Part 30

Benevolence and charity, with a true spirit of meekness, must be one of the ruling motives of the understanding; for without this no man can be polite. Politeness must know no classification; the rich and the poor must alike share its justice and humanity. Exclusive spirits, that shun those whose level in life is not on the same extravagant platform as themselves, can not aspire to the high honor of wearing the name of gentleman. The truly polite man acts from the highest and noblest ideas of what is right.

True politeness ever hath regard for the comfort and happiness of others. "It is," says Witherspoon, "real kindness kindly expressed." Viewed in this light, how devoid of the virtue are some who pride themselves on a strict observance of all its rules! Many a man who now stands ranked as a gentleman, because his smile is ready and his bow exquisite, is, in reality, unworthy of such an honor, since he cares more for the least incident pertaining to his own comfort than he does for the greatest occasion of discomfort to others.

The true gentleman is recognized by his regard for the rights and feelings of others, even in matters the most trivial. He respects the individuality of others, just as he wishes others to respect his own. In society he is quiet, easy, unobtrusive, putting on no airs nor hinting by word or manner that he deems himself better, wiser, or richer than any one about him. He is never "stuck up," nor looks down upon others because they have not titles, honors, or social position equal to his own. He never boasts of his achievements or angles for compliments by affecting to underrate what he has done. He prefers to act rather than to talk, to be rather than to seem, and, above all things, is distinguished by his deep insight and sympathy, his quick perception of and attention to those little and apparently insignificant things that may cause pleasure or pain to others. In giving his opinions he does not dogmatize; he listens patiently and respectfully to other men, and, if compelled to dissent from their opinions, acknowledges his fallibility, and asserts his own views in such a manner as to command the respect of all who hear him. Frankness and cordiality mark all his intercourse with his fellows, and, however high his station, the humblest man feels instantly at ease in his presence.

The truest politeness comes of sincerity. It must be the outcome of the heart or it will make no lasting impression, for no amount of polish will dispense with truthfulness. The natural character must be allowed to appear freed of its angularities and asperities. To acquire that ease and grace of manners which distinguishes and is possessed by every well-bred person one must think of others rather than of one's self, and study to please them even at one's own inconvenience. "Do unto others as you would that others should do unto you"—the golden rule of life—is also the law of politeness, and such politeness implies self-sacrifice, many struggles and conflicts. It is an art and tact rather than an instinct and inspiration.

Daily experience shows that civility is not only one of the essentials of success, but it is almost a fortune in itself, and that he who has this quality in perfection, though a blockhead, is almost sure to rise where, without it, men of high ability fail. "Give a boy address and accomplishment," says Emerson, "and you give him the mastery of palaces and fortunes. Wherever he goes he has not the trouble of earning or owning them; they solicit him to enter and possess." Genuine politeness is almost as necessary to enjoyable success as integrity or industry.

We despise servility, but true and uniform politeness is the glory of any young man. It should be a politeness full of frankness and good nature, unobtrusive, constant, and uniform in its exhibition to every class of men. He who is overwhelmingly polite to a celebrity or a nabob and rude to a laborer because he is a laborer deserves to be despised. That style of manners which combines self-respect with respect for the rights and feelings of others, especially if it be warmed up by the fires of a genial heart, is a thing to be coveted and cultivated, and it is a thing that pays alike in cash and comfort.

What a man says or does is often an uncertain test of what he is. It is the way in which he says or does it that furnishes the best index of his character. It is by the incidental expression given to his thoughts and feelings by his looks, tones, and gestures, rather than by his deeds and words, that we prefer to judge him. One may do certain deeds from design, or repeat certain professions by rote; honeyed words may mask feelings of hate, and kindly acts may be formed expressly to veil sinister ends, but the "manner of the man" is not so easily controlled.

The mode in which a kindness is done often affects us more than the deed itself. The act may have been prompted by one of many questionable motives, as vanity, pride, or interests; but the warmth or coldness of address is less likely to deceive. A favor may be conferred so grudgingly as to prevent any feeling of obligation, or it may be refused so courteously as to awaken more kindly feelings than if it had been ungraciously granted.

Good manners are well-nigh an essential part of life education, and their importance can not be too largely magnified when we consider that they are the outward expressions of an inward virtue. Social courtesies should emanate from the heart, for remember always that the worth of manner consists in being the sincere expression of feelings. Like the dial of a watch they should indicate that the works within are good and true. True civility needs no false lights to show its points. It is the embodiment of truth, the mere opening out of the inner self. The arts and artifices of a polished exterior are well enough, but if they are any thing more or less than a fair exponent of inward rectitude their hollowness can not long escape detection.

