair spirit" of every poetic
attribute, by system! Few habits have so much the
effect to elevate us above the clods we tread ploddingly
over in the dreary highway of mortal existence,
as that of investing woman with the purest,
highest attributes of our common nature, and bearing
ourselves towards her in accordance with these
elevated sentiments. And when compelled, in individual
instances, to set aside these cherished impressions,
let nothing induce us to forget that <i>passive,
silent forbearance</i> is our only resource. True manhood
can never become the active antagonist of
<i>defencelessness</i>.</p>

<p>I am almost ashamed to remind you of the gross<a name="Page_355" id="Page_355"></a>
impropriety of speaking loosely and loudly of ladies
of your acquaintance in the hearing of strangers, of
desecrating their names by mouthing them in bar-rooms
and similar public places, scribbling them
upon windows, recording them, without their permission,
in the registers kept at places visited from
curiosity, etc., etc. <i>You have no moral right to
take such liberties in this respect, as you would not
tolerate in the relation of brother, son, or husband.</i></p>

<p><i>Think</i>, then, and <i>speak</i>, ever, with due reverence
of those guardian angels,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"Into whose hands from first to last,<br></span>
<span class="i0">This world with all its destinies,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Devotedly by Heaven seems cast!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>If you determine to conform yourselves, as far as
in you lies, to the model presented for your imitation
by Him who said&mdash;"Be ye, therefore, perfect,
even as I am perfect," you will not disregard the
cultivation of a <i>ready sympathy</i> with the sufferings
and trials of your fellow beings. In place of adopting
a system that will not only steel your heart, but
infuse into your whole nature distrust and suspicion,
you will, like Him who went about doing good,
quickly discern suffering, in whatever form it presents
itself, and minister, at least, the balm of a kind
word, when naught else may be offered. You will
thus learn not only to pity the erring, but, perchance,
sometimes to ask yourselves in profound
humility&mdash;"<i>who hath made me to differ</i>?"</p>

<p>Young men sometimes fall into the impression<a name="Page_356" id="Page_356"></a>
that a mocking insensibility to human woe is manly&mdash;something
grand and distinguished. So they turn
with lofty scorn from a starving child, make the
embarrassment and distress of a poor mother with
a wailing infant the subject of audible mirth in a
rail-car, or stage-coach, ridicule the peevishness
of illness, the tears of wounded sensibility, or the
confessions of the penitent! Now, it seems to me,
that all this is super-human in its sublime elevation!
My small knowledge of the history of the greatly good,
affords no parallels for the adoption of such a creed.
I have read of a Howard who terminated a life
devoted to the benefit of his race, in a noisome dungeon,
where he sought to minister to human suffering;
of a Fenelon, and a Cheverus whose <i>Catholic</i>
spirit broke the thralling restrains of sectarianism,
in favor of general humanity; of the graceful
chivalry and large benevolence of Sir Walter Raleigh
and Sir Philip Sidney; of triumphant soldiers
who bound up the wounds and preserved the lives
of a fallen foe; of a Wilberforce, a Pease, and a
Father Mathew; of Leigh Richmond, Reginald
Heber, and Robert Hall; of the parable of the good
Samaritan, and of its Divine Author&mdash;and I believe
the mass of mankind agree with me in, at least, an
abstract admiration for the characters of each! And
though no great achievements in the cause of Philanthropy
may be in our power, though no mighty
deeds may embalm our memories amid the imperishable
records of Time, let us not overlook those small
acts of kindness, those trifling proofs of sympathy,<a name="Page_357" id="Page_357"></a>
which all have at command. A look, a word, a
smile&mdash;what talismanic power do even these sometimes
possess! Remember, then, that,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">"&mdash;&mdash;Heaven decrees<br></span>
<span class="i0">To all the <i>gift of ministering to ease</i>!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>In close association with the wish to minister to
the happiness of others, as far as in us lies, is that of
avoiding every self-indulgence that may interfere
with the comfort or the rights of others. Hence the
cultivation of <i>good-humor</i>, and of habits of <i>neatness</i>,
<i>order</i>, and <i>regularity</i>. Prompted by this rule, we
will not <i>smoke</i> in the streets, in rail-cars, on the
decks of steamers, at the entrance of concert and
lecture rooms, or in parlors frequented by ladies.
We will not even forget that neglect of <i>matters of
the toilet</i>, in the nicest details, may render us unpleasant
companions for those accustomed to fastidiousness
upon these points.</p>

<p>To the importance of well-regulated habits of
Exercise, Temperance, and Relaxation, I have
already called your attention in a previous Letter.</p>

<p>Nothing tends more effectually to the production
of genuine independence, than personal <i>Economy</i>.
No habit will more fully enable you to be generous
as well as just, and to gratify your better impulses
and more refined tastes, than the exercise of this unostentatious
art.</p>

<p>Remember that <i>meanness</i> is not economy, any
more than it is integrity.<a name="Page_358" id="Page_358"></a></p>

<p>To be wisely economical requires the exercise of
the reflective faculties united with practical experience,
self-denial, and moral dignity. Rightly
viewed, there is nothing in it degrading to the
noblest nature.</p>

<p><i>Punctuality</i> both in pleasure and in business
engagements, is alike due to others, and essential to
personal convenience. You will, perhaps, have
observed that this was one of the distinguishing traits
of Washington.</p>

<p>Somebody says&mdash;"Ceremony is the Paradise of
Fools." The same may be said with equal truth, of
<i>system</i>. To be truly <i>free</i>, one should not be the
slave of any one rule, nor of many combined.
<i>System</i>, like other agencies, if judiciously regulated,
materially aids the establishment of good habits
generally, and thus places us beyond the dominion
of</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"<i>Circumstance, that unspiritual god.</i>"</p>


<p>Sir Joshua Reynolds used to remark that "Nothing
is denied to well-directed effort." Let <i>Perseverance</i>
then, be united with <i>Excelsior</i> in your practical
creed.</p>

<p>I think I have made some allusion to the <i>Art of
Conversation</i>. Let me "make assurance doubly
sure," by the emphatic recommendation of <i>practice</i>
in this elegant accomplishment. All mental acquisitions
are the better secured by the habit of <i>putting
ideas into words</i>. By this process, thought becomes
clearer, more <i>tangible</i>, so to speak, and new ideas<a name="Page_359" id="Page_359"></a>
are actually engendered, while we are giving expression
to those previously in our possession.</p>

<p>In addition to the individual advantage accruing
from this excellent mode of training yourselves for
easy and effective <i>extemporaneous public speaking</i>,
it should not be overlooked, as affording the means
of conferring both pleasure and benefit upon others.
Taciturnity and self-engrossment, you may remark,
are not the prominent characteristics of the favorites
of society.</p>

<p>Nor does the practice of ready speaking necessarily
interfere with habits of <i>Reflection</i> and <i>Observation</i>.
On the contrary, the mental activity thus
promoted, naturally leads to the accumulation of
intellectual material by every available means.
Discrimination in judging of character, and true
<i>knowledge of the world</i>, without which all abstract
knowledge is comparatively of little avail, can never
be attained except through the persevering exercise
of these powers.</p>

<p>Shall I venture to remind you, my dear young
friends, that the manifestation of <i>respect for misfortune,
suffering, and age</i>, may become one of your
attributes by the force of habit strengthening good
impulses.</p>

<p>Will you think me deficient in utilitarianism if I
recommend to you a cultivation of the <i>power to
discern the Beautiful</i>, as a perpetual source of pure
and exalted enjoyment? Hard, grinding, soul-trammelling,
is the dominion of real life; will we be less
worthy of our immortal destinies, that we cherish an<a name="Page_360" id="Page_360"></a>
<i>inner sense</i>, by which we readily perceive moral
beauty, shining as a ray from the very altar of Divinity,
or the tokens of the presence of that Divinity
afforded by the wonders of the natural world? Let
us not be mere beasts of burden, so laden with the
cares, the anxieties, or even the duties of life, as to
have no eye for the unobtrusive, but often fragrant
and lovely flowers, that bloom along the most
neglected of our daily paths.</p>

<p>Speaking of the Beautiful, reminds me that ours
is the only civilized land where the ćsthetical perceptions
of the people are not a sufficient safeguard to
the preservation of <i>Works of Art</i>, in their humblest
as well as most magnificent exhibitions. Nothing
short of the brutalizing influence of a Reign of
Terror will tempt a Parisian populace to the desecration
of these expressions of refinement, taste, and
beauty; while among us, not even an ornamental
paling, inclosing a private residence, or the colonnade
of a public edifice, escapes staring tokens of
the presence of this gothic barbarism in our midst.</p>

<p>You will scarcely need to be cautioned against
confounding mere <i>curiosity</i> with a liberal and enlightened
observation of life and manners. All those
indications of undue curiosity respecting the private
affairs of others, expressed by listening to conversation
not intended for the general ear, watching the
<i>asides</i> of society, glancing at letters addressed to
another, or asking direct questions of a personal
nature, are unmistakable proofs of ignorance of the
rules of polished life, though they are not as repre<a name="Page_361" id="Page_361"></a>hensible
as <i>evil-speaking</i>, a love of <i>scandal</i>, or the
practice of violating either the <i>confidence</i> of friends
or the <i>sacredness of private conversation</i>.</p>

<p>Though a vast difference is created in this respect
by difference of temperament, yet no man can hope
to acquire the degree of <i>self-possession</i> that shall fit
him for a successful encounter with the ever-varying
emergencies demanding its illustration, without repeated
and re-repeated struggles and discomfitures.
But so invaluable is the treasure, so essential to the
legitimate exercise of every faculty of our being,
that defeat should only render more indomitable the
"will to do, the soul to dare," in persevering endeavors
to secure its permanent acquisition.</p>

<p>Let me impress upon you the truth that self-possession
is the legitimate result of a <i>well-disciplined
mind</i>, <a name="tn_png_361"></a><!--TN: "and-that" changed to "and that"-->and that it is properly expressed by a <i>quiet</i>
and <i>modest bearing</i>.</p>

<p>In conclusion, let me earnestly and affectionately
assure you that the formation of right habits, though
necessarily attended, for a time, by failures, difficulties,
or discouragements, will eventually prove its
own all-sufficient reward. Habitude of thought, language,
appointment, and manner that shall entitle
you to claim</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"The good old name of <i>Gentleman</i>,"</p>

<p class="continue">once yours, and you will be armed, point of proof,
against the exacting capriciousness of fashion, and
forever exempted from the tortures often inflicted<a name="Page_362" id="Page_362"></a>
upon the sensitive, by the insidious invasions of self-distrust!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Strolling through the Crystal Palace at London,
soon after it was opened, with a young fellow-countryman,
he suddenly broke out with&mdash;"Will you just
look at that fellow, colonel?" Turning and following
the direction indicated by his eye (not his finger
or walking-stick, he was too well-bred <i>to point</i>!) I
discerned, in a different part of the building, Queen
Victoria, accompanied by Prince Albert and two of
the royal children, examining some articles in the
American Department. Very near the stopping-place
of this distinguished party, a representative of
the "universal Yankee nation," had stationed himself&mdash;perhaps
in a semi-official capacity&mdash;upon the
apex of some elevation, with his hat on, and his long
legs dangling down in front, nearly on a level with
the heads of passers-by.</p>

<p>We could not hear the words of her Majesty, but
it was apparent that she addressed some inquiry to
him of the legs. First ejecting a torrent of tobacco-juice
from his mouth, and rolling away the huge
quid that obstructed his utterance, he deliberately
proceeded to give the explanation desired, retaining
not only his position, but his hat, the while!</p>

<p>Meantime, as soon as the Queen commenced
addressing this person, her Royal Consort removed
his hat, and remained uncovered until she again
moved on. I shall not soon forget the face of my<a name="Page_363" id="Page_363"></a>
companion. Shame and indignation contended for
the mastery on his burning cheek!</p>

<p>"Good G&mdash;&mdash;, Colonel!" he exclaimed, "to think
of such a mere brute as that being regarded as a fair
specimen of the advance of civilization among us!
'Tis enough to make a decent man disclaim his birthright
here! And yet, I have little enough to boast of
myself! Only think of my taking some English
gentlemen who were in New-York a month or two
ago, to see our <i>parks</i> (heaven save the mark!) among
other objects of interest in the city! Yesterday, Sir
John &mdash;&mdash;, who was one of the party, drove about
London with me, and took me also to Kensington
Garden, St. James' and Regent's Parks! I don't
know what would tempt me again to undergo the
thing! I rather think I am effectually cured, henceforth
and for ever, of any inclination to <i>boast of anything
whatever, personal or national</i>!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"As you are the only 'gentleman of elegant
leisure' in the family, at present, Harry, suppose
you take these girls to New York for a week or
two. For my part, it's as much as I can do to
provide money for the expedition," said your uncle
William to me, one evening.</p>

<p>"Oh, do, dear uncle Hal!" exclaimed Ida, with
great vivacity, sitting down on a low stool at my
feet, and clasping her hands upon my knee, "we
always love dearly to go with you anywhere, you
are so good to us."<a name="Page_364" id="Page_364"></a></p>

<p>"Yes!" broke in William junior, "uncle Harry
spoils you so completely by indulgence that I can do
nothing with you. You're a most unruly set, at
home and abroad."</p>

<p>A sudden twitch at the end of his cravat effectually
demolished the elegant tie upon which the
young gentleman prides himself, as little Julé, who
was close beside him, pretending to get her French
lesson, and had perpetrated the mischief, cried out&mdash;"What's
the reason, then, that you always take us
all along, when you go out in the woods, and off to
the shore&mdash;hey, Mr.&nbsp;Willie?"</p>

<p>"Do be quiet, children," interrupted Ida, reprovingly;
"now, uncle dear, won't you take us? I
want some new traps badly."</p>

<p>"What kind of traps?&mdash;mouse traps?"</p>

<p>"<i>Man traps</i>, to be sure!"</p>

<p>"Well, that's honest, at least, Puss."</p>

<p>"My purposes are more murderous than Ida's,"
said Cornelia, laughing; "I <a name="tn_png_364"></a><!--TN: "wan't" changed to "want"-->want to buy a new
<i>mankiller</i>, as Willie calls them."</p>

<p>"It's too late in the season for mantillas," remarked
Ida, profoundly.</p>

<p>"A fashionable cloak will serve Cornelia's purpose
equally well," returned her father, quietly.</p>

<p>"And, like the mantle of charity, it will hide a
multitude of sins," chimed in her brother.</p>

<p>"Your running commentaries are highly edifying,
my dear nephew," said I, and at the same moment a
large red rose hit him full on the nose.</p>

<p>It was soon arranged that your fair cousins should<a name="Page_365" id="Page_365"></a>
accompany me to the Empire City in a few days,
and I, accordingly, sat down at once, and wrote to
the "Metropolitan" for rooms.</p>

<p>"What glorious times mother and I will have,"
I overheard William exclaim. "I shall take Julé
under my especial protection, and hear her French
lessons regularly."</p>

<p>"No you won't, either," returned that young lady,
with great spirit; "and I wish you'd stop tying my
curls together, and mind your own affairs. No doubt
you'll make noise enough to kill ma and me, while
Corné and Dade are gone, drumming on the piano,
and spouting your Latin speech before the drawing-room
glass. All I wish is, that uncle Hal wasn't
going away&mdash;he never lets you torment me."</p>

<p>As we were entering the dining-room of our hotel,
on the day of our arrival, our friend Governor S&mdash;&mdash;
joined us, and, after shaking hands, in his usual cordial
way, with us all, said, as he courteously took
Cornelia's hand and folded it within his arm, "Will
you allow me to attend you, Miss&nbsp;Lunettes? Colonel,
by your leave. Miss&nbsp;Ida, will you let a lonely
old fellow join your party? Where do you sit,
Colonel?"</p>

<p>"We have but just arrived," I replied, "but our
seats are, of course, reserved; let me secure a seat
for you with us, if possible. Ida, remain here a
moment with Cornelia and Governor S&mdash;&mdash;;" and
presently, finding the proper person, the steward, or
whatever the man of dining-room affairs is called,<a name="Page_366" id="Page_366"></a>
I arranged with him to seat us together, without
interfering with other parties.</p>

<p>While I was taking my soup, I became suddenly
conscious that something was annoying your cousin
Cornelia, who sat between me and S&mdash;&mdash;. Glancing
at her face, I saw there, in addition to a heightened
color, an expression of mingled constraint and
hauteur, quite inconsistent with her usual graceful
self-possession and animation.</p>

<p>Making some general remark to her, and showing
no signs of curiosity, I began quietly to cast about
me for the cause of this unwonted disturbance.
Turning my head towards Ida, I overheard her
saying, playfully, though in an undertone, to the
senator, with whom she was already embarked upon
the tide of talk: "He reminds me of an exquisite
couplet in an old valentine of mine:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">'Are not my ears as long as other asses', pray?<br></span>
<span class="i0">Don't I surpass all other asses at a bray?'"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">I was not long in detecting the secret cause of
Cornelia's averted face and Ida's sportive quotation.</p>

<p>"See here, John, get me some col' slaw and
unions, will you&mdash;right off," shouted a young man
seated a little below us, on the opposite side of the
table.</p>

<p>I wish you could have seen the half-repressed
wonder depicted in the countenance of the servant
thus addressed, as he glanced at the piece of<a name="Page_367" id="Page_367"></a>
"<i>Mackerel ŕ la maître d'Hôtel</i>," as the bill of fare
called the <i>fish</i> on his plate.</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_367"></a><!--TN: Quote removed before "Oh"-->Oh, for a Hogarth to do justice to the figure
that had arrested my attention! The face was not
bad, perhaps. A merry, dark eye, lit up with the
very spirit of mischief and impudence; a tolerably
high, but narrow forehead; thick, wild-looking
black hair, parted on the top of the head, and
bushy whiskers&mdash;add large, handsome teeth, displayed
by full, red, ever-laughing lips, and you have
the physiognomy. But the dress!</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Ye powers of every name and grace,"</p>

<p class="continue">aid my poor endeavors to describe his toilette! A
high shirt-collar, flaring wide from the throat, by
the pugnacious manifestations of the sturdy whiskers
aforesaid; a flashy neckcloth, tied in very broad
bows, and with the long ends laid off pretty well
towards the tips of the shoulders; a velvet waistcoat,
of large pattern and staring colors, crossed by
a heavy gold chain, from which dangled a gold-mounted
eye-glass, broad ruffles to his shirt, fastened
with huge studs of three opposing, but equally
brilliant colors! A shining Holland-linen dust-coat
completed this unique costume.</p>

<p>Presently, some one at a distance suddenly attracted
the roving eyes of our hero, and he began the
most significant telegraphing with hands and head,
designed, apparently, to persuade the other to come
and sit by him. Turning, as if by accident, I saw a
young man, near the entrance of the room, shaking<a name="Page_368" id="Page_368"></a>
his head very positively in the negative. But this
was no quietus to our neighbor, who half rose from
his seat.</p>

<p>"Not room for the gentleman here, sir," said a
major domo, coming up.</p>

<p>"Yes there is, too, plenty of room! If you would
just move <i>a leetle</i>, ma'am&mdash;so," pushing at the chair
of an elderly woman, who seemed suddenly to
grow more slender than ever, and at the same time
hitching his own nearer to that of the person next
him on the other side, "that will do, famously!
Now, waiter, a plate! I hope I don't crowd you,
sir [to the gentleman next him], we don't wear
<i>hoops</i> you know! can keep <i>tight</i> without <a name="tn_png_368"></a><!--TN: Single quote changed to double quote after "them!"-->them!"
The last, in a whisper, like a boatswain's whistle
upon which the respectable female, who illustrated
the mathematical definition of <i>a point</i>, bridled and
reddened with virtuous indignation.</p>

<p>Luckily the table was not as closely filled as it
often is, and in much less time than it takes me to
describe the scene, the triumph of the youth was
complete, and a well-dressed, gentlemanly-looking
man came forward, seemingly with considerable
reluctance.</p>

<p>"How are you, Fred, how are you? Right glad
to see you, 'pon my soul&mdash;sit down! When'd you
get in? Left all the folks well?"</p>

<p>There was no avoiding hearing this tide of questions,
poured out in a loud, hilarious tone, that rose
over the subdued murmur of ordinary conversation,
like the notes of a bugle, sounding amid the <a name="tn_png_368a"></a><!--TN: "twitter ing" changed to "twittering"-->twitter<a name="Page_369" id="Page_369"></a>ing
of the feathered tenants of a grove. Apparently
quite unconscious that any one else in his vicinity
possessed powers of hearing and seeing, and wholly
unobservant of the elevated eye-brows of some of
his neighbors, and the significant looks and ill-suppressed
smiles of the servants, the young man ran
on with details of his own private affairs, interrogations
respecting those of his companion, interspersed
with loud and multiplied directions to the attendants.
From my soul I pitied his victim! Deeper and deeper
grew the flush of shame and embarrassment in his
handsome face, more and more laconic and low-voiced
his replies, and more uneasy his restless
movements and glances.</p>

<p>By and by two huge glasses of foaming strong-beer
made their appearance. Beau Brummel's celebrated
saying&mdash;"A gentleman may <i>port</i>; but he
never <i>malts</i>," crossed my mind. With due deference
to this high authority, for my part, I think a glass of
London brown-stout, or Scotch ale, a pleasant accompaniment
to a bit of cold meat and bread, when one
is inclined to sup; but taking beer <i>at dinner</i> is quite
another affair.</p>

<p>Well! there was a little lull for a time, only to
be followed by a new sensation. One of the quick,
galvanic movements of the nondescript overset a full
bottle of wine, just as it was placed between himself
and his friend, and he was in the act of saying, "If
you don't drink beer, Fred, take some&mdash;by thunder
that's too bad!"</p>

<p>The dark-colored liquor poured over the table-<a name="Page_370" id="Page_370"></a>cloth,
and, dividing into numerous little streamlets,
diverged in every direction from the parent source.
Servants hurried forward with napkins to stay the
progress of the flood, the gentleman next our hero
coolly dammed up the stream that most alarmingly
threatened his safety, with a piece of bread, and the
slender female, whose slight pretentions to breadth
had been so unceremoniously ignored, fidgeted
uneasily under the table, as though apprehensive
that the penetrating powers of the invading foe
might be working in ambush, to the detriment of
her light-hued drapery. But the face of the young
stranger! It was positively mottled! His very
forehead, before smooth and fair, suddenly suggested
the idea that he was just recovering from the smallpox!</p>

<p>Meantime, our little party were quietly pursuing
the even tenor of their respective dinners. Suddenly
I missed S&mdash;&mdash;.</p>

<p>"What has become of the Governor?" said I to
Cornelia, in an under-tone.</p>

<p>"A servant called him away," returned she, in the
same unnoticeable manner. The next moment I
again remarked the same peculiar movement towards
me and the same expression of countenance,
that had arrested my attention when we first sat
down. A woman's quick instinct never deceives
her! Apparently unheeding, I listened.</p>

<p>"Dev'lish handsome! like her air!&mdash;wouldn't object
to taking the seat myself, by George!" caught
my ear.<a name="Page_371" id="Page_371"></a></p>

