My Dear Daughter:—In one of my letters to you, I said that there were certain excellent manuals which contained important general and special directions concerning the forms and manners or etiquette of polite society, and that all young people should study and profit by some standard works of this kind. But there are a great many things pertaining to the conduct of life, that go to make up character and affect the impression we make upon those around us, which are not set down in books and cannot be imparted by set forms and rules. For instance, one of the most desirable possessions for any person, young or old, is tact—a power of moving on through life without constantly coming into collision with people and things and opinions. And yet no rules were ever laid down by which anyone can learn to acquire tact. It is rather the natural result of a disposition to make people with whom we are associated comfortable and happy, since in order to do this we must constantly guard against arousing antagonisms or wounding the susceptibilities of those around us.
Now, to illustrate by some instances of lack of tact: A lady guest at a table where broiled ham was the meat provided, declined to take any, and then added, "I don't think pork is fit food for any human stomach." Of course an embarrassment fell upon host and hostess and all the company, and the rest of the meal-time was passed in an ineffectual endeavor to restore conversation to a harmonious basis. What caused this lady to make such a remark? Simply lack of tact, which means that she had not the fine sensitiveness that would prevent her from wounding the feelings of her friends. She had no delicacy of perception as to the reflection she cast upon her host and hostess by so brusquely condemning something to which they were habituated. This is one instance of lack of tact, but here is another of different character: A company of educated people sat down at table together, and the conversation happened to turn on the question of the authorship of Shakespeare's plays. One lady, who was a recent college graduate and supposed to be possessed of an unusual degree of culture, said in a most positive manner: "I think the advocates of the theory that some one other than Shakespeare wrote the plays attributed to him, simply show their ignorance and shallowness." An uncomfortable pause fell upon, the company, for two of the best informed people present were entirely convinced that some one other than Shakespeare wrote the plays. It was simply lack of tact that betrayed this lady into a positiveness and obtrusiveness of statement that made others uncomfortable and aroused their antagonism. Here is still another instance: One lady was introduced to another lady who was the wife of a gentleman much older than herself. After catching the name the lady said: "Are you the wife of old Mr. C——?" Of course everybody around who had any sensibility was pained and embarrassed by such a blunt, brusque question. Yet the lady who displayed this want of tact was a college graduate and the principal teacher in an important school.
Now, no rule or rules will ever prevent anyone from doing and saying things which show lack of tact. Nothing will do it but the cultivation of a spirit of sympathy which will enable one to realize how other people feel when their opinions and peculiarities or circumstances are so bluntly antagonized or alluded to. I know an excellent and high-minded lady, of superior intellectual culture, who often complains that she has few friends. She says that she longs for the affection and esteem of her friends, yet, as she expresses it, she has "no personal magnetism." I was once present in a literary society of which this lady, Mrs. A., was a member. Another member, Mrs. B., made a statement about a matter under discussion in the society, when Mrs. A. arose and said, bluntly: "That is not true." Everybody was astonished, and listened almost indignantly while Mrs. A. went on to show that Mrs. B. had simply been misinformed and was mistaken. It would have been entirely easy and proper for Mrs. A. to ask permission to correct a misapprehension on the part of Mrs. B., and she could have done it in such a way as would have wounded nobody's feelings. Mrs. A., while she complains that she has few friends, frequently asserts that she believes in saying just what she thinks. This is all well enough, but she says it with so little tact as to constantly wound the feelings and antagonize the opinions of everyone around her.
Tact is as important in manners as in speech. The word is closely allied to the word touch, and a person who has good tact is really one who can touch people gently, carefully, kindly, in all the relations of life. In the animal creation no creature has more perfect tact than a well-bred kindly-treated household cat. You may have seen one of these enter a room where perhaps a circle of people were seated around a stove or open fire. Puss wants her warm place in front of the fire or stove, but she does not brusquely and rudely push her way there. No. She glides gently, purringly around the circle, rubs caressingly against this one and that, as though gently saying, "By your leave"; and when finally she reaches the desired spot, she lays herself down so gracefully and quietly and curls herself up so deftly that to witness the act really affords pleasure to the observer. A creature of less tact and grace would only appear obtrusive and offend and antagonize the company, and probably rightfully receive reproof and be ejected from the room.
And so I would wish to see you and all young people cultivate tact; study how to speak and act so as to touch gently all with whom you are associated. Behind the best tact lies the wish to be kind and to make people comfortable and happy, to avoid wounding and irritating; and so it is true that the basis of true tact is, after all, the moral sentiment.
The young person who would cultivate tact in speech and manners will carefully guard against obtrusiveness. This is a defect in the manners of so many people, both young and old, and includes such a multitude of things, that it is worth while to particularize a little upon it. Quietness, repose, order, are distinguishing marks of cultivated social life everywhere, and to people who are habituated to these conditions of life it is painful to have incongruous or inappropriate acts or sounds thrust upon their attention. Here is a generalization that explains the reason why many things, harmless in themselves are unpleasant to and offend the taste of cultivated people. No really cultivated young girl will, for instance, open and play upon a piano in a hotel parlor or any other parlor at inappropriate times or when it is occupied by strangers. She will never perform in public any of the duties of the toilet, such as cleaning her nails or using a tooth-pick. She will not eat peanuts or fruit or candy, or chew gum, in public places. In fact, I cannot imagine a really refined young lady chewing gum even in the privacy of her own room, so offensive is it to good taste. She will not descant upon bodily ailments in the drawing-room or at the table. She will not rush noisily up and down stairs or through the house, clashing doors and startling everyone with unpleasant noises. She will not interrupt people who are conversing, to ask an irrelevant question or one pertaining to her own affairs. She will not slap an acquaintance familiarly on the shoulder, or make special displays of affection or intimacy before people. She will if possible suppress the sudden sneeze, and use every effort to quiet a cough. She will not go uninvited into the private room of anyone, nor into the kitchen of her hostess where she is a visitor. All such things really inflict pain upon sensitive people; they offend because they obtrude; and all similar actions and obtrusiveness are to be carefully avoided by everyone who desires to acquire a true and genuine culture of action, speech, and manners. It is well worth your while to think earnestly and often upon these things; to learn to understand why so many thoughtless actions on the part of young people are set down to a general lack of cultivation. All such obtrusiveness must be done away with before we shall be able to realize the prayer of David, "that our daughters may be like corner-stones, polished after the similitude of a palace."
My Dear Daughter:—No words in the English language are so much bandied about in efforts to describe or classify society at the present day as are the words "culture," "cultured," "cultivated" and their antitheses. These are the terms that intimidate the vain, selfish, illiterate rich; for to be described as "rich but uncultivated" is regarded as a greater slur upon the social standing of families than to be reported as having gained wealth by dishonesty or trickery. And then the matter is made all the harder for those willing to acquire a hypocritical polish at any expense if they can only be called "cultivated," from the fact that they do not know what true culture is, nor are they able to recognize it when they see it. They are like a person lacking in all artistic sense, who wishes to buy pictures—at the mercy of every impostor.
What, then, is the secret that lies behind the demeanor and manners of the cultivated man or woman, or the cultivated family? What power or what sentiment modulates the voice to kind and gentle tones; restrains the boisterous conversation or laughter; gives such a delicate perception of the rights of others as to make impossible the dictatorial or arrogant form of address the impertinent question, the personal familiarity, the curiosity about private affairs, the forwardness in giving advice or expressing unasked opinions, the boastful statement of personal possessions or qualities, the action that causes pain or inconvenience or discomfort to associates or dependents, all of which are the most common forms of transgression among the uncultivated?
In his famous address on "The Progress of Culture," delivered before a celebrated college society in Cambridge in 1867, Emerson summed up the whole matter in one sentence: "The foundation of culture, as of character, is at last the moral sentiment." Here is the whole secret in a single sentence. The restraining grace is "at last the moral sentiment." It is a fine genuine unselfishness that, observing how all these things may pain and wound, refrains from doing any of them. The man or woman or family who can avoid transgressing in these particulars can do so habitually only as the result of a fine moral sentiment underlying the whole nature. And those who possess or have cultivated in themselves this fine moral sentiment of unselfishness, justice, and considerateness, will be surrounded by an atmosphere of culture though their dwelling-place be an uncarpeted cabin, while those who lack this restraining grace will be "uncultivated" though their surroundings afford every comfort, beauty, and luxury. It should be a thought of encouragement to us, and an inspiration of hope that we may possess the true and imperishable riches of a cultivated spirit, however poor and struggling our lives may be, or however barren of external beauty our surroundings. Culture depends not on material possessions. In fact, the very abundance of conveniences and comforts and elegances often seems to have an injurious and deteriorating effect on individuals and families by producing in them a selfish love of personal ease and exclusiveness. On the other hand, the painful and patient economizing of humble toilers often produces an unselfishness and patience and gentleness of demeanor which is in effect the very finest culture.