<p>I think that young man understood the <i>fixed look</i>
with which I regarded him for the space of about
half a minute! I was quite sure his companion did.</p>

<p>By this time, the dessert was on the table.</p>

<p>"Where're you going, Fred? you ain't done?"
shouted the Hoosier, or whatever he was.</p>

<p>"I have an engagement&mdash;I'll see you again,"
replied the gentleman thus addressed, springing up,
and eluding the detaining grasp of his persecutor,
quickly made good his escape.</p>

<p>No sooner were we seated in one of the parlors,
than Ida's pent-up merriment burst forth.</p>

<p>"Did you hear what that poor young man said,
when the other commenced reading the bill of fare,
uncle," said she, "just before he darted out of the
room?"</p>

<p>"What, in particular, do you refer to, my dear?
I heard a great deal more than I wished."</p>

<p>"O, I mean when the <i>speaking-trumpet</i>, as Governor
S&mdash;&mdash; called him, shouted out&mdash;'<i>fricandeau
de veau!</i>&mdash;What's he, Fred? Do tell a fellow.'
He was picking his teeth at the time, with a large
goose-quill, with all the feathers on!"</p>

<p>"Well, what was the answer?"</p>

<p>"The poor martyr was, by that time, reduced to
the <i>calmness of despair</i>," replied your cousin, laughing;
"he answered, with a meaning air, I thought,
'<i>A calf's head!&mdash;one of the entrées!</i>' Corné, I hope
you did not lose the full effect of the great green
and orange-colored peaches sprinkled over the vest
of your admirer. Love at first sight, my dear!<a name="Page_372" id="Page_372"></a>
Never saw a more unmistakable smitation! What a
triumph! Your first conquest since your arrival in
New York, I believe, Miss&nbsp;Lunettes!" lisping affectedly,
and bowing with mock deference.</p>

<p>"Ida, you'll be overheard! I'm ashamed of you,"
returned the stately Cornelia, with an air of offended
propriety.</p>

<p>"It will never do, Puss," said I; "Corné is right.
But, Corné, what <a name="tn_png_372"></a><!--TN: "to" added after "happened"-->happened to the senator?"</p>

<p>"How courteous he is!" exclaimed the young
lady, with sudden enthusiasm. "A servant came
and whispered to him&mdash;'Miss&nbsp;Lunettes,' said he,
turning to me, 'the only man in the world who could
tempt me from your side&mdash;my best friend&mdash;asks for
me on important business. Will you permit me to
leave you, after requesting the honor of attending
you?' Of course, I assented. 'Make my apologies
to Miss&nbsp;Ida and Colonel Lunettes,' said he, as we
shook hands, 'I am very unfortunate.'"</p>

<p>"How quietly he slipped away," said Ida; "I
knew nothing of it, until he was gone."</p>

<p>"Well-bred people are always quiet," remarked
the elder sister, significantly.</p>

<p>"Oh, dear me!" retorted Ida, coloring. "Well,
it's too much to expect of any one, not to laugh at
such a nondescript specimen of humanity as that
young man."</p>

<p>The next morning, before I left my room, a card
was brought to me, inscribed with the name of
"Frederick H.&nbsp;Alloway," and inclosed with the following
note:<a name="Page_373" id="Page_373"></a></p>

<div class="letter">
<p>"The son of one of Colonel Lunettes' old friends
begs leave to claim the honor of his acquaintance,
and will do himself the pleasure to pay his respects,
at any hour, this morning, that will be most agreeable
to Colonel Lunettes.</p>

<div style="font-size:.8em;line-height:50%">
<p>"<i>Metropolitan Hotel</i>,</p>
<p style="text-indent:4em;">"<i>Wednesday Morn.</i>"</p>
</div>

</div>

<p>A half-revived remembrance of a face once familiar,
had haunted me at the dinner table the day
before, whenever I chanced to catch the eye of the
victimized youth I have alluded to. I was, therefore,
not unprepared to find him identical with the
author of this note.</p>

<p>A certain constraint was evinced by his manner,
when the first complimentary phrases were over.
At length his embarrassment found expression.</p>

<p>"I am not sure, Colonel Lunettes," said he, "that
I should have ventured to intrude upon you this
morning&mdash;much as I desired to make the acquaintance
of a gentlemen of whom I have so frequently
heard my father speak&mdash;had I not wished to make
an apology, or at least an explanation"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>He hesitated, and the mottled color of the day before
mantled over his ingenuous face. I hastened to
say something polite.</p>

<p>"You are very good, sir&mdash;really&mdash;scandalously as
that young fellow behaved&mdash;he is not without
redeeming qualities. My acquaintance with him is
slight, and entirely accidental. One of our success<a name="Page_374" id="Page_374"></a>ful
Western speculators, and a very good-hearted fellow&mdash;but
sadly in need of polish."</p>

<p>"So I perceived," returned I, gravely, "nor is
that all. One can pardon <i>ignorance</i> much more
readily than <i>impudence</i>."</p>

<p>"Very true, sir. I only hope that I was not so unfortunate
as to incur your displeasure. I&mdash;permit me
to express the hope that the ladies of your party did
not regard me as in the most remote way implicated
in an intention to annoy them," and his voice
actually trembled with manly earnestness.</p>

<p>"By no means, my dear young friend; by no
means. I assure you, on the contrary, that you
had our sympathy in your distress&mdash;comic as it
was."</p>

<p>The intense ludicrousness of the affair now seemed,
for the first time, to take full possession of the perceptive
faculties of my new acquaintance.</p>

<p>When our mutual merriment had in some degree
subsided, I invited him to dine with us, unless he
preferred to resume his seat of the day before.</p>

<p>"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed he, with great
vivacity; "I should have left this house to-day,
if that fellow had not&mdash;he is gone, I am rejoiced to
say."</p>

<p>It was arranged that the "son of my old friend," as
he indeed was, should meet me in the drawing-room
a few moments before dinner, and be presented to
your cousins. So we parted.</p>

<p>Almost the first person I saw as I was entering the
public drawing-room, to join my nieces, before din<a name="Page_375" id="Page_375"></a>ner,
on that day, was young Alloway. He was evidently
awaiting me, and, upon my recognizing him
by a bow, at once advanced.</p>

<p>"You are punctual, I see, Mr.&nbsp;Alloway," said I,
as we seated ourselves; "a very good trait, in a
young man!"</p>

<p>"I fear, sir, there is little merit in being punctual
with such a reward in anticipation," replied he,
laughing pleasantly, and bowing to the ladies, as he
spoke.</p>

<p>Our new acquaintance, very properly, offered his
arm to the <i>younger</i> sister, and I, of course, preceded
them with the elder, and though, when we were seated
together, he was quite too well-bred to confine either
his attentions or his conversation to Ida, I must say
that I have not often seen two young people become
more readily at ease in each other's society than my
lively favorite, and the "son of my old <a name="tn_png_375"></a><!--TN: Period added after "friend"-->friend."
They seemed to find each other out by intuition,
and talked together in the most animated manner
permitted by their unvarying regard for decorum.
Their nearest neighbors were not disturbed by their
mirthfulness, nor could persons seated opposite them
hear their conversation, and yet Alloway was evidently
fast being remunerated for the chagrin and
embarrassment of his previous dinner.</p>

<p>"Uncle Hal," said Cornelia, leaning towards me,
as we sat together on a sofa, after leaving the table,
glancing round to be sure that Ida heard her,
"don't you think Minnesota gentlemen, <i>generally</i>,
must be rather susceptible?"<a name="Page_376" id="Page_376"></a></p>

<p>Her sister, turning</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"The trembling lustre of her dewy eyes"</p>

<p class="continue">upon the quizzical speaker, was interrupted in the
spirited rejoinder she evidently meditated, by the
return of Alloway, who had been up to his room for
a pencil-sketch of the Falls of Minnehaha (between
St. Paul's and the Falls of St. Anthony, you know)
which he told us he had made on the spot, a few
days before leaving his Western home.</p>

<p>"How beautiful it must be there!" exclaimed Ida,
delightedly. "And you are taking this to your mother!
It reminds me of a 'Panorama of the Western
Wilds,' I think it was called, to which papa took us
in New York, last spring. I don't know when I saw
anything so lovely! I had no just conception before
of the magnificence and variety of the scenery of the
far-West."</p>

<p>"Why, my dear," said I quietly, just for my own
amusement, and to watch the effect upon all parties,
"you seem so charmed with these sketches of the
West, that I think I must try and show you the originals
by-and-by. How would you like to go with me
to look after my Western investments next month?"</p>

<p>"Just like uncle Hal!" I hear more than one of
you crying. "He always plays the mischief among
the young folks!" So, to punish your impertinence,
I shall say nothing in particular, of the sudden light
that shone in the fine eyes of our new friend, nor of
the enthusiasm with which Ida clapped her hands
and bravoed my proposition. Still more, I am by<a name="Page_377" id="Page_377"></a>
no means sure that I shall feel justified in telling you
what came of all this in the future.</p>

<p>After a while, some other young men came to
speak to the girls, and Alloway, modestly withdrawing,
lingered near me, as if wishing to address me.
A lady was saying something to me at the moment.
When she had finished speaking, I turned to my
young friend.</p>

<p>"Colonel Lunettes," said he, in the most polite and
respectful manner, "the ladies inform me that they
are to go with you to see some pictures, in the morning.
Will you permit me to attend them?"</p>

<p>Receiving my assent, he added, "My present
mode of life affords few facilities for the inspection
of works of Art; and I am so mere a tyro, too, that
I shall be happy to have the benefit of your cultivated
taste."</p>

<p>"I dare say Mr.&nbsp;Alloway could instruct us all,"
interposed Ida, "that is, sister and me. Uncle
Lunettes has spent so many years abroad, that he is,
of course, quite <i>au fait</i> in all such things."</p>

<p>"At what hour do you propose going, ladies?"
inquired Alloway.</p>

<p>Twelve o'clock was fixed upon.</p>

<p>"I shall have great pleasure in again meeting
you all at that time," said Alloway, and, as he
shook hands with me, he added, with a significant
smile, "I will endeavor to be quite <i>punctual</i>,
Colonel!"</p>

<p>"Who is that fine-looking young man, Colonel<a name="Page_378" id="Page_378"></a>
Lunettes?" asked the lady with whom I had been
conversing, as I reseated myself at her side. "His
manners are remarkably easy and graceful for so
young a person. What a contrast he is to young J&mdash;&mdash;,
there, who, with all the advantages of education,
foreign travel, and good society, is, and always will
be, <i>a clown</i>! Just look at him, now, talking to those
girls! Sitting, <i>of course</i>, upon two legs of his chair,
and picking his teeth with a pen-knife!"</p>

<p>"What would be the consequence," said I, "if
he should lose his balance and fall backward,
with his mouth open in that way, and his knife held
by the tip end of the handle, poised upon his
teeth?"</p>

<p>"It looks really dangerous, don't it," commented
the same slender female, whose <i>slight</i> manifestations
had interested me, at dinner, the day before&mdash;"but I
suppose he is so used to it that"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>A sudden movement arrested further philosophical
speculation, on the part of this profound observer of
life and manners, and a young lady whose flounces
had been sadly torn by the very chair upon the
occupant of which she was commenting, passed hurriedly
out of the room, with her disordered dress
gathered up in both hands.</p>

<p>The next morning, some time before the hour
appointed for our visit to the Dusseldorf Gallery, a
servant brought me the following note:</p>

<div class="letter">
<p>"Mr.&nbsp;Alloway regrets extremely that an unexpected,
but imperative, engagement, deprives him<a name="Page_379" id="Page_379"></a>
of the anticipated pleasure of accompanying the
Misses and Colonel Lunettes this morning.</p>

<p>"Will Colonel Lunettes oblige Mr.&nbsp;Alloway by
making his compliments acceptable to the Misses
Lunettes, together with the most sincere expressions
of his disappointment?</p>

<div style="font-size:.8em;line-height:50%">
<p class="smcap">"Metropolitan Hotel,</p>
<p style="text-indent:4em;">"<i>Thursday Morning</i>."</p>
</div>

</div>

<p>"I am so sorry!" exclaimed Ida, when informed
of this. "Uncle Hal is always beau enough, but the
more the merrier, you know, dear uncle," added she,
linking her arm in mine, and looking artlessly up
into my face.</p>

<p>"You are quite right, my dear," said I. "I like
your frankness, and I am sorry to lose Alloway myself."</p>

<p>As I was going out of the "Ladies' Entrance" with
your cousins, I perceived my young friend supporting
the steps of a pale, emaciated gentleman, who
coughed violently, and walked with difficulty, even
from the carriage to the door, though sustained on
the other side also by an elderly lady. I drew
the girls aside, that they might pass uninterruptedly.</p>

<p>"I hope you are well this morning, ladies," said
Alloway, raising his hat, as he caught sight of <a name="tn_png_379"></a><!--TN: Comma changed to a period after "us"-->us.
"Good morning, Colonel Lunettes."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"Good morning, again, ladies!" said a cheerful,
but subdued voice behind us, as the girls and I were<a name="Page_380" id="Page_380"></a>
seated together, examining the merry "Wine-tasters"
of the Gallery, after having devoted some time to
subjects of a more elevated moral tone.</p>

<p>We turned our heads simultaneously. "Good
morning, sir," said Alloway, for it was he; "with
your leave, I will join you now."</p>

<p>Your cousins made room for him between them.
"I am so happy not wholly to lose this," said he,
bowing to each of the ladies. "I feared I could not
meet you here even as early as this."</p>

<p>"We would have waited for you," interposed Ida;
"why didn't you tell us?"</p>

<p>"I did not think for a moment of taking such a
liberty," returned the young man. "It would, perhaps,
have interfered with your other engagements.
Indeed, I scarcely hoped to find you here, but could
not deny myself the pleasure of coming in search of
you."</p>

<p>"Which is your favorite picture here, Miss&nbsp;Lunettes?"
I heard Alloway ask presently.</p>

<p>"Come and see," returned she, and, rising, she
added, "come, sister&mdash;uncle, we will return, do not
disturb yourself."</p>

<p>Loitering along toward them, a while after, I remarked,
as I approached, the expressive faces of the
group, and their graceful attitudes, as they discussed
Cornelia's "favorite," and reflected how much the
poetry and beauty that environ youth, when refined
by nature and polished by education, surpass the
highest achievements of art.</p>

<p>"What innocence in that face! What dewy soft<a name="Page_381" id="Page_381"></a>ness
in the steadfast eyes!" exclaimed Cornelia.
"The very shoes have an appropriate expression!
dear little bird! one can't help loving her, and wanting
to know all about her."</p>

<p>"If she were not deaf and dumb," said her cavalier,
"I am sure she would rise and make a courtesy
to such flattering admirers! I am getting dreadfully
jealous of her!"</p>

<p>"You needn't be, as far as I am concerned," retorted
Ida; "for my part, I don't like that brown
stuff dress! She isn't <i>fixed up</i> a bit, as children
always are, when they sit for their portraits." And
she tripped away to take another look at her especial
admiration&mdash;the "<i>Peasants Returning from the
Harvest-field</i>," which is, indeed, a gem.</p>

<p>"What does Miss&nbsp;Ida mean?" inquired Alloway,
smilingly, of her sister.</p>

<p>"I am sure I don't know," returned Cornelia,
"she is full of sentiment, which she always endeavors
to hide."</p>

<p>"With your permission I will go and ask her,"
said the admirer of the truant, and bowing politely
to us both, he followed Ida.</p>

<p>I will just add, here, that I learned afterwards, accidentally,
and not even remotely through him, that
the persons with whom we met Alloway that morning,
were the mother and brother of that scapegrace
we first saw him with. They had come to New
York with the understanding that he would meet
them there, at an appointed time, and assist in the
care required by his dying relative; but this promis<a name="Page_382" id="Page_382"></a>ing
youth had suddenly left the city, without leaving
any clue to his proceedings, probably, in pursuit of
some pretty face, which, like Cornelia's, happened
to attract his attention. Luckily, the poor mother
learned that Alloway, who was slightly known to
her, was in the city, and appealed to him for assistance&mdash;with
what success may be inferred from the
little incident I have narrated.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>It has always been a matter of marvel, with the
learned in such matters, how Sir Walter Scott accomplished
such Herculean literary labors in conjunction
with the discharge of so many public and social
duties. As he himself used to say, he long had a
"troop of dragoons galloping through his head," to
which, as their commanding officer, he devoted
much attention; he was sheriff of the county&mdash;(in
the discharge of the duties of this office, by the way,
he used to march through the streets of the shire-town,
during court term, arrayed in a gown and bag
wig, at the head of his <i>posse comitatus</i>, greatly to
his own amusement and that of his friends)&mdash;and
remarkable for the most urbane and diffusive hospitality.
After he ceased to be the <i>Great Unknown</i>,
or rather, after he was identified with that celebrity,
Abbotsford became the resort of innumerable visitors,
attracted thither by curiosity, interest, or friendship.
Not only his beautiful residence, but the nu<a name="Page_383" id="Page_383"></a>merous
points of scenery and the superb ruins in the
neighborhood of Abbotsford, which had been rendered
classic by his magic pen, were to be inspected
by these guests, and Scott always seemed to have
time for a gallop among the hills, an excursion to
Dryburgh and Melrose Abbey, a pilgrimage along
the banks of the romantic river he has helped to
immortalize, or a lively chat with the ladies after
dinner. And he never had that air of pre-occupation
that so often characterizes literary men, in general
society. He took part in the most genial and
hearty manner, in the conversation of the moment,
bringing his full quota to the common stock of mirth,
anecdote and jest. I can almost see him, as I write,
sitting in the midst of a social circle, in his drawing-room,
trotting the curly-pated little son of Mrs.
Hemans, who was at Abbotsford on a visit, with
her sister and this child, upon his <i>strong</i> knee, and
singing,</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Charley my darling, my darling, Charley my darling,"</p>
<p class="continue">at intervals, for the amusement of the little fellow.
I chanced, too, to accompany him, when he attended
the poetess to her post-chaise, on the morning of her
departure, and had occasion to remark his courteous
hospitality to the last. "There are some persons,"
said he, with his cordial smile, as he offered his hand
at parting, "whom one earnestly desires to meet
again. You, madam, are one of those." But I am
quite forgetting the object that induced my recurrence
to these well-remembered scenes.<a name="Page_384" id="Page_384"></a></p>

<p>In answer to some leading remark of mine, regarding
the wonderful versatility of his father-in-law,
addressed to Mr.&nbsp;Lockhart, as we stood together contemplating
the ivy-mantled walls of Dryburgh, he
informed me of the secret of his extraordinary
achievements with the pen: "When you meet him
at breakfast," said Mr.&nbsp;Lockhart, "he has already,
as he expresses it, 'broken the neck of the day's
work'&mdash;<i>he writes in the morning</i>. Eschewing the
indulgences of late rising and slippered ease (at the
last he rails incontinently), he is up with the lark&mdash;by
half past four or five, dresses as you see him at
a later hour, in out-door costume, visits the stables,
and then sets himself resolutely to work. By nine
o'clock, when he joins us, he has accomplished the
labors of a day, almost."</p>

<p>"His correspondence alone must occupy an immense
deal of time," said I.</p>

<p>"And yet," returned my companion, "Sir Walter
makes it a rule to answer every letter on the day of
its reception. It must be an urgent cause that interferes
with this habit. And I am often astonished at
the length and careful composition of his replies to
the queries of literary correspondents, as well as to
his letters of friendship."</p>

<p>"One would suppose his health must be impaired
by such severe mental labor," I answered.</p>

<p>"His cheerful temper, and his power to <i>leave care
behind him</i> in his study, are a great assistance to
him," replied Mr.&nbsp;Lockhart, moving towards our
horses, as he spoke&mdash;"but here," he added, smilingly,<a name="Page_385" id="Page_385"></a>
laying his hand on his saddle, "here is his grand
preservative. It must be foul weather, indeed, even
for our Northern land of mists and clouds, that keeps
him from his <i>daily allowance of fresh air</i>."</p>

<p>"Sir Walter is an accomplished horseman, I observe,"
said I, as we resumed our ride.</p>

<p>"You may well say that!" exclaimed his son-in-law,
laughing. "I wish you could have seen him at
the head of his troop of horse, charging an imaginary
foe. Only the other day, his favorite steed
broke the arm of a groom who attempted to mount
him; and yet, in Sir Walter's hands, he is as docile
as need be. There seems to be some secret understanding
between him and his horses and dogs.
This very horse, though he will never permit another
man to mount him, seems to obey his master's behests
with real pride as well as pleasure. I believe
he would kneel to receive him on his back, were he
bidden to do so."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Dipping into an instructive and pleasant, though
no longer new book,<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> the other day, I came across
the following passage: "Brougham has recorded
that the peroration of his speech in the Queen's
case"&mdash;his celebrated defence of Queen Caroline
against her beastly husband&mdash;"was written no less
than ten times before he thought it fit for so august
an occasion. The same is probably true of similar
passages in Webster's speeches; it is known to be<a name="Page_386" id="Page_386"></a>
so of Burke's." What do you think of such examples
of industry and perseverance as these, young gentlemen?</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"Step in, ma'am, step in, if you please," said our
Jehu, opening the door of a stage-coach, in which I
was making a journey through a region not then
penetrated by modern improvements, "would you
like the back seat?" Beside him stood a slightly-formed,
delicate-looking girl, in a hesitating attitude.</p>

<p>"I cannot ride backwards without being ill," said
she, timidly, "and I&mdash;I shall be sorry to disturb any
one, but I would like to sit by a window."</p>

<p>A young man who was sitting on the middle seat
with me immediately alighted, to make room for the
more convenient entrance of the stranger, and, as he
did so, the driver said decidedly&mdash;"Shall be obliged
to ask the gentlemen on the back seat to accommodate
the lady." A low-browed, surly-looking young
fellow, who sat nearest the door of the vehicle, on
the seat designated, doggedly kept his place, muttering
something about having the first claim, "first
come, first served," etc. Seeing how matters stood,
a good-natured, farmer-like looking old man, who
occupied the other end of the seat, called out
cheerily, "The young woman is welcome to my
place, if I can only get out of it!" and he began
at once to suit the action to the word.</p>

<p>By this time the before pale face of the young<a name="Page_387" id="Page_387"></a>
girl was painfully flushed, and she said, in a low,
deprecating tone, "I am very sorry to make so
much trouble."</p>

<p>"No trouble at all, ma'am&mdash;none at all! Just
reach me your hand and I'll help you up&mdash;that's
it!"</p>

<p>"I am much obliged to you, sir&mdash;very much! I
hope you will find a good seat for yourself," said
the recipient of his kindness, gently.</p>

<p>"No doubt of it!" returned he of the cheery voice.
"I ain't at all sorry to change a little&mdash;them back
seat's plaguy cramped up! They say," added he,
settling himself next the boot, "that the front seat's
the easiest of all. One thing, there's more room
[stretching his legs with an air of infinite relief
between those of his opposite neighbors], a <a name="tn_png_387"></a><!--TN: "duced" changed to "deuced"-->deuced
sight!"</p>