In these days of specialists and artists and architects and upholsterers, anyone who has money can possess himself of the material surroundings of taste and culture. His house may be "a poem in stone" exteriorly, and a "symphony in color" in its interior adornments. This much of the products of genuine culture he may buy with money. But no money can buy the pearl of great price, the cultured spirit in the individual or family, without which the most palatial mansion is but a dead and lifeless shell. Lacking this moral sentiment and culture, how many a handsomely appointed home is the abode of rudeness, unkindness, selfishness, and misery! The rude speech or cutting retort or selfish act are doubly and trebly incongruous when pictured walls and frescoed ceilings and luxurious surroundings of artistic beauty are the silent witnesses of the vulgarity. On the other hand, there is opportunity for the display of the best and kindest and most cultivated manners in the humble home where lack of suitable furnishings and dearth of conveniences puts everyone's unselfishness to the test.
I have frequently heard wise parents and teachers speak of the perplexity of spirit which they feel when they see that in so many instances the acquirement of accomplishments, as they are termed, fails to add any moral strength or beauty to the character of the young people in whose welfare and advancement their hearts are so entirely absorbed. This young girl sings and plays beautifully, paints and draws in a genuinely artistic manner, speaks French and German like a native, and yet she is ill-tempered and shrewish if circumstances happen to cross her inclination. Here is a young man who is possessed of a fine collegiate education, and who is also an excellent musician. Yet he can be rude and disrespectful to his mother, insolent to his father, overbearing and arrogant towards servants and subordinates, and a perfect boor to his younger brothers and sisters. Both these young persons have uncultivated spirits. So we see that the cultivation of the intellectual nature, the acquirement of accomplishments, the practice of any art, the advantages of travel, the surroundings of elegance, may or may not tend to the genuine culture of the spirit; and as wise and earnest parents and teachers perceive this truth, they realize more and more that the great problem of culture, alike for parent and teacher, is how to develop the moral sentiment.
My Dear Daughter:—I have endeavored in my previous letters to give you a kind of outline series of directions and instructions in matters that pertain to the ordinary every day duties of life. I have spoken of the motives that should influence your actions, and have tried to show you that all truly lovely and beautiful conduct must have a basis in the moral sentiment. I have reserved till this last letter what I have to say to you on the most important subject of all: the infinitely momentous subject of religious culture and duty.
In the first place I must explain that there is a great difference between the methods and circumstances of religious instruction now and those which surrounded the youth of the maturer generation. When people of the age of your parents were young, the habits of family life were such that religious observances held a place of first importance. All household affairs were arranged with reference to morning and evening worship, which consisted of singing, reading the Bible, and prayer. No matter how much work was to be done, the family must rise in time to allow for the performance of this service. Children heard so much about God, and heaven, and the life beyond death, that often a morbid and unnatural frame of mind was induced. Parents and instructors often forgot to make allowance for the fact that youth naturally and rightly loves and enjoys this life, and rightly and naturally dreads death. So much was said about the other world that it seemed almost a sin to think about or plan much for this. God and heaven were imagined as close above in the sky? the judgment day was ever held threateningly before us; and pictures of a literal lake of fire and brimstone, into which wicked people would be cast, were painted for the imagination of children, till, as the experience of hundreds testifies, even the most conscientious of them feared to close their eyes in sleep at night lest they should awake in that terrible place of torment.
From this doubtless too severe and harsh religious regime, a reaction has taken place which has thrown the customs of family life and the religious education of the young people of to-day far into the opposite extreme. The hurry and railroad rush of modern social and commercial life have shortened or even cut off entirely the hours for family worship. In the modern effort to emphasize the fact that God is love, the other fact that sin deserves and receives punishment has been thrown too far into the background, or is ignored altogether. Regular reading of the Bible has become as rare as it formerly was universal. Irreverence and skepticism in regard to its truths and teachings permeate a large portion of society, and the general influence of the social life of young people is opposed to the cultivation or expression of the religious spirit or aspiration. All this involves the loss of a most valuable mental and spiritual discipline, and earnest parents of to-day are at a loss how to supply it.
I will press upon your attention only one argument for the culture of a religious spirit, and that is the argument of experience. What is the universal testimony of those whose lives are really governed by the fear and love of a divine Creator? It is that in the consciousness of a desire to obey God and live in harmony with His laws they find their highest happiness.
To everyone who lives beyond the earliest period of childhood, comes at some time or other sorrow, disappointment, sickness, loss, bereavement. The great fact of death looms up at the end of every pathway, however bright and happy. The universal testimony of the human race, from the earliest records of human experience to the present time, is that only faith and hope in a beneficent God ruling over all events can sustain and comfort the human heart through all the changes and vicissitudes of life, and reconcile to the thought of death.
Early youth is naturally happy, gay, care-free, and indifferent to sorrows and fears of which it knows nothing. But there comes a time to every sensible and earnest young heart when it realizes the transitoriness of all earthly things, and longs for something on which the heart can take hold and rest. I do not believe any young person fails of this experience sooner or later. It is a hunger of the heart which nothing but the love of God can fill, and if, when it is first felt, the heart only humbly and earnestly turns to God with high and firm resolve to seek a knowledge of Him and His laws, to bring all actions and plans of life into harmony with His revealed will, the foundation of an enduring happiness is laid for this life, and doubtless for the life to come.
But this desire and effort after a knowledge of God and obedience to His will do not come without a struggle. We are strange and mysterious creatures, having within us a nature that is most susceptible to temptations, to do evil. Every one of us is conscious of a struggle constantly going on in our hearts and lives between evil and good. The temptations to selfishness, greed, unkindness, untruthfulness, irreverence, indolence, are constant and severe until we have by long conflict and repeated victory habituated our hearts to choosing the right. Yet every victory over self and temptation helps us toward that spiritual attainment which will in time enable us to say, with the sweet psalmist of Israel: "The Lord is the portion of my soul; the Lord is the strength of my heart; the Lord is my light and my salvation."
Most usually the heart first turns toward God with deep earnestness through sorrow. There are many griefs and burdens of life which cannot be alleviated or lightened in any way except by spiritual comfort and help. And this spiritual comfort and help are among the deepest realities of life. There is a strength, a happiness, a peace and a support in sorrow which the world can neither give nor take away. How priceless a blessing to possess! The saddest, darkest, most suffering life can be irradiated and uplifted and enriched by this spiritual blessing. The most fortunately circumstanced life may be made poor by its absence. Dean Stanley tells us of a sister who for perhaps forty years was a constant sufferer from spinal disease, and during that period almost constantly confined to her couch. Yet her countenance was irradiated with cheerfulness, and she seemed to inspire everyone who came near her with comfort, and with ardor and enthusiasm for goodness. Such examples are not rare. Every community knows some person or persons sustained in deep affliction, though long continued trial and sorrow and loss, by this unseen spiritual power. On the other hand, experience and observation show us constantly recurring examples of discontent, peevishness, unhappiness, on the part of those who appear to be specially favored in the possession of the comforts and riches of this life. Lord Chesterfield said that, having seen and experienced all the pomps and pleasures of life, he was disgusted with and hated them all, and only desired, like a weary traveler, to be allowed "to sleep in the carriage" until the end came. But Paul the apostle, contemplating the close of his eventful life of sorrow and suffering, said: "I have fought the good fight? I have finished the course? I have kept the faith: henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness."
So it seems only a reasonable appeal to every young heart, as soon as it is mature enough to understand and make choice among the realities and verities of life, to choose this better part; to keep the heart receptive to and expectant of this divine comfort and help; to seek to know and obey the will of this God of all consolation. But this choice is a purely individual matter. No one can make another person good any more than he can make him happy. All that anyone, all that the wisest and best teachers and parents can do, is to present the arguments for and urge the choice of the better part.
But if it is chosen, or if there is a desire to be enabled to choose it, what a help and stimulus comes from the reading and study of the Bible, especially of the Psalms and the New Testament! Therein are recorded every phase of the spiritual experiences of humanity in its aspiration after a knowledge of God. Therein are recorded the words and precepts of "the Great Teacher sent from God," who said that he and the Father were one, and that he was sent of God to seek and save the lost. Here are the records of the compassionate expressions that fell from his lips as he proclaimed his message as the Son of God. Whatever other opinion men may have of Christ, all must confess that in his words to and about sinning and sorrowing and suffering men and women, he displayed a love and sympathy such as earth had never known before, and such as it has known since, in kind, only in the devoted followers of Christ. To have the memory stored with these expressions or teachings, or with the prayers and aspirations of the psalms and the prophecies, is to have a fountain of comfort and consolation for the heart, that passes all understanding. But this fact of human experience you must accept on the testimony of those who have experienced it, until you have experienced it for yourself.