<p>"Take your fare, gem'men," cried a bustling personage,
at this moment.</p>

<p>"What is the fare from here to O&mdash;&mdash;?" inquired
the stationary biped in the corner behind me.</p>

<p>"Six shillings, York money," was the ready response.</p>

<p>"Six shillings!" growled the other; "seems to me
there's great extortion all 'long this road. Yesterday
I paid out three dollars, hard money&mdash;twelve shillin'
for lodgin', supper, and breakfast, back here
to G&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>

<p>"Take your fare <i>now</i>, sir," interrupted the bustling
little man at the door, stepping upon the wheel,
in sublime indifference to the muttered anathemas,<a name="Page_388" id="Page_388"></a>
half addressed to him. "What name, sir?"&mdash;preparing
to write on the "way-bill"&mdash;"<i>always</i>, sir! it is
rulable&mdash;always put down the name."</p>

<p>The low voice of the lady, when she was reached,
in due order, was almost lost in the grumbling kept
up by the agreeable occupant of the corner seat.
The most amusing commingling of opposite sounds
reached my ears, somewhat like the soft tones of a
distant flute, and the growling&mdash;not loud, but deep&mdash;of
a hungry mastiff. "Julia Peters"&mdash;"takes off the
silver, by thunder!"&mdash;"Is my band-box put on?"
here a chinking, as of money counted, and then a hurried
fumbling appeared to take place in the "deepest
depths" of various pockets. "How soon will
we be there," in silvery murmurs&mdash;"By George! I
swear I b'lieve I lost two shillin'!"&mdash;"Before dark!"
chimed in the flute-notes. "I am glad to hear it!"
"I'll be hanged if any one shall come it over me!"
surged over the musical ripple. "When you stop at
my brother-in-law's," concluded the softer voice, in
this unique duet.</p>

<p>Having been sometime on the wing, I fell into a
doze, as we proceeded. As I roused myself, at
length, the young man who had alighted to make
room for the entrance of Miss&nbsp;Peters, whispered,
"That young lady seems very ill&mdash;what can we
do for her relief?" A moment's attention convinced
me that the poor thing was horribly <i>stage-sick</i>.
When she appeared to rally a little, I turned round
to her, and said, that I trusted she would allow me to
render her any service in my power. Forcing a<a name="Page_389" id="Page_389"></a>
smile, she thanked me, and replied that she would
soon be better she thought, adding, in a still lower
tone, that the <i>smell of tobacco</i> always affected her
very sensibly. This last remark was at the time
unintelligible to me, but I afterwards learned that the
animal on the same seat with her had regaled himself
upon the vilest of cigars while I was napping,
and that the only attempt at an apology he had
offered was a mumbled remark that, "as the wind
blew the smoke out of the stage, he s'posed no one
hadn't no objections!"</p>

<p>Despite the hope expressed by my suffering neighbor,
she did <i>not</i> get better, but continued to endure
a most exhausting ordeal. Every decent man in the
coach seemed to sympathize with her, the rather
that she so evidently tried to make the best of it,
and to avoid annoying others. Every one had a
different remedy to suggest, but, unfortunately, none
of them available, as there was no stopping place
near. Though a somewhat experienced traveller, my
ingenuity could, until we should stop, effect no more
than disposing my large woollen shawl so as to aid in
supporting the weary head of the poor child.</p>

<p>As soon as we reached the next place for changing
horses, I sprang out, in common with the other passengers,
and, inquiring for the nearest druggist, hastened
to procure a little reliable <i>brandy</i>.</p>

<p>Having previously arranged a change of seats with
the harmless stripling who had thus far occupied
the middle back seat, I entered the stage, and
quietly told the young lady that, as there was no one<a name="Page_390" id="Page_390"></a>
of her own sex aboard, I should claim the privilege
of age, and prescribe for her, if she would permit
me.</p>

<p>"This is not a pleasant dose, I must warn you,"
said I, offering her a <i>single teaspoonful of clear
brandy</i>, "but I can safely promise you relief, if you
will swallow it; this is a nice, clean glass, too," I
added, smilingly, for I well knew how much that assurance
would encourage my patient.</p>

<p>"I do not know how to thank you sufficiently,
sir," said the young lady, striving to speak cheerfully,
as she attempted to raise her head. Taking the
tumbler, with a trembling hand, she bravely swallowed
my prescription. I must own she gasped a
little afterwards, but I could not allow her the relief
of water, without nullifying the proper effect, so I
assisted her in removing her bonnet (which the good-natured
farmer, who had re-entered the coach with
me, carefully pinned upon the lining of the vehicle,
where it would safely swing), and in enveloping
her head in her veil, adjusting her shawl comfortably
about her, and wrapping my own about her
feet.</p>

<p>"If I become your physician," said I, as I stooped
to make the latter process more effectual, "you must
allow me the right to do as I think best."</p>

<p>"I shall be only too much obliged by your
kindness, sir," returned she. "All I fear is, that
you will give yourself unnecessary trouble on my
account."</p>

<p>"The gentleman don't seem to think it's no trou<a name="Page_391" id="Page_391"></a>ble,"
interposed the old farmer, "'taint never no
trouble to good-hearted folks to help a fellow-cretur
in distress! I wish my wife was here; she knows a
great sight better than I do, how to take care o' sick
folks."</p>

<p>"I am sure," replied the invalid, "if kindness
could make people well, I should be restored. I
feel myself greatly indebted to you, gentlemen."</p>

<p>The slight color called to her cheek by the genuine
feeling with which she uttered these words, was
by no means decreased, as she gracefully accepted
the offerings of the youth who had first called my
attention to her indisposition. Coming up to the
side of the stage, near her, he expressed the hope
that she was feeling better, and, saying that he had
known sea-sickness relieved by lemon-juice, presented
a fine, fresh lemon, and a superb carnation-pink, and
quickly withdrew.</p>

<p>Mr.&nbsp;Benton&mdash;that I heard him tell the way-bill-man
was his name&mdash;lost something in not hearing
and seeing all I did of the pleasure he bestowed by
his gifts; but he had his reward, as he re-seated himself
near us.</p>

<p>"You did not give me an opportunity to thank
you for your politeness, sir," the lady hastened to
say, with a pretty, half-shrinking manner, "I am
so much obliged to you for the flower! it is so spicy
and refreshing, and so very beautiful."</p>

<p>"A very indifferent apology for a bouquet," returned
the gentleman, "all I could find, however. I<a name="Page_392" id="Page_392"></a>
am very happy if it affords you the slightest gratification."</p>

<p>No sooner were we fairly on our way again, than
I insisted upon supporting the head of my fair patient
upon my shoulder, assuring her that ten minutes'
sleep would complete the cure already begun
in her case. She blushed, and hesitated a little,
upon the plea that she would tire me.</p>

<p>"Allow me to be the judge of that," I answered,
with some gravity, "and permit the freedom of an
old man." With this, I placed my arm firmly about
her slight form, and, without more ado, the languid
head dropped upon my shoulder.</p>

<p>I very soon had the satisfaction to discover that
"tired nature's sweet restorer" had come to my assistance,
and to discern the return of some natural
color to the pallid face of the poor sufferer; so gathering
her shawl more closely about her, and disposing
myself more effectually to support my light burden,
I maintained my vigil until the sudden stopping of
the vehicle aroused us all.</p>

<p>"The lady gets out here," cried the driver, opening
the door, and, through the obscurity that had
now gathered about us, I dimly discerned the outlines
of the small dwelling in front of which we were
at a stand. In another moment, the door was flung
hurriedly open, and a gentleman hastened forward
to receive my fair charge, who, notwithstanding the
confusion of the moment, found time to acknowledge
the insignificant attentions she had received from<a name="Page_393" id="Page_393"></a>
her travelling companions, much more warmly than
they deserved. Our last glimpse of my interesting
patient, revealed her folded closely in the arms of
a lady, who appeared in the lighted passage, and
embraced, simultaneously, by several curly-headed
children, who clung to her dress, and hung upon her
neck with manifest and noisy delight.</p>

<p>We lumbered along, across a dark, covered bridge,
up hill and down, and then I reached my destination,
for the nonce, the "New York Hotel," as the
little tavern of the village of B&mdash;&mdash; was grand-eloquently
styled.</p>

<p>"Well, I ain't sorry we're arrove!" exclaimed the
elegant young man, with whose courtesy of nature my
story opened. "George!"&mdash;stretching his ungainly
limbs upon the porch of the house&mdash;"won't some
tipple be fine? Hotel tipple's good enough for me!"</p>

<p>Before I could decide in my own mind whether
this last declaration was intended as a fling at me,
for not giving Miss&nbsp;Peters a match for his disgusting
tobacco-smoke, from the bar of the stage-house, when
I came to the rescue in her service, he was scuffling
with some ragged boys for his trunk, and, as he
marched off with his prize, I heard a characteristic
growl over the prospective tax upon his purse.</p>

<p>The next day was Sunday, and, of course, I was
temporarily at a stand-still in my journey.</p>

<p>The sexton of the neat little church to which I
found my way in the morning, put me into a pew
next behind that I surmised to be the Rector's. A
movement among its occupants arrested my attention,<a name="Page_394" id="Page_394"></a>
and I soon became really interested in remarking
the healthful beauty of the children, who, disposed
between the two ladies occupying the extreme ends
of the seat, seemed to find some difficulty in keeping
as quiet as decorum required.</p>

<p>"I want to sit by aunt Julia," I overheard, as a
bright-eyed little fellow began to nestle uneasily in
his seat. Upon this, the lady at the top of the pew
turned her head, and, behold! the face of my young
stage-coach friend! She was too much engaged,
however, in aiding their mother, as I supposed her
to be, in settling the children, before the service
should commence, to observe me, and I almost
doubted whether the happy, smiling face I saw, was
identical with the worn and colorless one that had
reposed so helplessly upon my breast on the previous
evening; but there was no mistaking the soft, blue
eyes, and the wavy hair, almost as sunny in hue
as that of the little fellow who, at length, rested
quietly, with his head pillowed on her arm.</p>

<p>Scarcely had we begun with the Psalter, before Miss
Peters looked quickly round, with a startled glance.
A half-smile of recognition lighted her sweet face,
and then her gaze was as quickly withdrawn.</p>

<p>"Good morning, sir!" exclaimed my new acquaintance,
advancing eagerly toward me, and offering
her hand, as soon as we were in the vestibule of
the church, at the conclusion of the service; "I did
not anticipate this pleasure&mdash;sister, this is the gentleman
to whom I was so much indebted yesterday."</p>

<p>"We are all much obliged by your kindness to<a name="Page_395" id="Page_395"></a>
<a name="tn_png_395"></a><!--TN: "Kiss" changed to "Miss"-->Miss&nbsp;Peters sir," her companion hastened to say,
and both bowed most politely to my disclaimers of
merit for so ordinary an act of humanity as that to
which they referred, and to my inquiries for the
health of my fair patient.</p>

<p>Then followed a cordial invitation to dinner, in
which each vied with the other in frank hospitality.
I attempted to compromise the matter by a promise
to pay my respects to the ladies in the evening.</p>

<p>"We do not dine until five on Sunday, sir, and
that is almost evening! Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash; will walk over
and accompany you&mdash;you are at the Hotel? It will
give us great pleasure if you will come, unceremoniously,
and partake of a simple family dinner. Miss
Peters claims you as <i>a friend</i>."</p>

<p>There was no withstanding this, especially as each
phrase of courtesy was made doubly expressive, by
the most ingenuously hospitable manner.</p>

<p>"Really, ladies," said I, as we reached the gate
of the Rectory, "there is no resisting such fair
tempters! I will be most happy to exchange the
solitude of my dull room for the joys of your Eden."</p>

<p>And, insisting that I could not permit Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash;
to add to his clerical duties the fatigue of calling for
me, I renewed my expressions of gratification at the
restoration of Miss&nbsp;Peters, and took my leave.</p>

<p>I was still engaged in laying off my overcoat and
shoes, after sending in my card, when Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash;
came out to welcome me; and a most cordial welcome
it was! Such a warm hand-shaking as he gave
me, and such emphatic assurances of the pleasure it<a name="Page_396" id="Page_396"></a>
afforded him to make my acquaintance! And when
I entered the tasteful little parlor, where I found
the ladies, I was received with equally frank hospitality.
The children united with their seniors in
making me feel, at once, that I was among friends.
One little circumstance, I remember, particularly
touched me. I was scarcely seated, when a little
tottering thing, with a toy in her hand, came and
placed herself between my knees, and raising a pair
of large, truthful, blue eyes to mine, lisped out, "I
does 'ouv 'ou dearly!&mdash;'ou was 'o dood to aun' Dule!&mdash;I
dive 'ou my pretty 'ittle birdie!" and the little
cherub presented me the toy.&mdash;It was many a long
day afterwards, believe me, my dear boys, before the
warmth infused into the heart of an old campaigner,
by the simple adventures of that quiet village Sabbath,
ceased to glow cheerily in his heart!</p>

<p>After the unpretending, but pleasant, well-appointed
dinner was concluded, Miss&nbsp;Peters rose, and, with a
slight apology to me, was leaving the room, when
her sister arrested her. Some playful, whispered
contest seemed to be going on between the two, of
which I could not help overhearing, in the sweet,
silvery tones that had charmed me in the stage-coach,
"You know, dear, it's such a luxury to me!&mdash;you
are always with them. I will have my own
way when I am here!" and away she flew like a
fawn.</p>

<p>Presently, the pattering of numerous tiny feet, and
a commingling of joyous voices, and the music of
childish laughter, reached my ears, from the stairs,<a name="Page_397" id="Page_397"></a>
and then all was for a moment hushed. Now there
was distinctly heard from above, the swelling notes
of a simple, child's hymn, sung by several voices,
led by the musical one I had learned to distinguish,
and then followed a low-murmured "Our Father,"
as I thought.</p>

<p>"Colonel Lunettes," said my hostess, drawing a
chair to the sofa corner, where I had been snugly
ensconced by two of the children, before they said
good-night, "I will take advantage of sister's absence
to express my personal obligations to you for your
kind care of her yesterday"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"My dear Madam," I interposed, "I regard my
meeting your sister as a special Providence, for
which I alone should be deeply grateful!"</p>

<p>"You are very polite, sir," answered the lady,
"we, too, should be grateful. Julia should never travel
alone. Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash; always goes over to O&mdash;&mdash;
for her, when we expect her, and intended to do so
this time, but she insisted upon it in her last letter,
that she <i>knew</i> she wouldn't be ill, and that he would
only distress her by coming, as she was sure he was
necessarily very busy, preparing for the Bishop's
visit, and, indeed, she expected to come over with
an elder lady teacher in the Seminary."</p>

<p>"Then Miss&nbsp;Peters is instructing, Mrs.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>

<p>"She is, sir. We are orphans [a slight quiver in
the tones] and Julia prefers to make this effort for
herself"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"I am opposed to it," continued Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash;, taking
up the narrative, as his wife half-paused, "and<a name="Page_398" id="Page_398"></a>
much prefer that Julia should be with us,&mdash;she and
Mrs.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash; should not be separated. I am sure
there is room enough in our hearts for all <i>our children</i>,
and Julia is one of them!"</p>

<p>The grateful, loving smile, and dewy eyes of the
wife, alone expressed her sense of pleasure at these
words. For myself, I declare to you, I did not like
to trust myself to reply. I was turning over some
new pages of the history of human nature! Sometimes
I think, as I did then, that the soul of man
never reaches the full development of its earthly capacities,
except when continually subjected to the
blessed influences of <i>nature</i>! The city&mdash;the beaten
thoroughfares of existence&mdash;curb, if they do not
deaden, the better manifestations of the spirit, check
forever, the most beautiful, individualizing specialities
of manner even! But I did not mean to moralize.</p>

<p>When Miss&nbsp;Peters rejoined us, her brother-in-law
rose (as I also did, of course) and seated her between
us, on the sofa.</p>

<p>"My dear young lady," said I, taking her hand
respectfully in my own, "permit me to say, as Dr.
Johnson did to Hannah More, upon meeting her for
the first time, '<i>I understand that you are engaged
in the useful and honorable occupation of instructing
young ladies</i>,'&mdash;if it were possible more thoroughly
to forget the brevity of our acquaintance, than I have
already done, this would have deepened my respect
and interest for you! Pardon me, if I take too
great a liberty. You have, from the commencement<a name="Page_399" id="Page_399"></a>
of our acquaintance, permitted me the privileges of
an octogenarian"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"And of a <i>gentleman of the old school</i>!" she
added, with great vivacity, and with the most bewitching
smile.</p>

<p>"Before I leave you, my dear Miss&nbsp;Peters, will
you allow me to make a prophecy?"</p>

<p>"If you are a prophet of <i>good</i>, sir"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Can you doubt it, when your future fate is the
subject?"</p>

<p>"Indeed, sir, I shall have great faith in your
auguries!" returned my fair neighbor, bestowing the
twin of her first smile upon me.</p>

<p>"Well, then, my dear, it is my solemn conviction
that you have not yet learned all you will one day
know of the depth of the impression you have left
upon the heart of Mr.&nbsp;Benton," I answered, with a
gravity that I intended should <i>tell</i>.</p>

<p>"Mr.&nbsp;Benton! so that's his name?" laughed Mrs.
Y&mdash;&mdash;, gaily. "Julia pretended not to know his
name! I thought it was a conquest! I have not
yet had an opportunity of looking out the '<i>language</i>'
of a very large, full blown carnation pink!"</p>

<p>"No doubt," interrupted Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash;, "it is precisely
the opposite of <i>lemon-juice</i>!"</p>

<p>Between laughing and blushing, the fair subject
of this badinage made but a faint show of resistance;
but, at this juncture, she managed to say, as she
turned to me, with a most courteous bow.</p>

<p>"I very much question whether the sentiments
expressed by any flower can more readily touch the<a name="Page_400" id="Page_400"></a>
heart, than that <i>I</i> have known conveyed by a <i>teaspoonful
of brandy</i>!"</p>

<p>"Bravo!" cried Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash;.</p>

<p>"Well done, Julé!" echoed my hostess.</p>

<p>And I!&mdash;my feelings were too deep for words! I
could only lay my hand upon my heart, and raise
my eyes to the ceiling.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Perhaps there is no better test of the unexceptionableness
of a habit, than to <i>suppose it generally
adopted, and infer the consequences</i>. I remember
some such reflection, in connection with a little circumstance
that once fell under my observation:&mdash;Dining
with a young Canadian, at his residence in
Kingston, C.&nbsp;W., I met, among other persons, an
English notability, of whom I had frequently heard
and read. A slight pause in the conversation, made
doubly audible a loud yawn proceeding from one
corner of the dining-room, and, as a general look of
surprise was visible, a huge Newfoundland dog approached
us, stretching his limbs, and shaking from
his shaggy coat anything but</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"Sabćan odors, from the spicy shores<br></span>
<span class="i0">Of Araby the Blest!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>Our host endeavored to say something polite, and
the animal, advancing toward the celebrity, stationed
himself, familiarly, at his master's side, somewhat to
the annoyance, probably, of the lady next him.<a name="Page_401" id="Page_401"></a></p>

<p>With the utmost <i>sang froid</i>, the "privileged character"
held his finger-bowl to his dog, and remarked,
as he eagerly lapped the contents, that he had eaten
highly-seasoned venison at lunch!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"Foreigners," says Madame de Stael, "are a kind
of contemporaneous posterity." This truth apart, I
had sufficient reason to blush for my country, on
more than one occasion, lately, while travelling at
the West, in company with a well-bred young European.
His own manners were so pleasing as to
render more striking the peculiarities of others, and
his habits so refined, as, when united with his large
observation and intelligence, to make him an exceedingly
agreeable person to associate with.</p>

<p>One hot day, during a portion of our journey performed
by steamer, I looked up from my book, and
saw him coming toward me.</p>

<p>"I have found a cool place, sir," said he, "and
have come to beg you to join me&mdash;we shall be undisturbed
there."</p>

<p>I rose, and was about to take up my seat.</p>

<p>"Allow me, sir! I am the younger," said he; and
he insisted upon carrying my seat, as well as the one
he had previously secured for himself. And this
was his habitual phrase, when there was any occasion
to allude to the difference in our years. He
never said&mdash;"You are older than I am," or insinuated
that my lameness made me less active than he,
when he offered his arm, in our numerous prome<a name="Page_402" id="Page_402"></a>nades.
The idea he seemed ever studying to express
was, that he had pleasure in the society of the old
soldier, and thought him entitled to respect and precedence
on all occasions. Aside from the personal
gratification and comfort I derived from these graceful
and unremitting attentions, it was a source of
perpetual pleasure to me to observe his beautiful
courtesy to all with whom he came in contact. He
had with him a land surveyor, or agent of some sort;
with this person he, apparently, found little in common,
but, when he had occasion to converse with
him, I always remarked his punctilious politeness.
And so with his servant; he always <i>requested</i>, never
<i>ordered</i>, him to do what he wished. Reserved and
laconic, when giving him directions, there was yet
a certain assuring kindliness in his <i>voice</i>, that seemed
to act like a talisman upon his man, who, speaking
our language very imperfectly, would have often suffered
the consequences of embarrassing mistakes,
but for the clear, simple, intelligible directions and
explanations of his master. But to return.</p>

<p>Scarcely were we seated quietly in the retired
spot so carefully selected by my friend, when a
couple of young fellows came swaggering along, and
stationing themselves near us, began smoking, spitting
and talking so loudly, as to disturb and annoy
us, exceedingly.</p>

<p>"What a pity that this fine air should be so poisoned!"
exclaimed my companion, in French, glancing
at the intruders. "For my part, <i>pure air</i> is good
enough for me, without perfume!"<a name="Page_403" id="Page_403"></a></p>

<p>"Do you never smoke?" I asked, in the same
tongue.</p>

<p>"Certainly! but I do not smoke <i>always</i> and <i>everywhere</i>!
Neither do I think it decent to soil every
place with tobacco-juice, as you do in this country!"</p>

<p>"It is infamous!" returned I. "Now just look at
those fellows! See how near they are to that group
of ladies, and then look at the condition of the deck
all around them." As I spoke, the lady nearest the
nuisance, apparently becoming suddenly aware of
her dangerous proximity, hurriedly gathered her
dress closely about her, and moved as far away as
she could without separating herself from her party.
Despite these indications, the shower continued to
fall plentifully around, and the smoke to blow into
the faces of those who were so unfortunate as to be
seated in the neighborhood.</p>

<p>"Have you not regulations to prevent such annoyances,"
inquired the stranger.</p>

<p>"Every steamer professes to have them, I believe,"
returned I, "but if such vulgar men as these choose
to violate them, no one even thinks of insisting upon
their enforcement&mdash;every one submits, and every
one is annoyed&mdash;that is, all decent people are!"</p>