And thus, my daughter, while I wish for you the possession of all the graces and adornments of person and character that pertain to and are possible for the life that now is, how infinitely more do I desire for you that you may know God and the comforts and consolations of His word and spirit. To know that you had sought and found for yourself this knowledge, that you knew and sought the help of the divine spirit in resisting temptation to do wrong, that in disappointment your heart would turn to God for comfort, that in sorrow you would seek consolation in communion with God, would be to feel that your future happiness was absolutely assured. In this seeking after God, all things would be yours. And even though you had made but a small and weak beginning to follow on and know the Lord, I should rejoice in the assurance that the good work, having been begun, would be completed unto the end. And so I close these letters with the same summing up of all advice, all instruction, which more than four thousand years ago a prophet of God gave to his reflections upon the vicissitudes of human life: "Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man."
Be kindly affectioned one toward another with brotherly love, in honor preferring one another.
—Rom. xii. 10.
Whose adorning ... let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit which is in the sight of God of great price.
—1 Peter, iii. 4.
Wherever people are associated together it will always be found that some are more popular and beloved than others. Taking it for granted that all my young readers would wish to be lovely and beloved by those with whom they are associated, I wish to make a short study of some of those characteristics which always distinguish a lovely or loveable person, and also of some characteristics which tend to make people unlovely and disagreeable.
But if anyone should at the outset say, "I do not care whether people like me or not, I have no particular wish to be lovely or beloved," what could I answer? Nothing. I could only express my sorrow that the better and higher nature of such an one was so undeveloped, and that the greatest source of true happiness was so unknown and unappreciated. I could only hope that the conscience and the moral nature of such an one might be aroused and quickened by some good and faithful admonition or word of instruction. And right here I wish to call the special attention of my young friends to this fact: Youth is a period given up largely to the work of obtaining an education; but education is of a two-fold nature. We have an intellectual nature and we have a spiritual or moral nature. The intellectual powers and faculties it is possible to educate almost in spite of even the distaste or aversion of the pupil to receiving that education. We can, in a measure, force a knowledge of the sciences upon even reluctant pupils. We can prove to them that three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles, or that an acid and an alkali will combine to form a salt; but we can never force an antagonistic nature to receive a spiritual truth. Your parents or teacher may instruct you that it is wrong to be untruthful or unkind or deceitful, but your own inner natures alone can receive such truths and assimilate them. No human being can compel another human being to be good. Here is where one of the chief anxieties and chief sorrows of parents and teachers arises. There is no anxiety so deep as the anxiety of the good that those they love may be good also; no sorrow so poignant as the sorrow of the heart over the willful wrong-doing of those near and dear. If at the close of your prescribed school course you should return to your homes, skilled in all the sciences, possessed of extensive knowledge of literature, fine musicians, fine artists, and yet selfish, ungentle, proud or haughty in demeanor, wanting in thoughtfulness for the rights and feelings of others, careless of being unkind, the time spent in your education would largely have been spent in vain.
Among the first characteristics of a person who is lovely and beloved, we must place a kind and gentle manner toward all, kind words and kind deeds, and a restraint of hasty speech or action. In order to possess these qualities, it is not necessary ever to be obtrusive with our attentions. Sometimes people pain us by thrusting upon us attentions which we do not want. There is a kind of officious attentiveness which is really the expression of a species of vanity. It is true we ought to be observant, and if we see where we can really help others by offering kind acts or services, we ought to be willing to do it. But to young people associated together as schoolmates, the opportunity for exercising gentleness and kindness towards one another comes mostly in the line of daily work. Some pupils are more advanced in their studies than others: some have had greater advantages in their homes than others: and these differences afford an opportunity for exercising toward each other a spirit of kindness and gentleness. It is one of the most common occurrences in schools for pupils to come in who have not had the advantages which enable them to know how to conduct themselves gracefully in society; how to dress themselves; how to use knife, fork, napkin, etc., properly at the table; and while it is of course the duty of teachers to instruct them in all these things, it is also the imperative duty of their companions to refrain from unkind criticism or laughing at and making sport of blunders which may arise only from lack of information. Very often these students are "jewels in the rough," of the rarest and finest quality. You may have heard the story of Daniel Webster, when he came in from his father's farm to enter upon his collegiate course, and went to board with one of the professors who had several students boarding in his family. Daniel had certainly never been taught good manners at the table, however many other good things he had been taught in his home, for he immediately attracted the attention of all the other boarders by sitting with his knife and fork held upright in each hand and resting on the table while he masticated his food. The professor quelled the rising laughter among his fellow-students by a firm glance of reproof, but said nothing to Daniel. He had observed that the boy was sensitive, and he now had the problem before him how he should correct this awkwardness in Daniel without wounding his feelings; and he took the following method: Calling one of the senior boarders to him before the next meal, he said: "We want to break our young friend of his awkward way of holding his knife and fork, and we don't want to hurt his feelings. Now I want you, at supper to-night, to hold your knife and fork the same way, and then I will call your attention to it and tell you it is not the right and proper way to do." The student agreed, and so between the kind intention of the professor and the kind willingness of the student the embryo statesman was taught an important lesson without being pained and abashed by his ignorance.
In marked contrast with this incident is one which personally I knew to happen in a school. A little country girl who had recently become an inmate of the school knocked at the room of her neighbor, a young lady who had been brought up amid all the refinements of life, and asked her if she would lend her her hair-brush. Two or three other girls happened to be in the room, and this young lady replied, "Hadn't you better ask me for my tooth-brush? In this school, hair-brushes are private property." Never did the little country girl forget this rude rebuke, although she very shortly learned that among cultivated and refined people hair-brushes are considered private property. But however cultivated externally the young lady was who thus rudely rebuffed even the ignorance of her companion, her conduct showed a spirit uncultivated in gentleness and kindness.
It often happens in schools that some become general favorites because perhaps they are blessed with good looks, or are able to dress with good taste and becomingly, or are possessed of a certain piquancy of manner and conversational powers which attract and entertain. There are others equally good and talented who are not blessed with comeliness, who are not bright and winning in conversation, who are awkward in dress and manner. What kindness and considerateness is due from the more favored to the less favored! How careful should school-girls, and not school-girls only, but everybody be to extend courtesy and kindness to those of their number who are apt to be neglected, to be left lonely and forgotten while more favored ones enjoy special pleasures! I do not mean by this that we are to be equally intimate and equally fond of all our daily associates, but we ought to be equally kind. Our especial endearments and kindnesses and attentions to our particular friends ought to be in a measure kept for private expression, so that we may not wound the feelings of those less attractive, or less endowed with bodily and mental graces, by contrast or comparison.
To aid us in cultivating this spirit of kindness, no maxim is more useful than that laid down by Christ: "Whatsoever ye would that others should do unto you, do ye even so unto them." One of the best tests we can apply to ourselves is to imagine ourselves in the place of others. Suppose we were conscious of homely features, ungainly forms and awkward manners, or of lack of information or knowledge; suppose we were in such straitened circumstances that we were obliged to wear coarse, cheap, unsuitable or unbecoming garments how would we feel and how would we wish to be treated? And if we find within ourselves an unwillingness to be judged by this standard, or to conform our conduct to it, then we should realize that we do wrong, that we are wrong in spirit. Then should come the conscious effort to do right, to change our spirit from selfishness to unselfishness, from unkindness to kindness. This is the work that no human being can do for us. Every individual soul must pass through that struggle alone. Whenever we are conscious of the necessity of a decision between doing right and doing wrong, even though we may feel indisposed to do the right and disposed to do the wrong, yet if we can will to do the right we have taken a step toward God and heaven; we have begun the unfolding of the moral and spiritual nature.
Now I have before said that an intellectual culture may be, so to speak, veneered upon us, but a spiritual culture must come from within outward. In botany you learn of two kinds of plants—those which grow by external accretions, as bulbs, which, are called exogenous? and plants which grow within outward, which are called endogenous A great philosopher has said that "man is that noble endogenous plant which grows, like the palm, from within outward." The culture of the heart and the growth of the spiritual nature is wholly individual; it depends on ourselves alone. Parents and teachers can furnish the surroundings and the accessories which they hope will most help to nourish this spiritual growth, but they can do no more. And often how bitterly are they disappointed when they see that, in spite of admonition and instruction and entreaty and example, and every external help and incentive, the inner nature, the heart, the soul of child or pupil is not assimilating spiritual truth, is not growing "in grace and in the nurture and admonition of the Lord."
And now I pass from the consideration of that experience which is the foundation of a lovely character to consider some of the forms of outward expression of this inward character. I have said that we may feel indisposed to do right; we may really prefer and like best the wrong; nevertheless if we will to do what is right we have gained a victory. So it may be a great help to us in gaining this inward victory to familiarize ourselves with rules for conduct or expression. Suppose, for instance we know we are liable to give way to bad tempers and to speak hastily and harshly. We may even feel that it is a relief to speak thus hastily or harshly, but if we will to control our tempers we may find a great help in resolving never to speak in a loud or harsh tone of voice. You all know that the scolding or quarreling tone of voice is loud and harsh. If we resolve never to allow ourselves to use this tone, it will help us to control our tempers, and it will also be an obedience to one of the rules of good manners.