<p>"<i>Vive la Liberté et l'Egalité!</i>" exclaimed the
European, laughing good-humoredly.</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_403"></a><!--TN: Quote removed before "As"-->As if echoing the mirth of my companion, a
merry laugh from the group of ladies near us, arrested
my attention at this moment. Without appearing
to remark them, I soon ascertained that they were
amusing themselves with the ridiculous figure presented
by one of the smokers. His associate had left<a name="Page_404" id="Page_404"></a>
him "alone in his glory," and there he sat, fast asleep,
with his mouth wide open, his hat over one eye,
and his feet tucked across under the seat of his chair,
which supported only on its hind legs, was tilted
back against the side of the cabin. My description
can give you but a poor idea of the ludicrousness of
the thing. One of those laughing girls would have
done it better! I overheard more than one of their
droll comments.</p>

<p>"What if his chair should upset, when he 'catches
fish!'" exclaimed a pretty little girl, looking roguishly
from under her shadowing round straw hat.</p>

<p>"There is more danger that that wasp will fly
down his throat," replied another of the gay bevy.
"What a yawning cavern it is! That wasp is hovering
over the 'crack of doom!'"</p>

<p>"He reminds me rather of Daniel in the lion's
den," put in a third.</p>

<p>"Let's move our seats before he wakes up," cried
one of the girls, as the nondescript made a slight
demonstration upon a fly that had invaded his repose.
"He is protected by the barricade he has surrounded
himself with&mdash;like a upas-tree in the centre of
its own vile atmosphere&mdash;but <i>we</i>, unwary travellers,
are not equally safe!"</p>

<p>A day or two afterwards, these very young men
were just opposite me at table, in a hotel in one of
our large Western cities.</p>

<p>They were well dressed (with the exception of
<i>colored shirts</i>) and well-looking enough, but, after
what I had previously seen of them, I was not surprised
to observe their habits of eating. One would<a name="Page_405" id="Page_405"></a>
throw up both arms, and clasp his hands over his
head, while waiting for a re-supply of food; the
other stop, now and then, to <i>lay off</i> his bushy moustache,
so as to make more room for the shovelling
process he kept up with his knife, for the more rapid
disappearance of a large goblet of water at one swallowing,
or for the introduction of a mammoth ear of
corn, which he took both hands to hold, while he
gobbled up row after row, with inconceivable rapidity.
Then one would manipulate an enormous
drum-stick, while he lolled comfortable back in his
chair, grievously belaboring his voluminous beard,
the while, and leaving upon it an all-sufficient substitute
for maccassar, and the other, simultaneously
make a loud demonstration with his pocket-handkerchief,
or upon his head. Now one would stretch out
his legs under the table, until he essentially invaded
my reserved rights, and then the other insert his
tongue first in one cheek, and then in the other, rolling
it vigorously round, as a cannoneer would swab
out a great gun with his sponge, before re-loading!
Flushed, heated, steaming, the heaps of sweet-potato
skins, bones, and bits of food profusely scattered
over the soiled cloth, fully attested the might of their
achievements!</p>

<p>Much of this, as I said, I was prepared for, but I
was somewhat surprised by what followed.</p>

<p>I had sent for a quail, I think, or some other small
game, and was preparing to discuss its merits, when
one of these young men, reaching over, stuck his fork
into the bird, and transferred it to his own plate!<a name="Page_406" id="Page_406"></a></p>

<p>I saw at a glance that no offense was intended to
me&mdash;that the seeming rudeness was simply the result
of vulgarity and ignorance; so I very quietly directed
the servant to bring me another bird.</p>

<p>Scarcely was the second dish placed before me,
when the other youth of this delectable pair exactly
repeated the action of his companion, and I again
found myself minus my game.</p>

<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i>" cried my young foreign friend, "if
you can endure that, you are a hero, sir!"</p>

<p>An hour or two subsequent to this agreeable incident,
I was again seated in the cars, and hearing a
noise behind me, soon satisfied myself that my neighbors
at dinner that day were to be my neighbors
still, and that they were at present busily employed
in disputing with the conductor respecting a seat
next their own, which they wished to monopolize for
the accommodation of their legs, and which, in consequence
of the crowded state of the cars, the man
insisted upon filling with other passengers. Presently
there came in a pale, weary-looking woman,
with a wailing infant in her arms and another young
child clinging to her garments. She found a seat
where she could, and sinking into it, disposed of a
large basket she had also carried, and commenced
trying to pacify the baby.</p>

<p>Here was a fit subject for the rude jests and jibes
of the young fellows I have described. And full use
did they make of their vulgar license of tongue.
The poor mother grew more and more distressed as
those unfeeling comments reached her ears from<a name="Page_407" id="Page_407"></a>
time to time, and at each outbreak from the infant
strove more nervously to pacify it.</p>

<p>I observed that a good-humored looking, large,
handsome man, who sat a little before this woman,
frequently glanced round at the child, and sought to
divert its attention by various little playful motions.
At length, when the cars stopped for a few minutes,
out he sallied, in all haste, and presently returned
with his hands full of fruits and cakes. Offering a
liberal share of these to the woman and her little
girl, after distributing some to his party, he reserved
a bright red apple, and said cheerily to the mother:
"Let me take your little boy, ma'am, I think I can
quiet him."</p>

<p>The little urchin set up a loud scream, as he found
himself in the strong grasp of the stranger; but, a
few moments' perseverance effected his benevolent
purpose. Tossing the boy up, directing his attention
to the apple, and then carrying him through the
empty car a turn or two, sufficed to chase away the
clouds and showers from what proved to be a bright,
pretty face, and very soon the amiable gentleman
returned to his seat, saying very quietly to the woman,
as he passed her, "We will keep your little
child awhile, and take good care of him." The baby
was healthy-looking, and its clothes, though plain,
were entirely clean&mdash;so the poor thing was by no
means a disagreeable plaything for the young lady
beside whom the gentleman was seated. For some
little time they amused themselves in this humane
manner, and then the young man gently snugged the<a name="Page_408" id="Page_408"></a>
weary creature down upon his broad chest, and
there it lay asleep, like a flower on a rock, nestled
under a shawl, and firmly supported by the enfolding
arm that seemed unconscious of its light burden.</p>

<p>Meantime the pale, tired mother regaled herself
with the refreshments so bountifully provided for
her, watching the movements of the little group before
her with evident satisfaction; and at length
settled herself for a nap in the corner of her seat,
with the other child asleep in her lap.</p>

<p>The noisy comments of the "fast" young men in
the rear of the car became less audible and offensive,
I noticed, after the stranger came to the rescue, and
when I passed their seat, afterwards, I could not be
surprised at their comparative silence, upon beholding
the enormous quantity of pea-nut shells and fruit
skins with which the floor was strewn, and noticing
the industry with which they were squirting tobacco
juice over the whole.</p>

<p>By-and-by the cars made another pause. The
mother of the little boy roused herself and looked
hastily round for her treasures. Upon this the
young lady who occupied the seat with her new
friend came to her and seemed reassuring her. As
soon as the thronging crowd had passed out, I heard
her saying, as I caught a peep at the sweetest face,
bent smilingly towards the woman&mdash;"I made a nice
little bed for him, as soon as the next seat was empty,
and he is still fast asleep. Does he like milk? Mr.
Grant will get some when he wakes&mdash;it is so unpleasant
for a lady to get out of the cars." (Here the<a name="Page_409" id="Page_409"></a>
woman seemed to make some explanation, and a
shadow of sympathy passed over the smiling face I
was admiring, as one sees a passing cloud move
above a sunny landscape.) "Well, we will be
glad to be of use to you, as far as we go on," pursued
the fair girl; "I will find out all about it, and
tell you before we leave the cars. Now, just rest
all you can&mdash;let me put this shawl up a little
higher&mdash;there! It is such a relief to get off one's
bonnet! I'll put it up for you. The little girl had
better come with me.&mdash;Oh, no, she will not, I am
sure! What's your name, dear? Mary! that's the
<a name="tn_png_409"></a><!--TN: "pretiest" changed to "prettiest"-->prettiest name in the world! everybody loves Mary!
I have such a pretty book to show you"&mdash;and having
tucked up the object of her gentle care in quite
a cosy manner, while she was saying this, the good
girl gave a pretty, encouraging little nod to the
woman, and went back, taking the other juvenile
with her, to her own place. When her companion
joined her, she looked up in his face with a beaming,
triumphant sort of a smile, and, receiving a
response in the same expressive language, all seemed
quite understood between them.</p>

<p>"What an angel!" exclaimed the young European,
in his favorite tongue, as he re-entered the
car, and caught part of this little by-scene. "Do
you know what she said to that poor woman?"</p>

<p>I gave him all the explanation in my power.
His fine eyes kindled. "She is as good as she is
beautiful! Have you remarked the magnificent
head of the gentleman with her? What a superb<a name="Page_410" id="Page_410"></a>
profile he has&mdash;so classic! And his broad chest&mdash;there's
a model for a bust! I happened to be in the
studio of your celebrated countryman, Powers, at
Florence, with my father, who was sitting to him,
when the great Thorwaldsen came to visit him.
Boy, as I was, at that time, I remember his words,
as he stood before the bust of your Webster: '<i>I cannot
make such busts!</i>' But was it not, sir, because
he had no such <i>models</i> as your country affords?"
These were courteous words; but I do them poor
justice in the record; I cannot express the voice
and manner from which they received their charm.</p>

<p>Well, at the risk of tiring you, I hasten to conclude
my little sketch. I amused myself by quietly
watching the thing through, and noticed, towards
evening, that the amiable strangers went together to
the woman they had befriended, after the gentleman
had been into the hotel, before which we were
standing, seemingly to make some inquiry for her.
Both talked for a few minutes, apparently very
kindly, to her and to the children, and seemed to
encourage her by some assurance as they parted.
As they were turning away, the grateful mother
rose, and, snatching the hand first of one, and
then of the other, burst out, with a "God bless
you both!" so fervent as to be audible where I sat.</p>

<p>"Don't speak of such a trifle!" returned the
youth, in a clear, distinct voice, raising his noble
form to its full height, and flashing forth the light of
his falcon eye; "for my part, I am very glad to be
able to do a little good as I go along in the world!"<a name="Page_411" id="Page_411"></a></p>

<p>In a few moments the handsome stranger was seen
carefully placing his fair travelling companion in an
elegant carriage, where a lady was awaiting them,
and upon which several trunks were already strapped.
While cordial greetings were still in progress
between the trio, a well-dressed servant gave the
reins to a superb pair of dark bays, and in another
instant they were flying along in the direction of a
stately-looking mansion of which I caught sight in
the distance.</p>

<p>"Who the d&mdash;&mdash; is that fellow?" shouted one of
the pair in the rear. "I say, porter," stretching his
body far out of the car window, and beckoning to a
man on the steps of the neighboring building,
"What's the name of those folks in that carriage?
dev'lish pretty girl, I swear!"</p>

<p>"Sir-r-r?" answered Paddy, coming to the side
of the car, and pulling his dirty cap on one side
of his head with one hand, while he operated upon
his carroty hair with the fingers of the other;
"what's yer honor's plaizure?"</p>

<p>"I say, what's the name of that gentleman who
has just gone off in that carriage there?"</p>

<p>"Oh! sure that's young Gineral Grant; him that
owns the fine house beyant&mdash;I hear tell he's the new
Congressman, sir!"</p>

<p>"<i>Bien!</i>" whispered my foreign friend, laughing
heartily, "this <i>is</i> a great country! you do things
upon so large a scale here, that one must not
wonder when <i>extremes meet</i>!"</p>

<p><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412"></a></p><hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"What, coz, still sitting with your things on,
waiting? Haven't you been impatient?"</p>

<p>"Oh, no, not at all, I've been reading."</p>

<p>"Well, but, do you know it's twelve o'clock? We
were to start at half-past ten. What did you think
of me for delaying so long?"</p>

<p>"I was afraid some accident had happened; but I
could see nothing from the window, and I did not
like to go out on the portico alone."</p>

<p>"Then you did not think me careless, and were
not vexed?"</p>

<p>"Not I, indeed! I was sure you would come if
you could, and was only anxious about you, as you
were to try that new horse. I did not take off my
bonnet, because I kept expecting you every moment."</p>

<p>"And I kept expecting to come every moment&mdash;that
devilish animal! I tried to send you word, but
I could not get sight of a servant&mdash;confound the fellows!
they are always out of the way when one
wants them."</p>

<p>"But, Charley, dear, what about the horse? Has
he really troubled you? I am sorry you bought
him."</p>

<p>"Oh, I've conquered him! it wouldn't have taken
me so long before I had that devilish fever! But,
come, cozzy dear, will you go now, or is your patience
all gone?"</p>

<p>"I would like the drive&mdash;but, Charley, had we not
better put it off until to-morrow morning? You<a name="Page_413" id="Page_413"></a>
must be tired out, and, perhaps, the horse will continue
to trouble you."</p>

<p>"No, no&mdash;come, come along, if you are willing to
go."</p>

<p>Now, Charley and his cousin were together at a
little rural watering-place, in search of change of air
and scene. Charley had been recently ill, and, as
he chanced to be separated from his family at the time,
was particularly fortunate in having had the gentle
ministrations of Belle, as he usually called her, at
command, during his convalescence.</p>

<p>Belle was an orphan, without brothers, and she
clung to Charley with the tenacity of a loving
heart, deprived of its natural resources. Temporarily
relieved from her duties as a teacher, her cousin
invited her to accompany him in this little tour, in
pity for the languor that was betrayed by her drooping
eyes, and lagging step; and his kindly nurse,
flattering herself that her "occupation" was not yet
quite "gone," was only too happy to escape from her
city prison, under such safe and agreeable protection.
Yielding and quiet, as she ordinarily was,
Belle had very strict notions of propriety on some
points. So, when she and her cousin were making
their final arrangements, before commencing
their journey, she laid upon the table before him, a
bank-note of considerable amount, with the request
that he would appropriate it to the payment of her
travelling expenses.</p>

<p>"Time enough for that, by-and-by, coz."</p>

<p>"No, if you please, Charley. It is enough that<a name="Page_414" id="Page_414"></a>
you will be burdened by the care of me, without
having your purse taxed, too. Just be so good as
to keep a little account of what you pay for me&mdash;remembering
porterage, carriage-hire, and such matters&mdash;ladies
always have the most luggage." And a
little hand playfully smoothed the doubled paper
upon the cuff of Charley's coat-sleeve, and left it
lying there.</p>

<p>Her cousin very well knew that this bank-note
comprised a large portion of Belle's quarterly salary,
though she made no allusion to the matter; and,
though his own resources were moderate, men so
much more easily acquire money than women&mdash;well,
never mind! people differ in their ideas of <i>luxury</i>.</p>

<p>Charley had some new experiences in this little
tour of his and Belle's. He had an idea, previously,
that "women are always a bother, in travelling," and
he found himself sorely puzzled to make out, exactly,
what trouble it was to have his cousin always ready
to read to him, when they sat together on the deck
of a steamer, or while he lay on the sofa at a hotel,
to claim the comfortable seat at her side in a rail-car,
to have her keep his cane and book, while he
went out to chat with an acquaintance, watch when
he grew drowsy, and softly gather his shawl about
his neck, and make a pillow of her own for him, or
to see the tear that sometimes gathered in her meek
eyes, when she <a name="tn_png_414"></a><!--TN: "acknowleded" changed to "acknowledged"-->acknowledged any little courtesy on
his part. Then, when, after they were settled in
their snug quarters, at the watering-place, Belle,
half-timidly, sat a moment on his knee, and, looking<a name="Page_415" id="Page_415"></a>
proudly round upon the order she had brought out
of chaos, among his toilet articles, books, and clothes,
said&mdash;"Oh, what a happy week I have to thank you
for, dear cousin Charley! You have done so many,
many kind things for me, all the way! I have had
to travel alone almost always since pa's&mdash;since"&mdash;he
was really quite at a loss to know what "kind things"
she referred to, and said so.</p>

<p>"Why, Charley!" returned she, making a vigorous
effort to get over the choking feeling that had
suddenly assailed her, upon alluding to her deceased
father, "don't you know&mdash;no, you don't know, what
a happiness it is to a poor, lonely thing, like me, to
have some one to take care of her luggage, and pay
her fare, and all those things? I know, in this
country, women can travel alone, safely&mdash;quite so;
but it isn't pleasant, for all that, to go into crowds
of rough men, without any one. The other evening,
at New Haven, for instance, it was quite dark, when
we landed, and those hackmen made such a noise,
and crowded so&mdash;but I felt just as safe, and comfortable,
while sitting waiting for you in the carriage,
all the while you were gone back about our trunks!
Oh, you can't realize it, Charley, dear!" and the fair
speaker shook her head, with a mournful earnestness,
that expressed almost as much sober truthfulness, as
appealing femininity.</p>

<p>But about this morning drive.</p>

<p>With the trusting confidence for which her sex
have such an infinite capacity, Belle yielded at once
to the implied wish of her temporary protector, and<a name="Page_416" id="Page_416"></a>
they were soon rolling along, in a light, open carriage,
through deeply-shadowing woods and across
little brooklets which were merrily disporting themselves
under the trees.</p>

<p>The poor wild-wood bird, so long caged, yet ever
longing to be free, carolled and mused by turns, or
permitted her joyous nature to gush out in exclamations
of delight.</p>

<p>"What delicious air!" she exclaimed. "Really it
exhilarates one, like a cordial. Oh, Charley, dear,
look at those flowers! May I get out for them? Do
let me! I won't be gone a minute. Just you sit
still, and hold your war-steed. Don't be so ceremonious
as to alight; I need no assistance." And with
a bound the happy creature was on her feet, and in
an instant dancing along, to the music of her own
glad voice, over the soft grass.</p>

<p>Too considerate to encroach upon his patience
unduly, Belle soon reseated herself beside Charley,
with a lap full of floral treasures.</p>

<p>"Here are enough for bouquets for both our
rooms," said she; "how fresh and fragrant they are!</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">'They have tales of the joyous woods to tell,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Of the free blue streams and the glowing sky.'<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">Bless God for flowers&mdash;<i>and friends</i>!"</p>

<p>As the artless girl fervently uttered the last words,
she turned a pair of sweet blue eyes, into which
tears of gratitude and pleasure had suddenly started,
upon the face of her companion. What a painful
revulsion of feeling was produced by that glance!<a name="Page_417" id="Page_417"></a>
She scarcely recognized the face of her cousin, so
completely had gloom and discontent usurped the
place of his usual hilarious expression. What <i>could</i>
be the matter? Had she offended him!</p>

<p>Repressing, with quick tact, all manifestations of
surprise, though her frame thrilled, as if from a
heavy blow, Belle was silent for a while, and then
said in a subdued tone that contrasted strangely with
her former bird-like glee&mdash;"Your horse goes nicely
now, Charley, doesn't he? You seem to have effectually
conquered him; but I am sure you must be
tired, now, dear cousin, you have been out so long.
Had we not better return?"</p>

<p>"Why, you have had no ride at all yet, Isabella,"
returned the young man, in a voice that was as startling
to his sensitive auditor as his altered countenance
had been.</p>

<p>"Oh, yes, I have," she quickly answered, endeavoring
to speak as cheerfully as possible, "I have enjoyed
myself so much that I ought to be quite contented
to go back, and I really think we'd better
do so."</p>

<p>Charley's only response was turning his horse's
head homeward. For a while they drove on in
silence, Belle's employment of arranging her flowers
now wholly mechanical, so engrossing was the
tumult in her heart.</p>

<p>Just as they came in sight of their hotel, the unruly
animal that had already occasioned his new
owner so much trouble, stopped, and stood <a name="tn_png_417"></a><!--TN: "a" added after "like"-->like a
wooden effigy in the middle of the road.<a name="Page_418" id="Page_418"></a></p>

<p>In vain did word and whip appeal to his locomotive
powers. At length the pent-up wrath that had
apparently been gathering fury for the last hour
burst forth.</p>

<p>"Devilish brute! I never was so shamefully imposed
upon! I wish to G&mdash;&mdash; I never had set foot in
this infernal hole! There's no company here fit for
a decent fellow to associate with. I shall die of
stupidity in a week&mdash;particularly if I have to drive
such a confounded concern as this!" Here followed
a volley of mingled blows and curses.</p>

<p>The terrified witness of this scene sat tremblingly
silent, for a time, clinging to the side of the carriage,
as if to keep herself quiet. Presently she said:</p>

<p>"Perhaps I'd better jump out and run to the
house, and send some one out to assist you."</p>

<p>"You may get out, if you choose," answered her
cousin, gruffly, "but I want no assistance about the
horse. I'll break every bone in his body, but I'll
conquer his devilish temper!"</p>

<p>After another pause, Belle said, "Well, Charley,
if you please, I will walk on. I am sorry you are so
annoyed," she added, timidly, carefully averting her
pale face from him; "but perhaps this is only a
phase, and he may never do so again."</p>

<p>Her companion broke into a loud, mocking laugh.
"What in thunder do you know about horses, Isabella?"</p>

<p>"Nothing, Charley&mdash;nothing in the world," returned
his cousin, quickly, in the gentlest voice, "I
only"&mdash;<a name="Page_419" id="Page_419"></a>&mdash;</p>

<p>"Ye-es!" drawled the angry youth, "I know&mdash;some
women think their '<i>ready wit</i>' will enable
them to talk upon any subject! Get up, now, you
rascal, will you?"</p>

<p>Belle knew her weakness too well to trust herself
to speak, so, drawing her veil closely about her face,
and gathering up her shawl and her flowers, she stepped
from the low carriage with assumed composure,
and bowing slightly, walked towards the house.</p>

<p>Meeting a servant, at the foot of the stairs, she
said, very quietly, "Mr.&nbsp;Cunningham will be here
in a few minutes with his horse; I hope some one
will be ready to take him," and passed on. This
was all she <i>dared</i> to do, in aid of the exasperated
youth.</p>

<p>Once in her own room, it seemed but the work of
a moment for the agitated girl to throw off her shawl
and bonnet, and transport some light refreshments
she had previously prepared, across the passage to
her cousin's room, to draw up his lounging chair to
the table, and with a few skillful touches to give that
air of comfort to the simply-furnished apartment
which it had been her daily pleasure to impart to it.</p>

<p>This self-imposed task achieved, she flew, like a
guilty intruder, to her own little asylum, and locking
the door, flung herself upon the bed, burying
her face in the pillows.</p>

<p>But though her quick, convulsive sobs were stifled,
they shook her slight, sensitive form till it quivered
in every nerve, like a delicate exotic suddenly exposed
to the blasts of a northern winter.<a name="Page_420" id="Page_420"></a></p>

<p>By-and-by a sound roused her from this agony of
tears.</p>

<p>"There is the first dinner-gong," said she, to herself,
starting up, "what shall I do? Perhaps Charley
won't like it if I don't go to dinner. My head
aches dreadfully. I don't mind that so much, but
(looking in the glass) my face is so flushed. I
wouldn't for the world vex Charley, I'm sure."
With this she began some hasty toilet preparations;
but her hands trembled so violently as to force her
to desist.</p>

<p>Wrapping her shivering form in her shawl, she
sat down on a low chair, and again gave way to emotions
which gradually shaped themselves thus:</p>

<p>"I am so sorry I came with Charley. He was never
anything but kind till we came here. And then I
should have, at least, had nothing but pleasant things
to remember. But now&mdash;I am afraid Charley is
ashamed of me; he looked at my dress so scrutinizingly
this morning, when he came to my door. I
know I'm not the least fashionable; but Mrs.&nbsp;Tillou
is, and she complimented me on this <i>négligé</i>&mdash;it is
soiled now, and my pretty slippers, too, walking
back through the mud! 'Isabella!' How cold and
strange it sounded! I am so used to 'cozzy dear,'
and have learned to love it so. My poor heart!"
pressing both hands upon her side as if to still a
severe pang. Then she rose, and creeping slowly
along the floor, swallowed some water, and seating
herself at the table, drew writing materials towards
her. Steadying her hand with great effort, and every<a name="Page_421" id="Page_421"></a>
moment pressing her handkerchief to her eyes, she
achieved the following note:</p>

<div class="letter">
<p>"Having a little headache to-day, dear Charley, I
prefer not to dine, if you will excuse me. I will be
quite ready to meet you in the parlor before tea.</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature1">"Ever yours,<br></span>
<span class="presignature3 smcap">"Belle.<br></span>
</div>

<p style="font-size:.8em;">"<i>Tuesday Morning.</i>"</p>

</div>

<p>Designing to accompany this with some of the
flowers she now remembered, for the first time since
her return from her ill-starred morning excursion,
Belle hastily re-arranged the prettiest of them in a
little bouquet. As she removed an already withered
wild-rose from among its companions, a solitary
tear fell upon its shrivelled petals. "Perhaps," she
murmured mournfully, with a heavy sigh, "I should
have made another idol,&mdash;perhaps I should soon
have learned to <i>love Charley too well</i>, if this chastening
had not come upon me&mdash;could he have thought
so?" As she breathed this query, the small head was
suddenly thrown back, like that of a startled gazelle,
and a blush so vivid and burning as to pale the previous
flush of agitation, flashed over cheek and
brow.</p>

<p>Quickly ringing the bell, and carefully concealing
herself from observation, behind the door, when she
half-opened it, the servant who answered her summons
was requested to hand the note and flowers to
Mr.&nbsp;Cunningham, if he was in his room, and if not,<a name="Page_422" id="Page_422"></a>
to place them where he would "be sure to see them
when he came up."</p>

<p>"When will I ever learn," said Belle, in a tone of
bitter self-reproach, as she re-locked the door, "not
to cling and trust,&mdash;not</p>

<p class="centerpoem">&mdash;&mdash;"to make idols, and to find them clay!"</p>

<p>"I have not seen you looking so well since you
came here, Miss&nbsp;Cunningham," said a gentleman to
Belle, joining her as she was entering the public parlor
that evening. "Do allow me to felicitate you!
What a brilliant color!&mdash;You were driving this
morning, were you not? No doubt you are indebted
to your cousin for the bright roses in your <a name="tn_png_422"></a><!--TN: Single quote changed to a double quote at end of paragraph-->cheeks!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>And now, my dear young friends, let me only add,
in concluding this lengthened letter, that, had I
early acquired the <i>habit of writing</i>, you would,
doubtless, have less occasion to criticise these effusions&mdash;attempted,
for your benefit, at too late a
period of life to enable me to render them what I
could wish. Use them as <i>beacons</i>, since they cannot
serve as <i>models</i>!</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature1">Adieu!<br></span>
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">Henry <a name="tn_png_422a"></a><!--TN: Period added after "Lunettes"-->Lunettes.</span><br></span>
</div>




<div class="footnotes"><h3 style="margin-top:.5em;">Footnotes:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Sketches of Reform and Reformers,&mdash;by <i>H.&nbsp;B.&nbsp;Stanton</i>.</p>
</div>
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423"></a>
<h2><a name="LETTER_XI" id="LETTER_XI"></a>LETTER XI.</h2>

<p class="chapterhead">MENTAL AND MORAL EDUCATION.</p>

<p class="chapterstart">My dear Nephews:</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="firstwords">Having</span> touched, in our preceding letters,
upon matters relating to Physical Training,
Manner, and the lighter accomplishments that embellish
existence, we come now to the <i>inner life</i>&mdash;to
the Education of the Mind and Heart, or Soul of
Man.</p>

<p>Metaphysicians would, I make no doubt, find
ample occasion to cavil at the few observations I
shall venture to offer you on these important subjects,
and, painfully conscious of my total want of skill
to treat them in detail, I will only attempt a few <a name="tn_png_423"></a><!--TN: "dessultory" changed to "desultory"-->desultory
suggestions, intended rather to impress you
with the importance I attach to <i>self-culture</i>, than to
furnish you with full directions regarding it.</p>

<p>The genius of our National Institutions pre-supposes
the truth that education is within the power of all, and
that all are capable of availing themselves of its benefits.
Education, in the highest, truest sense, does
not involve the necessity of an elaborate system of
scientific training, with an expenditure of time and<a name="Page_424" id="Page_424"></a>
money entirely beyond the command of any but the
favored few who make the exception, rather than the
rule, in relation to the race in general.</p>

<p>Happily for the Progress of Humanity, the
"will to do, the soul to dare," are never wholly
subject to the control of outer circumstance, and
here, in our free land, they are comparatively untrammeled.</p>

<p>"There are two powers of the human soul," says
one of our countrymen, distinguished for a knowledge
of Intellectual Science, "which make self-culture
possible, the <i>self-searching</i>, and the <i>self-forming</i>
power. We have, first, the faculty of turning the
mind on itself; of recalling its past, and watching its
present operations; of learning its various capacities
and susceptibilities; what it can do and bear; what
it can enjoy and suffer; and of thus learning, in general,
what our nature is, and what it is made for. It
is worthy of observation, that we are able to discern
not only what we already are, but what we may become,
to see in ourselves germs and promises of a
growth to which no bounds can be set; to dart
beyond what we have actually gained, to the idea of
perfection at the end of our being."</p>

<p>Assuming that to be the most enlightened system
of education which tends most effectively to develop
all the faculties of our nature, it is impossible, practically,
to separate moral and religious from <a name="tn_png_424"></a><!--TN: "intelleclectual" changed to "intellectual"-->intellectual
discipline. If we possess the <i>responsibility</i>
as well as the capacity of self-training&mdash;that must be
a most imperfect system, one most unjust to our<a name="Page_425" id="Page_425"></a>
better selves, which cultivates the intellectual powers
at the expense of those natural endowments,
without which, man were fitter companion for fiends
than for higher intelligences!</p>

<p>Pursued beyond a certain point, education, established
upon this basis, may not facilitate the acquisition
of wealth; and if this were the highest pursuit
to which it can be made subservient, effort, beyond
that point, were useless. But if we regard the
acquirement of money chiefly important as affording
the essential means of gratifying the tastes, providing
for the necessities, and facilitating the exercise
of the moral instincts of our being, we return, at
once, to our former position.</p>

<p>"<i>He, therefore, who does what he can to unfold
all his powers and capacities, especially his nobler
ones, so as to become a well-proportioned, vigorous,
excellent, happy being, practises self-culture.</i>"</p>

<p>Those of you who have enjoyed the advantages of
a regular course of intellectual training, will need no
suggestion of mine to aid you in mental discipline;
but possibly a few hints on this point may not be
wholly useless to others.</p>

<p>The general dissemination of literature, in forms
so cheap as to be within the reach of all, renders
<i>reading</i> a natural resource for purposes of amusement
as well as instruction. But they who are still so
young as to make the acquisition of knowledge the
proper business of life, should never indulge themselves
in reading for <i>mere amusement</i>. Never, there<a name="Page_426" id="Page_426"></a>fore,
permit yourselves to pass over words or allusions,
with the meaning of which you are unacquainted,
in works you are perusing. Go at once to the
fountain-head&mdash;to a dictionary for unintelligible
words, to an encyclopedia for general information, to
a classical authority for mythological and other similar
facts, etc., etc. You will not read <i>as fast</i>, by adopting
this plan, but you will soon realize that you are,
nevertheless, advancing much more rapidly, in the
truest sense. When you have not works of reference
at command, adopt the practice of making brief
memoranda, as you go along, of such points as require
elucidation, and avail yourself of the earliest
opportunity of seeking a solution of your doubts.
And do not, I beg of you, think this too laborious.
The best minds have been trained by such a course.
Depend upon it, <i>genius</i> is no equivalent for the
advantage ultimately derived from patient perseverance
in such a course. I remember well, that to the
latest year of his life, my old friend, De Witt Clinton,
one of the noblest specimens of the race it has been
my fortune to know, would spring up, like a boy,
despite his stiff knee, when any point of doubt arose,
in conversation, upon literary or scientific subjects,
and hasten to select a book containing the desired
information, from a little cabinet adjoining his usual
reception-room. His was a genuine <i>love of learning</i>
for its own sake; and the toil and turmoil of political
life never extinguished his early passion, nor
deprived him of a taste for its indulgence.<a name="Page_427" id="Page_427"></a></p>

<p>Moralists have always questioned the wisdom of
indulging a taste for fictitious literature, even when
time has strengthened habit and principle into fixedness.
The license of the age in which we live, renders
futile the elaborate discussion of this question
of ethics. But, while permitting yourselves the occasional
perusal of works of poetry and fiction, do
not so far indulge this taste as to stimulate a disrelish
for more instructive reading. And, above all, do
not permit yourselves to acquire an inclination for
the unwholesome stimulus of licentiousness, in this
respect. Every man of the world should know
something of the belle-lettre literature of his own
language, at least, and, as a rule, the more the better;
but,</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise;"</p>

<p class="continue">and the vile translations from profligate foreign literature,
which have, of late years, united with equally
immoral productions in our own, to foster a corrupt
popular taste, cannot be too carefully avoided by all
who would escape moral contagion.</p>

<p>You will find the practice of noting fine passages,
felicitous modes of expression, novel thoughts, etc.,
as they occur even in lighter literary productions,
not unworthy of your attention. It will serve, collaterally,
to assist in the formation of a pure style of
conversation and composition, a consideration of no
small importance for those whose future career will
demand facility in this regard. Carlyle has somewhere
remarked that, "our public men are all gone<a name="Page_428" id="Page_428"></a>
to tongue!" This peculiarity of the times, may, to
some extent, have grown out of its new and peculiar
social and political necessities. But, whether that
be so, or not, since such is the actual state of things,
let all new competitors for public distinction seek
every means of securing ready success.</p>

<p>While I would not, without reservation, condemn
the perusal of fictitious literature, I think you will
need no elaborate argument to convince you of the
superior importance of a thorough familiarity with
<i>History</i> and general <i>Science</i>.</p>

<p>Let me, also, commend to your attention, well-chosen
<i>Biography</i>, as affording peculiarly impressive
incentives to individual effort, and, often, a considerable
amount of collateral and incidental information.
The Life of Johnson, by Boswell, for instance, which,
as far as I know, still retains its long-accorded place
at the very head of this class of composition (some
critic has recorded his wonder that the best biography
in our language should have been written by a
<i>fool</i>!) contains a world of information, respecting
the many celebrated contemporaries of that great
man, the peculiarities of social life in England, at
his day, and the general characteristics of elegant
literature. So, of Lockhart's Life of Scott, and other
records of literary life. The lives of such men as
Shelley, and Coleridge, afford an impressive warning
to the young&mdash;teaching, better than a professed
homily, how little talents, unguided by steadfastness
of purpose and principle, avail for usefulness and
happiness. The examples of Lord Nelson, <a name="tn_png_428"></a><!--TN: Period changed to comma after "Howard"-->Howard,<a name="Page_429" id="Page_429"></a>
Mungo Park, Robert Hall, Franklin, and Washington,
may well be studied, in detail, for the lessons
they impress upon all. And so, of many of the brave
and the good of our race&mdash;I but name such as passingly
occur to me.</p>

<p>Do not permit newspaper and magazine reading
to engross too much of your time, lest you gradually
fall into a sort of <i>mental dissipation</i>, which will unfit
you for more methodical literary pursuits.</p>

<p>A cultivated taste in Literature and Art, as, indeed,
in relation to all the embellishments and enjoyments
of life, is, properly, one of the indications, if not the
legitimate result, of thorough mental education. But,
while you seek, by every means within your control,
to enlarge the sphere of your perceptions, and to
elevate your standard of intellectual pleasures, carefully
avoid all semblance of conscious superiority,
all <i>dilettanti</i> pretension, all needless technicalities
of artistic language. Remember that <i>modesty</i> is always
the accompaniment of true merit, and that the
smattering of knowledge, which the condition of Art
in our infant Republic alone enables its most devoted
disciples to acquire, ill justifies display and
pretension, in this respect. So, with regard to matters
of literary criticism&mdash;enjoy your own opinions,
and seek to base them upon the true principles of
art; but do not inflict crudities and platitudes upon
others, under the impression that, because of recent
acquisition to a tyro in years, and in learning, they
are likely to strike mature minds with the charm of
novelty! Thus, too, with scientific lore. If Sir<a name="Page_430" id="Page_430"></a>
Isaac Newton only gathered "pebbles on the shore"
of the limitless ocean of knowledge, we may well
believe that</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;"Wisdom is a pearl, with most success<br></span>
<span class="i2">Sought in still water."<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>Let me add, while we are, incidentally, upon this
matter of personal pretension, that to observing persons
such a manner often indicates internal distrust of
one's just claims to one's social position, while, on the
contrary, quiet self-possession, ease and simplicity, are
equally expressive of self-respect and of an entire certainty
of the tacit admission of one's rights by others.
Nothing is more underbred than the habit of taking
offense, or fancying one's self slighted, on all occasions.
It betokens either intense egotism, or, as I
have said, <i>distrust of your rightful position</i>&mdash;that
you are embittered by struggling with the world&mdash;neither
of which suppositions should be betrayed by
the bearing of a man of the world. Maintain outward
serenity, let the torrent rage as it may within,
and <i>never allow the world to know its power to
wound you through your undue sensitiveness</i>!</p>

<p>Well has the poet asserted that</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Truth's a discovery made by <i>travelled minds</i>."</p>
<p class="continue">No one who can secure the advantage of seeing life
and manners in every varying phase, should fail to
add this to the other branches of a polite education.
Do not imbibe the impression, however, that merely
going abroad is <i>travelling</i>, in the just sense of the
term.<a name="Page_431" id="Page_431"></a></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"Oft has it been my lot to mark,<br></span>
<span class="i0">A proud, conceited, talking spark,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Returning from his finished tour,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Grown ten times perter than before.<br></span>
<span class="i0">Whatever word you chance to drop,<br></span>
<span class="i0">The travelled fool your mouth will stop:&mdash;<br></span>
<span class="i0">'Sir, if <i>my</i> judgment you'll allow,<br></span>
<span class="i0">I've <i>seen</i>, and sure <i>I</i> ought to know!'<br></span>
<span class="i0">So begs you'll pay a due submission,<br></span>
<span class="i0">And acquiesce in his decision."<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>Send a fool to visit other countries, and he will
return&mdash;only a "<i>travelled</i> fool!" But give a rightly-constituted
man opportunities for thus enriching and
expanding his intellectual powers, and he returns to
his native land, especially if he be an American, a
better citizen, a more enlightened, discriminating
companion and friend, and a more liberal, useful,
catholic Christian!</p>

<p>Some knowledge of modern languages, especially
of the French, has now become an essential part of
education. The value of this acquisition, even for
<i>home use</i>, can scarcely be over-estimated, and without
a familiarity with colloquial French, a man can
hardly hope to pass muster abroad. I will, however,
hazard the general observation that, as a rule, it is
better to acquire a <i>thorough knowledge of one language</i>
(and of French, pre-eminently, for practical
availability) than a slight acquaintance with several.
Few persons, comparatively, in our active, busy
land, have leisure, at any period of life, for familiarizing
themselves with the literature of more than
one language, besides their own, and to possess the<a name="Page_432" id="Page_432"></a>
mere nomenclature of a foreign tongue is but to
have <i>the key</i> to information. There is, of late, a
fashion in this matter, which has little else to recommend
it than that it <i>is the fashion</i>; and with persons
of sense and intelligence there should be some
more powerful and satisfactory motive for the devotion
of any considerable portion of "<i>Time, nature's
stock</i>."</p>

<p><i>Apropos</i> of this, nothing is more likely to teach a
true estimate of the <i>value</i> of <i>time</i> than that perfection
of education pronounced by the philosopher of old
to be the knowledge that we <i>know nothing</i>! In
other words, they only, who in some sort discern, by
the light of education, the vast field that lies unexplored
before them, can have any adequate conception
of the care and discrimination with which they
should use that treasure of which alone it is '<i>a virtue
to be covetous</i>.'</p>

<p>Nothing, perhaps, more unmistakably indicates
successful self-culture than the habitual exhibition
of Tact. It may almost be called another sense,
growing out of the proper training of the several
faculties of body and mind. And though there is a
vast natural difference between persons of similar outward
circumstances, in this respect, much may be
effected by attention and practice, in the acquisition
of this invaluable possession. Like self-possession, tact
is one of the essential, distinctive characteristics of
good-breeding&mdash;the legitimate expression of natural
refinement, quick perceptions and kindly sympathies.
Cultivate it, then, my young friends, in common<a name="Page_433" id="Page_433"></a>
with every elegant embellishment of the true gentleman!
Do not confound it with dissimulation or
hypocrisy, nor yet regard it as the antagonist of
truthfulness, self-respect and manly dignity. On
the contrary, it is the best safeguard of courtesy, as
well as of sensibility.</p>

<p>Among useful methods of self-discipline, let me
instance the benefit resulting from the early adoption
of a <i>code of private morality</i>, if you will permit
me to coin a phrase, composed of rules and maxims
adapted to your own personal needs and peculiarities
of position and mental constitution. Washington,
I remember, adopted this practice, and Mr.
Sparks, or some one of his biographers, has preserved
the record from oblivion. It is many years since
I came across these rules, and I can no longer recall
more than the fixed, though general, impression that
they embodied much practical wisdom and clearly
indicated the patient spirit of self-improvement for
which the author was remarkable. I commend
them to you as a model. Perhaps the immortal
biographer who has now given the world a new life
of his great namesake, will afford you the means of
satisfying yourselves personally of the correctness of
my impressions of them.</p>

<p>In preparing this code for yourselves, I can give
you no better guide than that afforded by the truth
expressively conveyed in the following lines:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"<i>'Tis wisely great to talk with our past hours,</i><br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>To ask them what report they bore to Heaven,</i><br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>And how they might have borne more welcome news.</i>"<br></span>
<a name="Page_434" id="Page_434"></a></div></div>

<p>That is a very imperfect conception of education
which limits its significance to <i>knowledge gained
from books</i>. A profound acquaintance with literary
lore is often associated with total ignorance of the
actual world, of the laws that govern our moral
and intellectual being, and with an incapacity to
discern the Beautiful, the True, the Good. They
only are <i>educated</i>, who have acquired that self-knowledge
and self-discipline which inspire a <i>disinterested
love of our fellow-beings, a reverence for
Truth</i>&mdash;in the largest sense of the term&mdash;<i>and the
power of habitually exalting the higher faculties over
the animal propensities of our nature</i>.</p>

<p>It is only, therefore, when man unites moral discipline
with intellectual culture, that he can be said to
be truly educated; and the most ambitious student
of books should always bear in mind the truth that
the <i>free play of the intellect is promoted by the development
of moral perceptions</i>, and that mental
education, even, does not so much consist in loading
the memory with facts, as in strengthening the
capacity for independent action&mdash;for judging, comparing,
reflecting.</p>

<p>"The connection between moral and intellectual
culture is often overlooked," says a celebrated
ethical writer, "and the former sacrificed to the
latter. The exaltation of talent, as it is called, above
virtue and religion, is the curse of the age. <a name="tn_png_434"></a><!--TN: "Educacation" changed to "Education"-->Education
is now chiefly a stimulus to learning, and
thus may acquire power without the principles
which alone make it a good. Talent is worshipped,<a name="Page_435" id="Page_435"></a>
but, if divorced from rectitude, it will prove more
of a demon than a god."</p>

<p>Holding the opinion, then, that a fixed religious
belief is the legitimate result of a thorough cultivation
of the mental and moral endowments, and that
their united and co-equal development constitutes
education, you will permit me to impress upon your
attention the importance of securing all the aid
afforded by the <i>best lights</i> vouchsafed to us, in the
search after Truth. Conscience is a blind guide,
until assisted by discriminating teaching, and honest,
persevering endeavors at self-enlightenment. For
myself, my experience, in this respect, has afforded
me no assistance so reliable and efficient as that to
be gathered from the <i>Life of Jesus Christ</i>, as recorded
by his various biographers, and collected in the
New Testament. I commend its study, renewedly,
to you, not in search of a substantiation of human
doctrines, not to determine the accuracy of particular
creeds, but to possess yourself of simple, intelligible,
practicable directions for the wise regulation
of your daily life, and those ceaseless efforts at self-advancement
which should be the highest purpose of</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"A being breathing thoughtful breath,<br></span>
<span class="i0">A creature between life and death!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>Accustomed to the standard established by Him
who said, "Be ye, therefore, perfect, even as I am
perfect," we will not be deterred from the steadfast
pursuit of right by the imperfect exhibitions, so fre<a name="Page_436" id="Page_436"></a>quently
made, of its efficacy, in the lives of the professed
followers of the wonderful Nazarine. Conscious
of the difficulties, the temptations and the
discomfitures that we ourselves encounter, we will
learn, not only to discriminate between the imperfections
of the disciple and the perfection of the
Master, but to exercise that charity toward others,
of which self-examination teaches us the need, in our
own case. Thus, the Golden Rule, which so inclusively
epitomizes the <i>moral code</i> of the Great Teacher,
will come to be our guide in determining the path
of practical duty, and the course of self-culture, most
essential to the security of present happiness, and as
a preparative for that eternal state of existence, of
which this is but the embryo.</p>

<p>Thus, making God and conscience&mdash;which is the
voice of God speaking within us&mdash;the arbiter between
our better nature and the impulses excited by
the grosser faculties, we shall be less tempted by
outward influences to lower the abstract standard
we originally establish, or to reconcile ourselves to
an imperfect conformity to its requisitions. Far less,
will we permit ourselves to indulge the delusion that
we are not, each of us, personally obligated, by our
moral responsibilities, <i>to develop all the powers with
which we are endowed, to their utmost capacity</i>:&mdash;</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"They build too low who build below the skies!"</p>

<p>The most perfect of human beings was also the
most humble and self-sacrificing, so that they who
endeavor to follow his example will not only be de<a name="Page_437" id="Page_437"></a>void
of self-righteous assumption, but actively <a name="tn_png_437"></a><!--TN: "de voted" changed to "devoted"-->devoted
to the good of their fellow-creatures, and, like
Him, pityingly sensible of the wants and the woes
of humanity.</p>