We call a well-mannered person a cultivated person; and this culture consists mainly in kindness and gentleness of manner, in self-restraint, and in unobtrusiveness The real reason for every true rule of good manners is some moral reason. The true reason why we are forbidden by good manners to do certain things is that the doing of such things gives pain or causes inconvenience to some one. Why do the rules of good manners forbid the slamming of doors, or noisy running along halls or up and down stairs, or loud talking or boisterous laughter? Because such noises inflict pain on those who hear them, if they are of refined sensibilities. For the same reason it is bad manners to drum on a piano, or to drum on table or desk or chair, or to shuffle the feet, or to make any noise that distracts or obtrudes. Why is it bad manners to come late to meals, to be unpunctual, to keep people waiting? Because we inflict pain and inconvenience upon those who are in a certain measure dependent for their comfort on our promptness and punctuality. Why is it bad manners to sprawl in one's seat, to assume ungainly attitudes, to make grimaces, or to munch peanuts or apples in the cars or in public places? For the same reason. We make those who witness such conduct uncomfortable, and inflict pain upon them.
One very common cause of discomfort and pain caused by young people to their parents and teachers is want of thoughtfulness and consideration. For one-half the faults for which young people need to be reproved the reply is, "I didn't think." Now, while we cannot expect young folks to exercise the thoughtfulness and judgment of maturer people, we certainly have a right to expect that they will endeavor to acquire a habit of thoughtfulness in regard to the convenience and interests of others. It is this want of thoughtfulness that often betrays young people into doing very improper and injurious things. Parents and teachers are constantly troubled by finding that their children and pupils do things which they never thought of forbidding them to do. That which all good and faithful teachers strive to do is to develop in their pupils such a sense of propriety and thoughtfulness and such a high moral sense as will make them a law for right unto themselves. They want to cultivate and to see them cultivating in themselves a strong practical common-sense and a wise sense of propriety. Without such common-sense and innate sense of propriety, the longest set of rules would be useless. For instance, if your teachers were to set about making a set of rules do you suppose any one of them would have thought of making such rules as: "Young ladies are not permitted to go to the roof of the house and sit with their feet dangling over the railings of the balcony;" or "Young ladies must not go into people's pastures and catch their ponies to go riding;" or "When young ladies are out riding in a buggy it is not allowable for one of the young ladies to ride on the horse which the others are driving."
A hundred rules might be gotten up forbidding the doing of a hundred things, the only evil of which is that they are outlandish and unbecoming; not modest, or ill-mannered, and behind which there is no evil intent—only thoughtlessness. The same endowment of common sense ought to teach young people to do those things which will promote their health, and not to do those things which would injure it. The greatest blessing to a young person, especially to a young woman, is good health; but unless she will take care of it herself, it is an almost hopeless task to attempt to take care of it for her. You may have heard the somewhat slangy expression sometimes made about stupid and conceited young men, that they "don't know enough to come in when it rains." It is, however, an almost just complaint of many a pretty and otherwise sensible young woman that she apparently doesn't know enough to put on overshoes when it rains, or to change thin clothing for thick when it grows cold. There is needed among young girls everywhere such a development of common-sense as will prevent this senseless and thoughtless conduct.
And now let us consider some of the rewards that will come to those who give attention to the culture of the spirit. Emerson says that "it is our manners that associate us," and this is one of his truest observations. We all wish, or we all should wish, to become fitted for association with the good, the refined, the intelligent, the cultivated, with those who have a noble purpose in life. Into such society there is but one passport—intelligence, and gentle, quiet, cultivated manners, coupled with a like noble and earnest purpose. Possessed of these, any person may be sure of a welcome in the best society, however plain in appearance or dress. Wanting in these, good looks and fine dress are of no avail to secure the coveted association. Remember I am now speaking of the society of intellectual, refined, and cultivated people, and not of mere fashionable society. But to gain friendly and equal access to this best society, the culture of heart and mind must be genuine; it must be thorough, deep, sincere. The young person whose education of mind and heart is shallow and superficial, who has no definite aim in life, may well fear to submit to the critical tests sure to be applied by such society.