<p>That reverence for the spiritual nature of man, as
a direct emanation from Deity, which all should
cherish, is, also, to be regarded as a part of judicious
self-culture. Cultivate an habitual recognition of
your celestial attributes, and strive to elevate your
whole being into congenial association with the divinity
within you:&mdash;this do for the benefit of others,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"Be noble! and the nobleness that lies<br></span>
<span class="i0">In other men, sleeping, but never dead,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Will rise, in majesty, to meet thine own!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>With so exalted an aim as I have proposed for
your adoption, you will be slow to tolerate <i>peccadilloes</i>,
as of little moment, either in a metaphysical or
ethical point of view. Dread such tolerance, as sapping
the foundations of principle; learn to detect the
insidious poison lurking in Burke's celebrated aphorism,
and in the infidel philosophy that assumes the
brightest semblances that genius can invent, the more
readily to deceive. Establish fixed principles of
benevolence, justice, truthfulness, religious belief,
and adhere steadfastly to them, despite the allurements
of the world, the temptings of ambition, or
weariness of self-conflict.</p>

<p>The <i>Pursuit of Happiness</i> is but concentrated
phraseology for the purposes and endeavors of every
human being. May you early learn to distinguish<a name="Page_438" id="Page_438"></a>
between the <i>false</i> and the <i>true</i>, between <i>pleasure</i> and
<i>happiness</i>, early know your duty to yourselves, your
country, and your God!</p>

<p>I will but add to these crude, but heart-engendered,
observations, a few lines, embodying my own sentiments,
and in a form much more impressive than I
can command:&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;<br></span>
<span class="i0">In feelings, not in figures on a dial.<br></span>
<span class="i0">We should count time by heart-throbs. <i>He most lives</i><br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.</i>"<br></span>
</div></div>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>I have somewhere met with a little bagatelle,
somewhat like this:&mdash;</p>

<p>Apollo, the god of love, of music, and of eloquence,
weary of the changeless brilliancy of Olympus,
determined to descend to earth, and to secure
maintenance and fame, in the guise of a mortal, by
<i>authorship</i>. Accordingly, the incognito divinity established
himself in an attic, after the usual fashion
of the sons of genius, and commenced inditing a
poem&mdash;a long epic poem, plying his pen with the patient
industry inspired by necessity, the best stimulus
of human effort. At length, the task of the god
completed, he, with great difficulty, procured the
means of offering it to the world in printed form.
The Epic of Apollo, the god of Poetry, <i>fell, pre-doomed,
from the press</i>. No commendatory review
had been secured, no fashionable publisher endorsed<a name="Page_439" id="Page_439"></a>
its merits. Disgusted with the pursuit of the wealth
and honors of earth, Apollo returned to Olympus,
bequeathing to mortals, this advice:&mdash;"<i>Would you
secure earthly celebrity and riches, do not attempt intellectual
and moral culture, but</i> <span class="smcap">INVENT A PILL</span>!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Instances of the successful <i>pursuit of knowledge
under difficulties</i> frequently present themselves in
our contemporaneous history, both in our own country
and in foreign lands. Indeed, the history of the
human mind goes far toward proving that, not the
pampered scions of rank and luxury, but the hardy
sons of poverty and toil, have been, most frequently,
the benefactors of the race. Well has the poet said:&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"The busy world shoves angrily aside<br></span>
<span class="i0">The man who stands with arms a-kimbo set,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Until occasion tell him what to do;<br></span>
<span class="i0">And he who waits to have his task marked out,<br></span>
<span class="i0">Shall die, and leave his errand unfulfilled."<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>The <i>Learned Blacksmith</i>, as he is popularly called,
acquired thirty, or more, different languages, while
daily working at his laborious trade. He was accustomed
to study while taking his meals, and to have
an open book placed upon the anvil, while he
worked. A celebrated physiological writer, alluding
to the habits of this persevering devotee of philology,
says, that nothing but his uninterrupted practice of
his Vulcan-tasks preserved his health under the vast
amount of mental labor he imposed upon himself.<a name="Page_440" id="Page_440"></a></p>

<p>Another of our distinguished countrymen, now a
prominent popular orator, is said to have accumulated
food for future usefulness, while devoting the
energies of the outer man to the employment of <i>a
wagoner</i>, amid the grand scenic influences of the
majestic Alleghanies. The early life of Franklin, of
the "Mill-boy of the Slashes," of Webster, and of
many others whose names have become watchwords
among us, are, doubtless, familiar to you, as examples
in this respect.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Looking upon the busy active world around me,&mdash;as
I sometimes like to do&mdash;from behind the screen of
my newspaper, seated in the reading-room of a hotel,
I became the auditor of the following conversation,
between two young men, who were stationed near a
window, watching the passing throng of a crowded
thoroughfare.</p>

<p>"By George! there's Van K&mdash;&mdash;," exclaimed one,
with unusual animation.</p>

<p>"Which one,&mdash;where?" eagerly interrogated his
companion.</p>

<p>"That's he, this side, with the Byronic nose, and
short steps&mdash;he's great! What a fellow he is for
making money, though!"</p>

<p>"Does it by his talents, don't he?&mdash;nobody like
him, in the Bar of this State, for genius,&mdash;that's a
fact&mdash;carries everything through by the <i>force of
genius</i>!"</p>

<p>"Dev'lish clever, no doubt," assented the other,<a name="Page_441" id="Page_441"></a>
"but he used to study, I tell you, like a hero, when
he was younger."</p>

<p>"Never heard that of him," answered the other
youth, "how the deuce could he? He has always
been a <i>man about town</i>&mdash;real fashionable fellow&mdash;practised
always, since he was admitted, and everybody
knows no one dines out, and goes to parties
with more of a rush than Van K&mdash;&mdash;, and he always
has."</p>

<p>"That may all be, but my mother, who has known
him well for years, was telling me, the other day,
that those who were most charmed with his wit, and
belle-lettre scholarship, when he first came upon the
<i>tapis</i>, little knew the pains he took to accomplish
himself. '<i>He exhibited the result, not the machinery</i>,'
she said, but he <i>did</i> study, and study hard,
when other young fellows were asleep, or raising
h&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>

<p>"As for that," interrupted the other, "he always
did his full share of all the deviltry going, or I am
shrewdly mistaken!"</p>

<p>"Nobody surpasses him at that, any more than at
his regular trade," laughed his companion&mdash;"oh, but
he's rich! Jim Williams was telling me (Jim studies
with S&mdash;&mdash; and Van K&mdash;&mdash;) how he put down old
S&mdash;&mdash; the other day. It seems S&mdash;&mdash; had been laid
on the shelf with a tooth-ache&mdash;dev'lish bad&mdash;face
all swelled up&mdash;old fellow real sick, and no mistake.
Well, one morning, after he'd been gone several
days, he managed to pull up, and make his appearance
at the office. It was early&mdash;no one there but<a name="Page_442" id="Page_442"></a>
Van K&mdash;&mdash; and the boys&mdash;Jim and the rest of the fellows&mdash;tearing
away at the books and papers. So old
S&mdash;&mdash; dropped down in an arm-chair by the stove,
and began a hifalutin description of his sorrows and
sufferings while he had been sick&mdash;quite in the 'pile
on the agony' style! Well, just as the old boy got
fairly warmed up, and was going it smoothly, Van
K&mdash;&mdash; bawled out:&mdash;'Y-a-s! Mr.&nbsp;S&mdash;&mdash;! will you
have time, this morning, to look over these papers,
in the case of Smith against Brown?' Jim said he
never saw an old rip so cut down in all his life, and,
as soon as he went out, there was a general bust up,
at his expense!"</p>

<p>"How confounded heartless!" exclaimed the elder
youth, rising&mdash;"by Heaven, I hope a man needn't
set aside the common sympathies and decencies of
humanity, to secure success in his profession, or in
society!" and as he passed me, I caught the flush of
manly indignation that mantled his beardless cheek,
and the lightning-flash of youthful genius that
enkindled his large blue eyes.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"What are you doing there, sir?" inquired one of
the early Presidents of our Republic, of his nephew,
who was standing before an open writing-desk, in his
private apartment.</p>

<p>"Only getting some paper and pencils, sir," replied
the young man.</p>

<p>"That <a name="tn_png_442"></a><!--TN: "stationary" changed to "stationery"-->stationery, sir, belongs to the Federal Government!"
returned the American patriot, impres<a name="Page_443" id="Page_443"></a>sively,
and sternly, and resumed his previous occupation.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>Daniel Webster, in conversation with a familiar
friend, said:</p>

<p>"From the time that, at my mother's feet, or on my
father's knees, I first learned to lisp verses from the
Sacred Writings, they have been my daily study,
and vigilant contemplation. If there be anything in
my style or thoughts worthy to be commended, the
credit is due to my kind parents, in instilling into
my early mind a love for the Scriptures."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"How long will it take you," inquired Napoleon,
of the young brother-in-law of Junot, "to acquaint
yourself with the Coptic language, and be prepared
to go to Egypt on a secret service?"</p>

<p>"Three months, sire," replied the energetic
Frenchman, with scarcely a perceptible pause for
consideration.</p>

<p>"<i>Bien!</i>" returned the great Captain, "begin at
once." And he moved on in his briefly-interrupted
walk, through the <i>salon</i> of the beautiful mother of
the youth, saying to the Turkish Ambassador, who
accompanied his stroll:&mdash;"There is such a son as
one might expect from such a mother!"</p>

<p>Three months from that night there left the private
cabinet of Napoleon, a stripling, of slight form
and yet unsunned brow, charged by him who <i>knew
men by intuition</i>, with a task of fearful risk and re<a name="Page_444" id="Page_444"></a>sponsibility;
and, on the morrow, he was embarked
on the blue waters of the Mediterranean, speeding
toward a land where, from the heights of the Pyramids,
a thousand years would behold his deeds!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"I swear, I'll cut that woman! I'll never call
there again, that I am determined!" cried Paul
Duncan, impetuously.</p>

<p>"But why, brother? Don't judge too hastily,"
replied his sister, gently. "The whole family have
always been so kind to us; for my part, I think one
seldom meets persons of more polished manners,
and"&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Polished manners!" interrupted the irritable
man, rudely, "what do you call <i>polished manners</i>?
I gave up R&mdash;&mdash; himself, just because he is so devilish
<i>un</i>-polished, long ago. He passed me, once or
twice, in Wall-street, with his head down, and didn't
even bow! after that I let him run!"</p>

<p>"He is so engrossed in his philanthropic schemes
that, I suppose, he really did not see you," <a name="tn_png_444"></a><!--TN: "inter posed" changed to "interposed"-->interposed
his sister, mildly. "But the ladies are not
responsible for his peccadilloes."</p>

<p>"No, they cannot answer for their own, <i>to me</i>,"
retorted the other, with bitterness. "When I went
in, last evening, she and her mother were both in
the room. The old lady rose, civilly enough, but
Mrs.&nbsp;R&mdash;&mdash; kept her seat, partly behind a table, even
when I went to her and shook hands."</p>

<p>"Dear brother," expostulated his companion,<a name="Page_445" id="Page_445"></a>
"don't you know that Mrs.&nbsp;R&mdash;&mdash; is not well? She
has not been out in <a name="tn_png_445"></a><!--TN: Period added after "months"-->months."</p>

<p>"What the devil, then, does she make her appearance
for, if she can't observe the common proprieties
of life?"</p>

<p>"I doubt whether you would have seen her, had
she not been in the room when you entered. Did
she remain during the whole time of your call?"</p>

<p>"Certainly; but the old woman slipped out, when
some bustle appeared to be going on in the hall, and
never made her appearance again, at all, only sending
in a servant, just as I was going away, to say that she
'hoped to be excused, as her father had just arrived.'"</p>

<p>"He is very aged, and she always attends upon
him herself, when he is there, even to combing his
hair," explained the gentler spirit. "I remember
admiring her devotion to the old man, who is very
peculiar, and somewhat disagreeable to persons generally,
when I was staying there a day or two."</p>

<p>"Well, well; what has that to do with her treatment
of me? Couldn't she trust him with the rest of the
family for a few minutes? There is a tribe of women
always on hand there, besides a retinue of servants."</p>

<p>"If you will permit me to say so, without offense,
Charley," returned the lady, with sudden determination
of manner, "I fear you did not display your
usual <i>tact</i> on the occasion, and that you, perhaps,
took offense at circumstances resulting from the embarrassment
of our friends, rather than from any intention
to be impolite to you. Ladies are not always
equally well, equally self-possessed, equally in com<a name="Page_446" id="Page_446"></a>pany-mood,
or company-dress. I don't know what
might not befall any of us, were we not judged of,
by our friends rather by our general manner to
them, than by any little peculiarities, of which we
may be ourselves wholly unconscious at the time."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>If you are as much impressed as I was, upon first
perusing them, with the following sentences from
Sir Humphrey Davy's pen, you will require no
apology from me, for transcribing them here.</p>

<p>"I envy no quality of mind or intellect in others&mdash;not
of genius, power, wit, or fancy; but, if I could
choose what would be most delightful, and, I believe,
most useful, to me, I should prefer <i>a firm religious
belief</i>, to every other blessing, for it makes life a discipline
of goodness, creates new hope, when earthly
hopes vanish, and throws over the decay, the destruction,
of existence, the most gorgeous of all light;
awakens life, even in death, and, from decay, calls
up beauty and divinity; makes an instrument of
torture and shame the ladder of ascent to Paradise;
and, far above all combination of earthly hopes, calls
up the most delightful visions&mdash;palms and amaranths,
the gardens of the blessed, the security of
everlasting joys, where the sensualist and the skeptic
view only gloom, decay, and annihilation."</p>

<p>With these sublime words, my dear nephews, I
bid you, affectionately,</p>

<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature1">Adieu!<br></span>
<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">Henry Lunettes.</span><br></span>
</div>





<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447"></a>
<h2><a name="LETTER_XII" id="LETTER_XII"></a>LETTER XII.</h2>

<p class="chapterdescribe">CHOICE OF COMPANIONS AND FRIENDS&mdash;SELECTION OF A
PURSUIT IN LIFE&mdash;COURTSHIP&mdash;MARRIAGE&mdash;HOUSEKEEPING&mdash;PECUNIARY
MATTERS, ETC.</p>


<p class="chapterstart">My dear Nephews:</p>

<p class="firstpara"><span class="firstwords">I think</span> it was Burke who said that those
who desire to improve, should always choose, as
companions, persons of more knowledge and virtue
than themselves. He had, however, the happy
faculty of eliciting information from all with whom
he came in contact, even as the bee extracts sweetness
from the most insignificant and unattractive
flower. It is said of him, you are aware, that he
never took refuge under a projecting eave for five
minutes, to escape a shower, with another man,
without either giving or receiving instruction.</p>

<p>His excellent habit in this respect, nevertheless, in
no degree invalidated the practical wisdom of the
remark I have ascribed to this celebrated statesman.
It is not easy to attach too much importance to the
<i>choice of Companions and Friends</i>, especially during
that period of life when we are most susceptible
to outward influences.</p>

<p>Much enjoyment is derived from association with<a name="Page_448" id="Page_448"></a>
those whose tastes, pursuits, and sentiments are
similar to our own; but, in making a selection in
this respect, it is better to seek the companionship
of persons whose influence will have the effect to
elevate rather than to depress our own mental and
moral standard. Hence, young persons will be
most improved by the example of those whose
greater maturity of years and acquirement give
them the advantage of <i>experience</i>.</p>

<p>Byron and others of the morbid school to which
he belonged, or rather, perhaps, which he originated,
strove to establish as a truth, the libellous
charge that humanity is incapable of true, disinterested
friendship. Happily for the dignity and
healthfulness of the youthful mind, this affected
misanthropy, having had its day, is dying the
natural death to which error is doomed, and we
are again permitted to respect our common nature
without wholly renouncing our claims to poetic
sensibility!</p>

<p>It seems, to my poor perceptions, that there needs
no better test of the capacities of our fellow-creatures,
with regard to the nobler sentiments, than
<i>our own self-consciousness</i>! If we know ourselves
capable of lofty aspirations, of self-sacrifice for
others' good, of rejoicing in the happiness of our
friends, of deep, enduring affection for them, by
what arrogant right shall we assume ourselves
superior to the race to which we belong?</p>

<p>As the man who habitually rails at the gentler
sex must, necessarily, have been peculiarly unfortunate
in his <i>earliest associations</i> with woman, so he<a name="Page_449" id="Page_449"></a>
who professes a disbelief in true friendship, may be
presumed, not only to have chosen his associates
unwisely, but to be himself ill-constituted and
ill-disciplined. If</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;"<span class="smcap">Virtue</span> is more than a shade or a sound,<br></span>
<span class="i2">And man may her voice, in this being, obey,"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">then is friendship one of the purest and highest
sources of human enjoyment!</p>

<p>Eschew, then, the debasing, soul-restraining maxims
of Byron, Rochefoucauld, and their imitators,
and seek in communion with the gifted and the
good, elevated enjoyment and inspiring incentives
to noble purposes and manly achievements.</p>

<p>But if the old Spanish proverb, "<i>Show me your
friends and I will tell you what you are</i>," is
applicable to the selection of ordinary associates, of
how much more significance is it in relation to
<i>confidants</i>! To require such a friend, pre-supposes
the need of <i>advice</i>, and only superiority in age and
knowledge of the world and of the human heart,
can qualify any one for the responsibility thus
assumed. Nothing is more frequently volunteered
by the inexperienced than advice, while <i>they who
properly appreciate its importance are the least
likely to give it unasked</i>.</p>

<p>In connection with the subject of confidences and
confidants, ponder well the concentrated wisdom
contained in this brief sentence: "Be careful <i>of
whom you speak, to whom you speak, and how, and
when, and where</i>."</p>

<p>If from self-consciousness we draw conclusive<a name="Page_450" id="Page_450"></a>
proofs of the elevated powers of our nature, we also
learn, with equal certainty, the need that all have
of forbearance, lenity, and forgiveness. They who
look for <i>perfection</i> in human companions, will entail
upon themselves a life-long solitude of spirit. Some
one has prettily said that the fault of a friend is like
a flaw in a beautiful china vase; the defect is remediless;
let us overlook it, and dwell only upon what
will give us pleasure.</p>

<p>It is almost useless to attempt to give you any
advice with respect to the choice of an occupation in
life. I trust, however, that you need no argument to
convince you that respectability and happiness unitedly
require, let your pecuniary circumstances be
what they may, that you should have such an incentive
to the due exercise of your powers of body
and mind.</p>

<p>No consideration is, perhaps, more important than
that of <i>following the natural inclination</i> in making
this decision, provided outward circumstances render
it possible to do so; and in this country a man
may almost always overcome obstacles of this kind,
by patient perseverance.</p>

<p>The impression, formerly so prevalent, that none
but the three learned professions, as they are called,
require a thorough education, as a prelude, is, I must
believe, much less generally entertained, than when
I was a young man. And this is as it should <a name="tn_png_450"></a><!--TN: Period added after "be"-->be.
There can be no human employment that is not facilitated
by the aid of a cultivated, disciplined intellect,
and our young countrymen, who so frequently
make some temporary and lucrative occupation the<a name="Page_451" id="Page_451"></a>
stepping-stone to advancement, should always bear
this in mind. One day, America, like Venice of
old, will be a land of merchant princes&mdash;but none
will take rank among these self-elevated patricians
but they who add the polish, the refinement and the
wealth of intellect, to the power derived from external
circumstances.</p>

<p>The <i>Physical Sciences</i> and the <i>Inventive</i> and <i>Practical
Arts</i> are claiming the attention of our times to
a degree never before known; and these afford new
and sufficient avenues for the exercise of talents tending
rather to mechanical than to metaphysical exertion.</p>

<p>Remember, always, that a man may give dignity
to any honest employment to which he shall devote
his energies&mdash;and better so, than to possess no claims
to respect except those bestowed by position. As
the pursuit of wealth as an end, rather than a means,
is not the noblest of human purposes, so mere occupation
and external belongings do not determine the
real worth of mind or character.</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"I am brother to the <i>Worker</i>,<br></span>
<span class="i2">And I love his manly look,<br></span>
<span class="i0">As I love a thought of beauty,<br></span>
<span class="i2">Living, star-like, in a book.<br></span>
<span class="i0">I am brother to the humblest,<br></span>
<span class="i2">In the world's red-handed strife,&mdash;<br></span>
<span class="i0">Those who wield the sword of labor,<br></span>
<span class="i2">In the battle ranks of life!<br></span>
<span class="i0">&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br></span>
<span class="i0">&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br></span>
<span class="i0">Never let the worker falter,<br></span>
<span class="i2">Nor his cause&mdash;for hope is strong;<a name="Page_452" id="Page_452"></a><br></span>
<span class="i0">He shall live a monarch glorious<br></span>
<span class="i2">In the people's coming throng.<br></span>
<span class="i0">There's a sound comes from the future,<br></span>
<span class="i2">Like the sound of many lays;<br></span>
<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Freedom</span> <i>strikes her harp for toilers</i>,<br></span>
<span class="i2">Loud as when the thunder plays!"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>While on this subject, permit me to call your
attention to a matter which, though of minor importance,
is not unworthy of consideration. Men with
but little knowledge of the world are apt to <i>betray
their occupation by their manner and conversation&mdash;to
smell of the shop</i>, as it is often, somewhat coarsely,
expressed. Thus, an <i>artist</i> will talk habitually of
such matters as arrest the peculiar perceptions he
has quickened into acuteness by culture, and even
use the technicalities of language which, though
familiar to him, may be, and probably are, unintelligible
to persons of general cultivation only. A
<i>physician</i> will sometimes go about with a heavy,
ivory-headed cane, and a grand, pompous look,
which may, perchance, be <i>professional</i>, but it is not
the less absurd, unless as a means of impressing the
vulgar; and he often falls into the impression that
any sacrifice to the Graces, or any regard for the
weaknesses of humanity, when in a sick-room, are
entirely beneath his dignity. <i>Lawyers</i> will use
Latin phrases, and legal technicalities, in the society
of ladies, and the <i>gentlemen of the black cloth</i>
not only carry the pulpit into the drawing-room, but
permit themselves to be lionized by devout old women,
and sentimental young ones, into the best seat
in an apartment, or a carriage, the tit-bits at table,<a name="Page_453" id="Page_453"></a>
and a sum-total of mawkish man-worship. As I
have said, all this savors of <i>ignorance of the world</i>,
as it does of latent egotism, and deficient self-respect.
Note, therefore, the probable effects&mdash;when unrestrained
by self-scrutiny&mdash;of <i>moving in a limited
sphere of action</i>, and always bear in mind that your
individual occupations and interests, though of great
personal importance, are comparatively insignificant
in the consideration of others; that you yourself
make, when viewed from a general stand-point, but
<i>a single unit</i> of the great mass to whom your interests,
purposes, and merits, are matters alike of profound
indifference and unquestioning ignorance.</p>

<p>"No man," says Jean Paul, <i>the only one</i>, as the
Germans call him, "can live piously or die righteously
without a wife;" and one of the most celebrated
observers of human nature among our own countrymen,
has bequeathed us the recorded opinion that
an early marriage with an amiable and virtuous woman
is, next to a firm religious faith, the best safeguard
to the happiness and principles of a young
man.</p>

<p>In our prosperous land, where the means of living
are diversified almost equally with the necessities of
life, it is far less hazardous to assume the responsibilities
arising from early marriage, than in other
countries. Everything is, in a certain sense, precocious
here. Extreme youth is no barrier to independence
of effort and position&mdash;none to self-reliance
and success. It may be questioned whether the tax
thus prematurely imposed upon the intellect, as well
as the physique, does not, in some degree, tend, not<a name="Page_454" id="Page_454"></a>
only to eventual mediocrity of power, but to quickened
diminution of the vital energies.</p>

<p>Hence it is, doubtless, well to adopt the <i>golden
mean</i> in regard to every important step in life. And
though I would by no means counsel you not to
marry until you have accumulated a fortune, I would
strenuously advise you to possess yourselves of something
like a prospective certainty of maintenance,
and of sound knowledge of human nature and of
<i>yourself</i>, before so far committing your future happiness.</p>

<p>One prominent cause of the multitude of unhappy
unions, I am persuaded, is the ignorance of their
own true characters with which young persons are
so frequently united. Wholly immature in body
and mind, when they commence married life, as they
develop, under the influence of time and circumstance,
they awaken to the discovery of an irreconcilable
difference, not only in taste, sentiment, and
opinion, but, what is worse, in principle. This is
one extreme. On the contrary, the marriage of persons
of decided character, before habit has rendered
it difficult to mould themselves into conformity with
the peculiarities from which none are exempt, is desirable.
The sooner those who are to tread the path
of life side by side, learn the assimilation that shall
render the way smoother and easier to both, the
greater will be their share of earthly contentment;
and this will be most readily achieved, no doubt,
while youthful pliancy and adaptability still exist.</p>

<p>Every discriminating, self-informed man, should
be the best judge of the essential requisites for<a name="Page_455" id="Page_455"></a>
domestic happiness, in his individual case. Such an
one will not need to be reminded that all abstract or
generally-applicable rules must needs be modified, in
many instances, for personal usefulness. But no one
will question the desirableness of <i>health</i>, <i>good temper</i>,
and <i>education</i>, in the companion of domestic life.</p>

<p>By education, I do not mean an acquaintance with
all, or even with any one, of what are termed <i>accomplishments</i>.
A woman may be well-informed, and
self-disciplined, to a degree that will render her an
admirable wife for a man of sense, without being
able to speak any but her vernacular tongue, or play
upon any instrument, save that <i>harp of a thousand
strings&mdash;the Human Heart</i>!</p>

<p>Do not understand me as undervaluing the graceful
embellishments of social and domestic life, as
presented by the lovelier part of creation. I wish
only to express, in my plain, blunt way, the conviction
that the most elegant and varied accomplishments
are a very poor equivalent for <i>poverty of the
head and heart</i>, in the woman who is to become the
friend and counsellor to whom you will look for
enduring, discriminating affection and sympathy, as
well when the trials, the cares, and the sorrows of
mortal existence shall lower heavily over you, as
while you mutually dance along amid the flowers
and the sunshine of youth.</p>

<p>A career of fashionable idleness, irresponsibility,
and dissipation, is not a desirable prelude to the systematic
routine of quiet duties essential to the home-happiness
of a man of moderate resources and<a name="Page_456" id="Page_456"></a>
retired habits. It may be questioned whether a
woman who has been long accustomed to the adulation
and the excitement of a crowd, will be content
to find enjoyment, sufficient and enduring, in the
simple pleasures which alone will be at her command,
thus circumstanced.</p>

<p>But, while even the incentives afforded by all the
affection of which such an ephemeral being is
capable, will render conformity to this new position
difficult of attainment, she who is early accustomed
to look thoughtfully upon life as beautiful and
bright indeed, but as involving serious responsibilities
and solemn obligations, will bring to a union
with one of similar perceptions and principles, a
sense of right and duty, which, if strengthened by a
commingling of hearts, will make it no discouraging
task to her to <i>begin with her husband where he
begins</i>. Such an one will be content to tread on at
an even pace beside him, through the roughness that
may beset his progress, cheerfully encountering
obstacles, resolute to conquer or endure, as the case
may be; and ever fully imbued with that patient,
hopeful, loving spirit, whose motto is "bear one
another's burdens."</p>

<p>You will think it more consistent with the caution
of an old man, than the ardor natural to a young one,
that I should advise you to pay proper respect to
the claims of the relations or guardians of any lady
to whom you wish to pay your addresses. I will,
nevertheless, venture to assert that, for many reasons,
you will, in after life, have reason to congratulate<a name="Page_457" id="Page_457"></a>
yourself upon pursuing a manly, open, honorable
course in relation to every feature of this important
era in your career.</p>

<p>A friendship with a woman considerably older
than himself (if she be married, it will be all the better)
and especially if he have not older sisters, or is
separated from them, is of incalculable advantage to
a young man, when based upon true principles of
thought and action,&mdash;not only in relation to subjects
especially pertaining to affairs of the heart, but
respecting a thousand nameless practical matters, as
well as of mental culture, taste, sentiment, and conventional
proprieties. Such a female friend&mdash;matured
by the advantages of nature and circumstances&mdash;will
secure you present enjoyment of an elevated
character, together with constant benefit and improvement,
and expect from you, in return for the
great good she renders you, only those graceful courtesies
and attentions which a man of true good-breeding
always regards as equally obligatory and agreeable.</p>

<p>Let there be, however, a certain <i>gravity</i> mingled
with the manifestations of regard you exhibit
towards all married women, the dominance of <i>respect</i>
in your manner towards them, and never permit any
consideration to induce you to forget the established
right of every husband to sanction or not, at his
pleasure, the most abstractly unexceptionable friendship
between his wife and another man.</p>

<p>Every man with a nice sense of honor, will indicate,
by his prevailing bearing and language towards<a name="Page_458" id="Page_458"></a>
women a <i>felt</i> distinction between the intentions of
friendship, and those of a suitor or lover. And while
he observes towards all women, and under all circumstances,
the respectful courtesy due to them, he
will not hesitate to make his purpose intelligible,
<i>where he has conceived sufficient esteem to engender
matrimonial intentions</i>. Proper self-respect, as well
as the consideration due to a lady and her friends,
demands this.</p>

<p>I repeat, that no degree of devotion to one,
excuses incivility to other female acquaintances in
society; and I will add that the most acceptable
attentions to a woman of sense and delicacy, are
not those that render her generally conspicuous, but
such as express an ever-present remembrance of
her comfort and a quick discernment of her real
feelings and wishes.</p>

<p>So in the matter of presents, and similar expressions
of politeness, good taste will dictate no lavish
expenditure, unwarranted by pecuniary resources,
and inconsistent with the general surroundings of
either party, but rather a prevailing harmony that
will be really a juster tribute to the object of your
regard, as well as a more creditable proof of your
own tact and judgment. All compliments, whether
thus expressed, or by word of mouth, should be
characterized by delicate discrimination and punctilious
respect. It is said that women judge of
character by details: certain it is that what may
seem trifles to us, often sensibly influence their
opinions of men. Their perceptions are so keen,<a name="Page_459" id="Page_459"></a>
their sensibilities so acute, in comparison with ours,
that we would err materially in estimating them by
the same gauge we apply to each other, and thus
the mysteries of the female heart will always remain
in a degree insoluble, even to the acutest masculine
penetration.</p>

<p>But though the nicest shades of sentiment and
feeling may escape our coarser perceptions, we need
no unusual discernment to perceive the effects of
kindness, gentleness, and forbearance in our domestic
relations. "I cannot much esteem the man,"
Rowland Hill remarked, "whose wife, children, and
servants, and even the cat and dog, are not sensibly
happier for his presence." Depend upon it, no
fabled Genii could confer on you a talisman so
effective as the power bestowed by the enshrinement
in your heart of the <i>Law of Kindness</i>. In proportion
to the delicacy of woman's organization is her susceptibility
to such influence, and he who carelessly
outrages the exquisite sensibilities that make the
peculiar charm of her nature, will too often learn,
when the lesson brings with it only the bitterness
of experience,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">&mdash;&mdash;"how light a cause<br></span>
<span class="i0">May move dissension between hearts that love."<br></span>
</div></div>

<p class="continue">Shun, then, as you would the introduction into your
physical system of an insidious but irradicable
poison,</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"<i>The first slight swerving of the heart,</i><br></span>
<span class="i0"><i>That words are powerless to express!</i>"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>But while you seek to illustrate your constant<a name="Page_460" id="Page_460"></a>
remembrance that you have, by the act of marriage,
"bound yourself to be good-humored, affable, discreet,
forgiving, patient, and joyful, with respect to
frailties and imperfections to the end of life," bear in
mind, also, that your influence over another imposes
duties of various kinds upon you, and that you
should use that influence with far-sighted wisdom,
to produce the greatest ultimate good. Thus you
will be convinced that it is the truest kindness to
minister to the <i>intellect</i> and the <i>affections</i> of woman,
rather than to her vanity, and that in proportion as
you assist her to exalt her <i>higher nature</i> into
dominance, will you be rewarded by a spirit-union
commensurate to the most exalted necessities of
your own.</p>

<p>I have known men, in my time, who seemed to
have a fixed belief that all manifestations of the
gentler instincts of humanity are unworthy of the
dignity of manhood, and who, by habitually repressing
all exhibitions of natural emotion, had apparently
succeeded in steeling their hearts, as well
against all softening external impressions as to the
inspiration of the "still, sad music of" their better
selves. All elevated emotions, whether of an
affectionate or religious character, are too sacred for
general observance: "When thou prayest, enter into
thy closet and <i>shut the door</i>," was the direction of
our great Teacher, and so with the <i>religion of the
heart</i> (if you will permit me the phrase), it would
be desecrated, were it possible&mdash;which from its very
nature it is not&mdash;to parade its outward tokens to
indifferent eyes. And yet I return to a prior <a name="tn_png_460"></a><!--TN: "stand point" changed to "stand-point"-->stand-<a name="Page_461" id="Page_461"></a>point
and insist that there is a middle-ground, even
here, the <i>juste milieu</i>, as the French say.&mdash;<i>Apropos</i>&mdash;the
ancient Romans used the same word to designate
<i>family affection</i> and <i>piety</i>.</p>

<p>Intimately connected with the happiness of domestic
life is the due consideration of <i>pecuniary affairs</i>.</p>

<p>But, before we proceed to their discussion, let me,
as long a somewhat scrutinizing observer of the
varying phases of social life, in our own country
especially, enter my earnest protest against the practice
so commonly adopted by newly-married persons,
of <i>boarding</i>, in place of at once establishing for
themselves the distinctive and ennobling prerogatives
of <span class="smcap">home</span>. Language and time would alike fail
me in an endeavor to set forth the manifold evils
inevitably growing out of this fashionable system.
Take the advice of an old man, who has tested theories
by prolonged experience, and at once establish
your <i>Penates</i> within four walls, and under a roof
that will, at times, exclude all who are not properly
denizens of your household, upon assuming the
rights and obligations of married life. Do not be
deterred from this step by the conviction that you
cannot shrine your home-deities upon pedestals of
marble. <i>Cover their bases with flowers</i>&mdash;God's free
gift to all&mdash;and the plainest support will suffice for
them, if it be but <i>firm</i>.</p>

<p>With right views of the true aims and enjoyments
of life, it will be no impossible achievement to establish
your household appointments within the limits
of your income, whatever that may be, and to entertain
the conviction that the duty of providing for<a name="Page_462" id="Page_462"></a>
possible, if not probable, future contingencies, is imperative
with those who have assumed conjugal and
paternal responsibilities.</p>

<p>Firm adherence to such a system of living will
bring with it a thousand collateral pleasures and
privileges, and secure the only true independence.
Nothing is more unworthy than the sacrifice of
genuine hospitality, taste, and refinement, to the
requisitions of mere fashion, in such arrangements;
no thraldom so degrading as that imposed by the
union of poverty and false pride. What latent egotism,
too, in the pre-supposed idea that the world at
large takes careful cognizance of the individualizing
specialities of any man, save when he trenches on
the reserved rights of others.</p>

<p>True self-respect, then, as well as enlarged perceptions
of real life, will dictate a judicious adjustment
of means to desired results, and teach the willing
adoption of safe moderation in all.</p>

<p>Happily, <i>comfort</i> and <i>refinement</i> may be secured
without ruinous expenditure, even by the most modest
beginners in housekeeping. Industry, ingenuity
and taste, will lend embellishment to the simplest
home, and the young, at least, can well afford to dispense
with enervating luxury and pretentious display.</p>

<p>With due deference to individual taste, I would
commend the cultivation and gratification of a <i>love
of books and works of art</i>, in preference to the purchase
of costly furniture, mirrors, and the like.
Fine prints (which are preferable to indifferent paintings)
are now within obtainable reach, by many who<a name="Page_463" id="Page_463"></a>
permit themselves few indulgences, comparatively,
and everything having a tendency to foster the
ćsthetical perceptions and enjoyments of children,
and to exalt these gratifications into habitual supremacy
over the grosser pleasures of sense, or the exhibitions
of vanity, is worthy of regard. And as no
avoidable demands of the outer life should be permitted
to diminish the resources of either the heart
or the mind, well-selected <i>books</i> will take high rank
among the belongings of a well-appointed house.</p>

<p>To sum up all, my dear friends, if you aim at
rational happiness, let there be what is artistically
termed <i>keeping</i> in your whole system of life. Let
your style of dress, your mode of housekeeping, and
entertaining, your relaxations, amusements, occupations,
and resources, be harmoniously combined.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>"Where and how is the most charming of Jewesses?"
I asked one morning of an old friend, upon
whom I had been making an unreasonably early call,
rising to go.</p>

<p>"Here, sir, and very well," responded a cheerful
voice from an adjoining room. "Will you not come
in a moment?"</p>

<p>The smiling "home-mother" opened wide the half-open
door through which my queries had been answered,
and seconded her daughter's invitation.</p>

<p>There sat my fair young friend, with a small table
before her, covered with sewing materials, and a
huge overcoat upon her lap. She was in a simple,<a name="Page_464" id="Page_464"></a>
neat morning-dress, and plying the needle with great
industry. She apologized for not rising to receive
me, but not for continuing her occupation after I
seated myself.</p>

<p>"As busily engaged as ever, I see," said I.</p>

<p>"Rather more so than usual, just now. Fred has
come home in a very dilapidated condition."</p>

<p>"And you are repairing him. But what are you
doing with that huge, bearish-looking coat? It's as
much as you can do to lift it, I should judge."</p>

<p>"Oh, I've been putting in new front-facings and
sleeve-linings, and fixing it up a little," returned
she. "But, Colonel, do tell me, have you read Macaulay's
second volume?"</p>

<p>I replied that I had dipped into it, and added:
"But, before we discuss Macaulay, I want you to
tell me how you learned to be so accomplished a tailoress?"</p>

<p>"Rebecca can do anything she wishes," said her
mother, in a soft, gentle voice, "<i>the heart is a
good teacher</i>."</p>

<p>"Thank you, mother," rejoined the sweet girl,
"Colonel Lunettes will make allowance for your
natural partiality."</p>

<p>"I would, were it necessary, my dear," I answered,
"but I can decide for myself in your case."</p>

<p>A bow, a blush, and a pleasant laugh responded,
and, rising, she deposited the heavy garment she
had been repairing, upon the arm of a chair, and
immediately reseating herself, placed a large basket
full of woollen stockings, at her side, threaded a stout
alderman-like-looking darning needle with thick<a name="Page_465" id="Page_465"></a>
yarn, and began to mend a formidable hole in one
of the socks. Her brother is an engineer, and I
divined at a glance, that those strong, warm things
were, like the blanket-coat, part of his outfit for a
campaign in the swamps.</p>

<p>"I am delighted with Macaulay's elaborate
sketches of individuals," resumed the busy seamstress,
drawing out her long needle and thread, and
returning it with the speed and accuracy of nicely-adjusted
machinery; "do you recollect his portraiture
of the <i>Trimmer</i>?"</p>

<p>"It is very fine," I answered, like everything else
Macaulay has written. "Nothing, however, has
impressed me more, thus far, in his history, than his
description of the condition of the clergy of the Established
Church, in the rural districts, during the
reign of James, and later even."</p>

<p>"I, too, was exceedingly interested in it," replied
Rebecca. "And the more, that I was reminded of
the fate of the <i>daughters</i> of English country curates,
even at this day; of 'gentle blude,' many times, born
and educated ladies, they are subjected, frequently,
through life, to toil and suffering that would excuse
their envying the fate of a mere kitchen-drudge!"</p>

<p>"They are, usually, governesses for life, and never
marry," continued I.</p>

<p>"Never marry&mdash;though they are so educated and
disciplined, as to be peculiarly well-fitted for the
fulfillment of woman's dearest and highest destiny!
Thank God! I was born where such social thraldom,
such hateful monstrosities, are not!" And the face<a name="Page_466" id="Page_466"></a>
that turned its glance upward, for an instant, with
those last fervent words, was overspread with a glow
bright as the crimson hue of sunset.</p>

<p>But, though my friend Rebecca, was the last
woman in the world to</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Die of a rose, in aromatic pain,"</p>

<p class="continue">she was a perfect Sybarite, in some respects, as I will
convince you.</p>

<p>Entering her mother's tasteful, pretty drawing-room,
a few evenings after this conversation, I found
the charming "Jewess," as I sometimes called her,
in allusion to Scott's celebrated heroine, reading by
the light of an astral lamp. She was elegantly, and,
I suppose fashionably, dressed, and reclining in a
large, luxurious-looking, stuffed chair, with her
daintily-slippered feet, half buried in a soft crimson
cushion. In short, she was the very impersonation
of the "unbought grace" of one of Nature's queens.
Had I been younger, by some fifty years, I should
have been tempted, beyond a doubt, to do oriental
homage to so much loveliness.</p>

<p>"By the way, Rebecca," said I, after a few minutes'
chat with my hostess, "I must tell you of a
witticism you elicited, this morning, from one of
your admirers!"</p>

<p>"One of my admirers! Who, pray?"</p>

<p>"Guess! Well, I won't tantalize you!&mdash;Howard
Parker!"</p>

<p>"You tell me something, Colonel! I am not entitled
to enter Mr.&nbsp;Parker on my list of <a name="tn_png_466"></a><!--TN: Period added after "friends"-->friends."<a name="Page_467" id="Page_467"></a></p>

<p>"What, what! that to me, my dear? I have a
great mind to punish you, by not telling you what
he said."</p>

<p>"As you please, Colonel Lunettes!" with a coquettish
toss of her long ringlets.</p>

<p>"Please, tell <i>me</i>, Colonel!" interposed her mother,
smilingly; "don't mind Rebecca's nonsense&mdash;tell
me!"</p>

<p>"In a whisper?" I inquired, laughing, and <a name="tn_png_467"></a><!--TN: "glancind" changed to "glancing"-->glancing
at the "Jewess." "I hardly dare to venture
that! Well! meeting Howard, who is a great favorite
of mine, in the street, this morning, he told me
he was coming here, to call. 'Steel your heart,
then,' said I&mdash;'Or <i>she will steal it</i>!' he answered, as
quick as thought."</p>

<p>"Quite a <i>jeu d'esprit</i>!" exclaimed Rebecca,
laughing gaily. "But, Colonel, Mr.&nbsp;Parker may be
witty, accomplished, and intellectual, but he is <i>not a
gentleman</i>!"</p>

<p>"My daughter, you are severe," said her mother,
deprecatingly.</p>

<p>"I don't mean to be, mother; but"&mdash;</p>

<p>"From what do you draw such a sweeping inference,
my child?" I inquired.</p>

<p>"From <i>trifles</i>, dear sir, I admit; but</p>

<p class="centerpoem">&mdash;&mdash;'trifles make the sum of human things!'</p>

<p class="continue">and slight peculiarities often indicate character.
For instance, Mr.&nbsp;Parker keeps his hat on, when he
is talking to ladies, and neglects his teeth and hair&mdash;you
needn't laugh, mamma! Yesterday morning,
he joined me in the street, and came home with me,<a name="Page_468" id="Page_468"></a>
or, nearly home; for he stopped short, a little way
from the house, let me cross a great mud-puddle, as
well as I could, alone, and open the gate for myself,
though I had my hands full of things. It's true, he
had the grace to color a little, when I said, significantly,
as he bade me good morning, that I was glad
I had crossed the Slough of Despond, without accident."</p>

<p>"That showed that a sensible woman could correct
his faults," I remarked.</p>

<p>"I don't know about that," replied my hostess.
"Such things, as Rebecca says, <i>indicate character</i>;
and I would not advise any young lady to marry a
man, with the expectation of reforming him."</p>

<p>"Not of a cardinal vice, certainly," said I; "but
there are"&mdash;</p>

<p>Here a servant interrupted me with&mdash;"Mr.&nbsp;Parker's
compliments, Miss," and offered my fastidious
young friend a large parcel, wrapped in a wet, soiled
newspaper, and tied with dirty red tape.</p>

<p>"Ugh!" exclaimed the Sybarite, recoiling, with
unrepressed disgust. "What is it, Betty? It can't
be for me!"</p>

<p>"It <i>is</i>, Miss, an' no mistake&mdash;the boy said it got
wet in the rain, widout, as he was bringing it, an'
no umberrellar wid him."</p>

<p>"Will you just take it into the hall, and take off
the paper, Biddy? Be careful not to let it get
dirty and wet, inside, will you?"&mdash;With studied
<i>nonchalance</i>.</p>

<p>Presently Biddy laid down a large, handsomely-
bound volume, and a note, before the young <a name="tn_png_468"></a><!--TN: Period added after "lady"-->lady.<a name="Page_469" id="Page_469"></a></p>

<p>"It is a copy of Macaulay's 'Lays of Ancient
Rome,'" said she, skimming over the note. "Mr.
Parker was alluding to some passage in one of the
poems, this morning. He says I will find it marked
and begs me to accept the book, as a philop&oelig;na&mdash;oh,
here are the lines&mdash;I thought them very fine as he
recited them. Shall I read them, mamma? And
you, sir, will you hear them?"</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="ia">"'Then none was for a party;<br></span>
<span class="i2">Then all were for the state;<br></span>
<span class="i0">Then the great man helped the poor,<br></span>
<span class="i2">And the poor man loved the great;<br></span>
<span class="i0">Then lands were fairly portioned;<br></span>
<span class="i2">Then spoils were fairly sold:<br></span>
<span class="i0">The Romans were like brothers,<br></span>
<span class="i2">In the brave days of old.'"<br></span>
</div></div>

<p>The enthusiasm with which the appreciating
reader read this spirited passage, did not prevent my
observing that she held her handkerchief closely
pressed upon the back of the exquisite antique binding
of the volume, in the hope, as I inferred, of drying
the stain of wet which I noticed, at once attracted
her attention when she took up the gift. The
open note, as it lay upon the table, disclosed a torn,
ragged edge, as if it had been carelessly severed
from a sheet of foolscap.</p>

<p>Whatever her reflections, the young lady had too
much instinctive delicacy to comment upon these
peccadilloes, and so, of course, I could institute no
defense of my friend. I, therefore, <i>tacked</i>, as a
sailor would say.<a name="Page_470" id="Page_470"></a></p>

<p>"Howard's a noble fellow," said I, "in spite of
his little oddities, but he has one fault, unfortunately,
which I fear will prevent his winning much favor
with the ladies."</p>