I cannot better illustrate my meaning than by relating to you two incidents that have come under my own personal observation. You all know that in our old Eastern cities, which have so long been the homes of wealth and learning, is to be found a society almost unequalled for its high standard of intellectual culture and refined manners as well as for beneficent actions. Two young Western women whom I have known, aspired to gain access to and meet with recognition in a certain famous circle of such people in one of these Eastern cities. Both young women were graduates of Western universities, and had had really exceptional advantages for acquiring a thorough collegiate education. One had been surrounded by every possible helpful condition. Fond parents, possessed of abundance of this world's goods, and admiring friends, had done everything in their power to secure for her freedom from all other cares while she was pursuing her studies. Being thus helped and petted and praised and encouraged she seemed to feel that all circumstances and everybody's convenience and comfort must give way for her plans and interests. The other young girl was the eldest daughter of a poor widow. She struggled through the university by teaching in vacation; renting a poor little room in the town where the university was situated, and cooking her own food, doing her own washing and ironing, living in the plainest way, wearing cheap clothing, and eating the plainest food, while she was pursuing her studies. Her struggles with poverty and bitter circumstances taught her sympathy and kindness and helpfulness; and though she was plain, very plain, in face and figure, the gentle kindness of her spirit was apparent to all. As time passed on after their graduation, both of these young women gained the goal of their hopes and ambitions: an introduction to this brilliant and cultivated circle of people through certain literary clubs. And furthermore, both secured an invitation to read a paper before the same literary society during the same winter. The first-named young lady was visiting friends, while the second had secured a position as teacher. When the first young lady appeared before the society, her dress of velvet, point lace, and diamonds, was so striking as to be obtrusive. Her paper was fairly good, but contained nothing of any permanent value. Her self-consciousness and evident desire to be conspicuous had the effect of repelling the earnest and thoughtful men and women who composed the society. Her essay and herself were alike quietly dropped; and to this day she cannot understand why. She calls the members of the society proud, haughty, and exclusive, and denounces the city where these people live as pedantic, disagreeable, and unsocial. Before this same club came our quiet, unostentatious, plain young friend of the toilsome life. Her dress was as plain as her face, but her paper was rich in information and filled with the results of a deep and earnest observation. Around her gathered the good men and women who knew how to appreciate such a spirit, and from thenceforward she was one of them. Every winter since the reading of her first essay I have found her name among the list of those who are leaders in the world of thought and of benevolent action. With pride in the success, of a genuine Western girl, I have often observed her name among the invited guests present at receptions given to distinguished authors and philanthropists both of our own country and of Europe. Why did she succeed against such odds, when the other failed with all her advantages? Simply because she was possessed of the true, deep, thorough genuine culture, both of mind and heart, which alone associates, the best people together. To her, "plain living and high thinking" was a life-long practice, and she was at home and happy with the good and the learned.
Would you be prepared to attain a like reward? Cultivate her spirit; imitate her example.
By MARY L. NINDE. Illustrated from Original Designs.
12MO., 348 PAGES. PRICE $1.50.
The foreign travels which gave rise to this volume were of a novel and perhaps unprecedented kind. Two young American girls started for "the grand tour" with the father of one of them, and, he being compelled to return home from London, they were courageous enough to continue their journeyings alone. They spent two years in travel—going as far north as the North Cape and south to the Nile, and including in their itinerary St. Petersburgh and Moscow. Miss Ninde's narrative is written in a fresh and sprightly but unsensational style, which, with the unusual experiences portrayed, renders the work quite unlike the ordinary books of travel.
"In these days when letters and books about travels in Europe have become generally monotonous, to say the least, it is absolutely refreshing to get hold of a bright, original book like 'We Two Alone in Europe.' ... The book is especially interesting for its fresh, bright observations on manners, customs, and objects of interest as viewed through these young girls' eyes, and the charming spice of adventure running through it."
—Home Journal, Boston.
"It is filled with so many interesting glimpses of sights and scenes in many lands as to render it thoroughly entertaining."
—Congregationalism Boston.
"As the work of a bright American girl, the book is sure to command wide attention. The volume is handsomely bound and copiously illustrated with views drawn, if we mistake not, by the author's own fair hands, so well do they accord with the vivacious spirit of her narrative."
—Times, Troy, New York.
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LIFE OF LISZT. With Portrait.
LIFE OF HAYDN. With Portrait.
LIFE OF MOZART. With Portrait.
LIFE OF WAGNER. With Portrait.
LIFE OF BEETHOVEN. With Portrait.
from the German of Dr. Louis Nohl