<p>"What is that?" inquired my young auditor, in a
tone of seeming indifference, but with a heightened
color, and an eager glance.</p>

<p>"He is <i>poor</i>!"</p>

<p>"Do you mean that he <i>lives by his wits</i>, as the
phrase is?" asked my hostess.</p>

<p>"By no means! simply this:&mdash;Parker began the
world without a dollar, and has had, thus far, to
'paddle his own canoe,' as he expresses it, against
wind and tide."</p>

<p>"That is quite the best thing I ever knew of
him!" exclaimed Rebecca, with <a name="tn_png_470"></a><!--TN: Comma changed to a period after "animation"-->animation. "It does
him great credit, in my estimation! But, Colonel, I
cannot agree with you in thinking Mr.&nbsp;Parker,
<i>poor</i>!"</p>

<p>"No?"</p>

<p>"No, indeed! in my regard, <i>no man in our country
is poor, who possesses health, education, and an
unblemished reputation</i>!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>In the library of the only representative of the
British government in this country&mdash;and he was the
lineal representative, as well, of one of the oldest,
wealthiest and most aristocratic of noble English
families&mdash;whose guest I remember to have been, I
found great numbers of books, which he had brought<a name="Page_471" id="Page_471"></a>
with him from home, but they were arranged upon
simple, unpainted pine shelves, put up for convenience,
while the owner should remain at Washington.
He brought his books, because he wanted
them for constant use&mdash;but, though accustomed to
the utmost luxuriousness of appointment at home,
he did not dream of bringing furniture across the
Atlantic, or of apologizing for the absence of more
than was demanded by necessity in his temporary
residence.</p>

<p>I remember, too, to have heard it said that one of
the recent governors of the Empire State had not a
single article of mahogany furniture in his house at
Albany; and yet, nobody complained of any want
of hospitality or courtesy on his part, while making
this discovery. The simple fact was, that, being
without private fortune, and the salary of his office
insufficient for such expenditures, <i>he could not afford
it</i>&mdash;and no man, I believe, is bound to run in debt,
to gratify either the expectations or the vanity of
his political constituents.</p>

<p>As a contrast to these anecdotes, how does the
following incident impress you?</p>

<p>Walking down Broadway, in New York, one
bright morning with a distinguished American
statesman, he suddenly came to a full halt before
a show-window in which glittered, among minor
matters, a superb <i>candelabra</i>, in all the glory of
gilding and pendants.</p>

<p>"That's a very handsome affair, Lunettes," said
my companion; "let us step in here a moment."<a name="Page_472" id="Page_472"></a></p>

<p>We entered accordingly. A salesman came forward.</p>

<p>"What is the price of that candelabra, in the
window?" inquired the statesman.</p>

<p>"Six hundred dollars," replied the young man.</p>

<p>"Pack it up and send it to M&mdash;&mdash;," replied my
friend, turning to go.</p>

<p>"And the bill, sir?"</p>

<p>"You may send the bill to me&mdash;to D&mdash;&mdash; W&mdash;&mdash;,
at Washington."</p>

<p>I happened to know that the great man had, only
within a day or two, been released, by the generosity
of several of his personal friends, from an embargo
upon his movements that would otherwise
have prevented his eloquent thunder from being
heard in the National Senate!</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>The massive head and stately bearing of John
Marshall always rise before my mind's eye, when I
recall this characteristic illustration of his native
manliness:</p>

<p>The Chief Justice was in the habit of going to
market himself, and carrying home his purchases.
He might frequently be seen at sunrise, with poultry
in one hand and vegetables in the other.</p>

<p>On one of these occasions, a young Northerner,
who had recently removed to Richmond, and thus
become a fellow-townsman of the great Virginian,
was heard loudly complaining that no one could be
found to carry home his turkey.<a name="Page_473" id="Page_473"></a></p>

<p>The Chief Justice, who was unknown to the new-comer,
advancing, inquired where the stranger lived
and on being informed, said, very quietly&mdash;"That is
on my way; I will take it for you;" and receiving
the turkey, walked briskly away.</p>

<p>When he reached the house that had been designated,
Marshall awaited the arrival of the owner, and
delivered up his burden.</p>

<p>"What shall I pay you?" inquired the youth.</p>

<p>"Nothing, whatever," replied the biographer of
Washington, "it was all in my way, and not the
slightest trouble&mdash;you are welcome;" and he pursued
his course.</p>

<p>"Who is that polite old man?" asked the young
stranger of a by-stander.</p>

<p>He was answered&mdash;"<i>That is John Marshall,
Chief Justice of the United States.</i>"</p>

<p>I well remember, too, how often I used to join my
old friend, Chief Justice Spencer, of New York, as
he climbed the long hill leading to his residence, at
Albany, with a load of poultry in his hand. And I
dare say his great-hearted brother-in-law, De Witt
Clinton, often did the same thing. Certain I am,
that he was the most unostentatious of human beings,
as simple and natural as a boy, to the end of his
days.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;">

<p>I have the vanity to believe that you will not have
forgotten the little sketch I gave you, in a previous
letter, of my interesting young friend Julia Peters.
Not long after my brief acquaintance with her&mdash;that<a name="Page_474" id="Page_474"></a>
is, within a year&mdash;I received a newspaper neatly
inclosed, and sealed with a fanciful device, in prettily-tinted
wax, which being interpreted for me by
a fair adept in such matters, was said to read&mdash;"Love,
or Cupid, carrying a budget to you from me."
The following paragraph was carefully marked:</p>

<p class="blockquot">"<span class="smcap">MARRIED</span>:&mdash;In the Church of the Holy Innocents,
in this village, on Tuesday, May 12th, by the
Rev. B&mdash;&mdash; Y&mdash;&mdash;, St. John Benton and Julia&nbsp;A.&nbsp;
Peters, daughter of the late Fitz-James Peters,&nbsp;Esq.,
of Princeton, N.&nbsp;J."</p>

<p><a name="tn_png_474"></a><!--TN: Extra space added before and after this paragraph-->
Then followed this sentence, in large characters:</p>


<p class="blockquot">"<span class="smcap">The Printer and the 'carrier' acknowledge
a bountiful receipt of superb wedding-cake.</span>-&nbsp;-&nbsp;-&nbsp;
<i>May every blessing attend the happy pair!</i>"</p>

<p>I, too, had my share of the wedding-cake, accompanied
by very tasteful, simple cards, as well as a
previous invitation to the wedding, written jointly by
Mr.&nbsp;and Mrs.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash;, and in terms most flatteringly
cordial, and complimentary. Mrs.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash; and I had,
by this time, exchanged letters more than once. I
will give you, as a specimen of the agreeable epistolary
style of my fair friend, the following communication,
which reached me some two or three
months after the marriage of her sister.</p>

<div class="letter">
<p style="font-size:.8em;text-align:right;">"<span class="smcap">Rectory</span>, &mdash;&mdash;, <i>Aug. 22d</i>, &mdash;&mdash;.</p>
<p class="smcap" style="text-indent:0em;">"Dear Col. Lunettes:&mdash;</p>

<p class="firstpara">"I avail myself of my very first leisure
to comply with the request contained in your most
kind and acceptable letter of last week. Whether<a name="Page_475" id="Page_475"></a>
your amiable politeness does not overrate my capacity
to write a 'true woman's letter&mdash;full of little
significant details and particularities,' remains to be
seen. I will do my best, at least, and 'naught extenuate,
nor set down aught in malice.'</p>

<p>"I hardly know where to begin, in answer to your
query about the 'possibility of the most economical
young people managing to live on so small an
income.' The truth is, Julia and I, thanks to a judicious
mother, were <i>practically educated</i>, which makes
all the difference in the world in a woman's capacity
to 'make the worse appear the better reason' in
matters of domestic management. The house they
live in is their own. Mr.&nbsp;Benton, fortunately, possessed
the means of fully paying for it (he was
entirely frank with Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash; about all these matters,
from the beginning) and Julia was able to furnish
it simply, though comfortably. It is a small
establishment, to be sure,&mdash;a little house and a little
garden, but it is <i>their own</i>, and that gives it a charm
which it would not otherwise possess. They feel that
they will have the benefit of such improvements as
they may make, and it is wonderful what an effect
this consciousness produces. The house was a plain,
bald-looking building enough, when <a name="tn_png_475"></a><!--TN: "Fitz James" changed to "Fitz-James"-->Fitz-James
bought it. Julia said it would be a bold poetic
license to call it <i>a cottage</i>!&mdash;but he has studied
architecture, at intervals, as he has had time, with a
view to future advancement, and so he devised, and
partly constructed, tasteful little ornaments to surmount
the windows, and a very pretty rustic porch
in front. The effect was really almost <a name="tn_png_475a"></a><!--TN: Period removed after "migical"-->magical<a name="Page_476" id="Page_476"></a>
when united with the soft, warm color that took the
place of the glaring white of which every one is becoming
so tired. It is quite picturesque, I assure
you, now. As a romantic young lady said of it&mdash;'it
is like the cottages we read of,&mdash;quite a picture-place.'
But, pretty and tasteful as it is <i>outside</i>, one
must become an inmate of Julia's little Eden, to
know half its claims to admiration. It is just the
neatest, snuggest, cosiest little nest (by the way they
call it '<i>Cosey Cottage</i>,' as you will please remember
when you write, dear sir) you can imagine.
There is nothing grand, or even elegant, perhaps,
but every part is thoroughly furnished for convenience
and comfort, and <i>everything corresponds</i>. It
is not like some city houses I have been in, where
everything was expended in glare and display in the
two parlors&mdash;'<i>un</i>wisely kept for show,' and up-stairs
and in the kitchen, the most scanty, comfortless
arrangements. Julia's carpets and curtains are quite
inexpensive, but the colors are well chosen for harmony
of effect. (Julia rather prides herself upon
having things <i>artistic</i>, as she expresses it, even to the
looping up of a curtain.) There is a sort of indescribable
<i>expression</i> about the little parlor, which, by
the way, they <i>really use</i>, daily&mdash;her friends say&mdash;'How
much this is like Julia!' Some of Julia's
crayon heads, and a sketch or two of Mr.&nbsp;<a name="tn_png_476"></a><!--TN: Period removed after "Benton's"-->Benton's
are hung in the different rooms, and they have contrived,
or rather imitated, (for I believe St. John said
it was a French idea) the prettiest little <i>brackets</i>,
which are disposed about the walls and corners of the
parlor. They are only rough things that her hus<a name="Page_477" id="Page_477"></a>band
makes up, covered by Julia, with some dark
material, and ornamented with fringe, costing almost
nothing, but so pretty in effect for supporting vases
of flowers or little figures, or something of that kind.
Then there is a tiny place, opening from the parlor,
dignified with the name of <i>library</i>, where Julia and
Benton 'draped,' and 'adjusted,' and re-draped,
and re-adjusted, to their infinite enjoyment and content,
and somewhat to <i>my amusement</i>, I will confess
to <i>you</i>, dear sir. Indeed they <i>trot in harness</i>, to
borrow one of St. John's phrases,&mdash;most thoroughly
<i>matched</i>, as well as <i>mated</i>, and go best together.
<i>They</i> think so, at least, I should infer, as they always
<i>are</i> together, if possible. Julia helps Benton in the
garden&mdash;holds the trees and shrubs while he places
them, and ties up the creeping-roses, and other
things he arranges over the porch, and around the
windows, and assists him with the lighter work of
manufacturing rustic seats and stands, and baskets
for the garden and summer-house; and Benton (who
has quite a set of tools) puts up shelves and various
contrivances of that sort, and <i>did</i> help to lay the carpets,
etc., Julia told me. Indeed, while I was with
them, Mr.&nbsp;Benton's daily life constantly reminded
me of the beautiful injunction&mdash;'Let every man
show, by his kind acts and good deeds, how much of
Heaven he has in him.'</p>

<p>"But I only tire you, dear sir, by my poor attempts
to portray my sister's simple happiness&mdash;<i>you
must see it for yourself</i>! I make no apology for
the minuteness of my details,&mdash;if they seem puerile,
Colonel Lunettes has himself to thank for my frank<a name="Page_478" id="Page_478"></a>ness,
but I have yet to learn that my valued friend
says, or writes, what he does not mean.</p>

<p>"I have left to the last&mdash;because so pleasant a
theme,&mdash;some reference to Julia's pride and delight
in your beautiful bridal-gift to her. She has, no
doubt, long since, written to thank you; but I cannot
deny myself the gratification of telling you how
much she values and enjoys it,&mdash;from my own observation.
It is really noticeable too, how exactly it
suits with all the other table appointments she has&mdash;(unless
perhaps it is a shade too handsome) only
another proof of Colonel Lunettes' fine taste! Mr.
Y&mdash;&mdash;, to tease Julia, asked her one evening,
when she was indulging in a repetition of her usual
eulogy upon the gift and the giver, whether she
really meant to say that she <i>preferred</i> a china tea-pot,
sugar-bowl, and cream-cup, to silver ones. 'Indeed
I do,' said she, 'a silver tea-service for <i>me</i>, would
be "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought!" It
would not suit my style at all.' Julia says she shall
never be perfectly happy until she makes tea for
Colonel Lunettes, from her beautiful china, and Mr.
Benton says Colonel Lunettes is the <i>only man in the
world of whom he is jealous</i>! Upon this, there
always follows a gentle (<i>very</i> gentle) twitching of
St. John's whiskers, of which, I will add, by way
of a description of the <i>personnel</i> of the young man,
he has a pair as black and curling as Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash;'s,&mdash;indeed,
I must concede that Julia's husband is almost
as handsome as my own!</p>

<p>"We are all eagerly anticipating the fulfillment
of your promise to visit our beautiful valley, while<a name="Page_479" id="Page_479"></a>
robed in the gorgeous hues of Autumn. Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash;
and I, are arranging everything with reference
to so agreeable an event;&mdash;'We will go there, or
see that,' we say, 'when Colonel Lunettes comes.'
Julia, too, is looking forward, with much pleasure,
to welcoming so coveted a guest. 'I hope we shall
be able to make the Colonel <i>comfortable</i>, in our
quiet way,' she always says, when speaking of your
promised visit; 'you, and Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash;, are so used
to have the bishop, and other celebrities, that you
don't know anything about being nervous, at such
times; but poor me&mdash;just beginning, and such a
novice!' Upon this, her husband always appeals to
me, to say whether I have nicer things to eat, anywhere,
'even at home,' and whether any sensible
man could not content himself, even in such a 'little
box,' for a few days, at least; especially, when well
assured how happy and honored a certain young
lady will be, on the occasion. And I must say, for
Julia, that her versatile powers are fully illustrated
in her housekeeping. Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash; declares that nobody
<i>but</i> his wife can make such bread&mdash;a perfect
cure for dyspepsia! and, as for the pumpkin-pies!&mdash;well,
upon the whole, he has decided that we ought
to spend <i>Thanksgiving</i> at 'Cosey Cottage.'</p>

<p>"I have omitted to mention that, at Julia's earnest
instance, we left her little namesake&mdash;'Colonel Lunettes'
pet,' as she delights to call herself&mdash;with her,
when we were there. I hardly knew how to give
her up, though but for a few weeks, even to her
aunt. Just before we came away, I said to her, 'I
hope Aunt Julia, and Uncle St. John, won't spoil<a name="Page_480" id="Page_480"></a>
you, my darling; your aunt has promised to scold
you, when you are naughty.' 'Oh, but 'ou see,
mamma, I don't never mean to <i>be</i> naughty,' she
answered, almost stopping my breath with her little
chubby arms clinging about my neck.</p>

<p>"Persuaded, dear sir, that you will have 'supped
your full,' even to repletion, of a 'true woman's letter,'
I will only add to Mr.&nbsp;Y&mdash;&mdash;'s kindest remembrances
and regards, the sincere assurance that I
am, as ever,</p>


<div class="closing">
<span class="presignature2">"Your attached and grateful<br></span>
<span class="presignature3 smcap"><a name="tn_png_480a"></a><!--TN: Double quote added before "Cecilia"-->"Cecilia D. <a name="tn_png_480"></a><!--TN: Double quote removed after "Y&mdash;&mdash;"-->Y&mdash;&mdash;<br></span>
</div>

<p class="smcap">"Col. Henry Lunettes."</p>
</div>

<p>And now, my dear nephews, that the blessing of
Heaven may rest upon you, always, in</p>

<p class="centerpoem">"Life's earnest toil and endeavor,"</p>
<p class="continue">is the affectionate and heartfelt prayer and farewell
of your</p>

<div class="closing">

<span class="presignature3"><span class="smcap">Uncle Hal.</span><br></span>
</div>

<p class="center" style="margin-top:2em;">THE END.</p>


<div style="border: dashed 1px;margin-left:10%;margin-right:10%;margin-top:2em;">
<div style="margin-left:10%;margin-right:10%;">
<h2 style="padding-top:.75em;">Transcriber's Note</h2>

<p>Inconsistencies have been retained in formatting, spelling, hyphenation,
punctuation, and grammar, except
where indicated in the list below:</p>

<div style="margin-left:5%;margin-right:5%;">
<ul>
<li><a href="#tn_png_007">Period added after "sermon"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_010">"<span class="smcap">Paté</span>" changed to "<span
class="smcap">Pâté</span>"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_014">"Aquaintances" changed to "Acquaintances"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_15">Period changed to a comma after "Regard"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_15a">Period changed to a comma after "Tribute"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_016">Dash added after "etc."</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_018">Dash added after "Importance"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19">Period changed to a comma after "Society"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19a">Period changed to a comma after "Bouche"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19b">Period changed to a comma after "Relaxation"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19c">Period changed to a comma after "Remorse"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19d">Period changed to a comma after "Pathos"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19e">Period changed to a comma after "Wit"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19f">Period changed to a comma after "Drawing-room"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19g">Period changed to a comma after "Intellect"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19h">Comma moved from mid-line to immedately after "Discussion"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19i">Period changed to a comma after "Bagatelle"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19j">Period changed to a comma after "Epicureanism"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_19k">Period changed to a comma after "Sketch"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_021">"<span class="smcap">onathan</span>" changed to "<span class="smcap">Jonathan</span>"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_023">"compatable" changed to "compatible"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_045">"s" changed to "his"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_047">"eminated" changed to "emanated"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_053">Double quotes changed to single quotes around "Kossuth,"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_062">"páté" changed to "pâté"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_066">"singlarly" changed to "singularly"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_078">"self control" changed to "self-control"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_086">Period added after "her"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_087">Quote added before "I"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_089">"Johnathan" changed to "Jonathan"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_089a">Single rather than double quotes used around "and here,"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_090">Double quotes changed to single quotes before "I" and after "madame,"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_090a">Double quotes changed to single quotes before "that" and after "you?"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_090b">Double quote added before "The"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_90c">Double quote added before "Before"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_90d">Double quote added before "The"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_90e">Double quote added before "You" and double quotes before "You" and after "madame?" changed to single quotes</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_90f">Double quote added before "And" and double quotes before "And" and after "com-for-ta-ble?" changed to single quotes</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_90g">Double quote added before "No"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_90h">Double quote added before "Bien" and after "please!'" and spoken text placed within single quotes</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_105">Quote removed after "you?"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_114">"nur sery" changed to "nursery"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_117">Single quote added before "cause"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_120">Double quote added after "minister?'"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_120a">"dont" changed to "don't"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_123">"extertaining" changed to "entertaining"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_124">"primative" changed to "primitive"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_124a">Period added after "door"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_125">Single dot replaced by colon after "said"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_129">Period added after "process"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_139">"the the" changed to "the"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_139a">Quote removed after "morals!"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_140">"grooms man" changed to "groomsman"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_143">Quotation marks corrected to show single quotes for dialogue and double quotes at the start of paragraphs throughout the anecdote on pages 143 and 144</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_150">Double quote removed after "monument,'"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_150a">"asthetical" changed to "ćsthetical"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_159">"n" changed to "in"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_182">Double quotes in this paragraph changed to single quotes and double quote added at start of paragraph</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_182a">Double quotes in this paragraph changed to single quotes and double quote added at start of paragraph</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_182b">Double quotes in this paragraph changed to single quotes and double quote added at start of paragraph</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_188">Comma removed after "said"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_188a">Single quote added after "chair,"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_190">Double quote added before "Well"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_199">Double quote removed before "'All"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_200">Double quote changed to a single quote before "I"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_200a">Double quote changed to a single quote after "nursery-cry"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_200b">Double quote changed to a single quote before "my"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_200c">Double quote changed to a single quote after "to-night;"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_212">Period added after "rank"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_214">"achievments" changed to "achievements"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_215">Period added after "sensuality"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_220">"heath" changed to "health"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_225">Single quotes changed to double quotes around this quotation</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_229">Single quote removed before "A"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_236">"univeral" changed to "universal"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_238">"appearace" changed to "appearance"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_251">"Never sink" changed to "Neversink"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_252">Quote added after "daughter,"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_253">Quote added after "Simpson,"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_257">"place" changed to "placed"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_262">Period added after "Mrs"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_263">"ceremoneous" changed to "ceremonious"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_264">"st." changed to "St."</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_267">""You are now my enemy, and I am" indented for ease of reading</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_270">Comma removed after "and"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_281">"Mis" changed to "Miss"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_282">"sol dier" changed to "soldier"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_287">Comma removed after "sketching"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_314">Double quote removed at end of paragraph</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_314a">Double quote added before "This"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_314b">Single quote changed to a double quote before "I"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_319">Comma removed before "us"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_325">"th" changed to "the"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_333">"strengthed" changed to "strengthened"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_334">"un comfortable" changed to "uncomfortable"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_339">Period added after "fatigue"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_361">"and-that" changed to "and that"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_364">"wan't" changed to "want"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_367">Quote removed before "Oh"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_368">Single quote changed to double quote after "them!"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_368a">"twitter ing" changed to "twittering"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_372">"to" added after "happened"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_375">Period added after "friend"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_379">Comma changed to a period after "us"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_387">"duced" changed to "deuced"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_395">"Kiss" changed to "Miss"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_403">Quote removed before "As"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_409">"pretiest" changed to "prettiest"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_414">"acknowleded" changed to "acknowledged"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_417">"a" added after "like"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_422">Single quote changed to a double quote at end of paragraph</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_422a">Period added after "Lunettes"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_423">"dessultory" changed to "desultory"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_424">"intelleclectual" changed to "intellectual"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_428">Period changed to comma after "Howard"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_434">"Educacation" changed to "Education"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_437">"de voted" changed to "devoted"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_442">"stationary" changed to "stationery"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_444">"inter posed" changed to "interposed"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_445">Period added after "months"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_450">Period added after "be"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_460">"stand point" changed to "stand-point"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_466">Period added after "friends"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_467">"glancind" changed to "glancing"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_468">Period added after "lady"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_470">Comma changed to a period after "animation"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_474">Extra space added before and after this paragraph</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_475">"Fitz James" changed to "Fitz-James"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_475a">Period removed after "migical"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_476">Period removed after "Benton's"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_480a">Double quote added before "Cecilia"</a></li>
<li><a href="#tn_png_480">Double quote removed after "Y----"</a></li>

</ul>
</div>
</div>
</div>








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