The cultivation of manner, though in excess it is foppish and foolish, is highly necessary in a person who has occasion to negotiate with others in matters of business. Affability and good-breeding may even be regarded as essential to the success of a man in any eminent station and enlarged sphere of life, for the want of it has not unfrequently been found, in a great measure, to neutralize the results of much industry, integrity, and honesty of character. There are, no doubt, a few strong, tolerant minds which can bear with defects and angularities of manner, and look only to the more genuine qualities; but the world at large is not so forbearant, and can not help forming its judgments and likings mainly according to outward conduct.

It has been well remarked that whoever imagines legitimate manners can be taken up and laid aside, put on and off, for the moment, has missed their deepest law. A noble and attractive every-day bearing comes of goodness, of sincerity, of refinement, and these are bred in years, not moments. It is the fruit of years of earnest, kindly endeavors to please. It is the last touch, the crowning perfection of a noble character; it has been truly described as the gold on the spire, the sunlight on the corn-field, and results only from the truest balance and harmony of soul.

Society has been apply compared to a heap of embers, which, when separated, soon languish, darken, and expire, but, if placed together, glow with a ruddy and intense heat, a just emblem of the strength, happiness, and security derived from society. The savage who never knew the blessings of combination, and he who quits society from apathy or misanthropic spleen, are like the separate embers, dark, dead, useless; they neither give nor receive heat, neither love nor are beloved.

From social intercourse are derived some of the highest enjoyments of life. Where there is a free interchange of opinion, the mind acquires new ideas, and, by a frequent exercise of its powers, the understanding gains fresh vigor. The true sphere of human virtue is found in society. This is the school of human faith and trials. In social, active life difficulties will perpetually be met with. Restraints of many kinds will be necessary, and studying to behave right in respect to these is a discipline of the human heart useful to others and improving to itself. It is good to meet in friendly intercourse and pour out that social cheer which so vivifies the weary and desponding heart. It elevates the feelings, and makes us all the better for the world.

Society is the balm of life. Should any one be entirely excluded from all human intercourse he would be wretched. Men were formed for society. It is one important end for which they were made rational creatures. No man was made solely for himself, and no man is capable of living in the world totally independent of others. The wants and weaknesses of mankind render society necessary for their convenience, safety, and support. God has formed men with different powers and faculties, and placed them under different circumstances, that they might be able to promote each others' good. Some are wiser, richer, and stronger than others that they may direct the conduct, supply the wants, and bear the burdens of others. Some are formed for one and some are formed for another employment, and all are qualified for some useful business, conducive to the general good of society. The whole frame and texture of mankind make it appear that they were designed to live in society. The longer men live in society the more terrible is the thought of being excluded from it.

Society is the only field where the sexes meet on the terms of equality, the arena where character is formed and studied, the cradle and the realm of public opinion, the crucible of ideas, the world's university, at once a school and a theater, the spur and the crown of ambition, the tribunal which unmasks pretensions and stamps real merit, the power that gives government leave to be, and outruns the Church in fixing the moral sense of the people.

Many young men fail for years to get hold of the idea that they are subject to social duties. They act as though the social machinery of the world were self-operating. They see around them social organizations in active existence. The parish, the Church, and other bodies that embrace in some form of society all men, are successfully operated, and yet they take no part nor lot in the matter. They do not think it necessary for them to devote either time or money to society. Sometimes they are apt to get into a morbid state of mind, which disinclines them to social intercourse. They become so devoted to business that all social intercourse is irksome. They go out to tea as if they were going to jail, and drag themselves to a party as to an execution. This disposition is thoroughly selfish, and is to be overcome by going where you are invited, always and at any sacrifice of mere feeling. Do not shrink from contact with any thing except bad morals. Men who affect your unhealthy mind with antipathy will prove themselves very frequently on mature acquaintance your best friends and wisest counselors.

It is to be noticed with what apparent ease some men enter society, and how others remain away always. Such are apt to think that society has not discharged its duties as to them. But all social duties are reciprocal. Society is far more apt to pay its dues to the individual than the individual to society. Have you, who complain of the cold selfishness of society, done any thing to give you a claim to social recognition? What kind of coin do you propose to pay in the discharge of the obligations which come upon you with social recognition? In other words, as a return for what you wish society to do, what will you do for society? Will you be a member of society by right or by courtesy? If you have so mean a spirit as to be content to be a beneficiary of society, to receive favors and confer none, you have no business in the social circle to which you aspire.

The spirit of life is society; that of society is freedom; that of freedom the discreet and modest use of it. A man may contemplate virtue in solitude and retirement; but the practical part consists in its participation and the society it hath with others; for whatever is good is better for being communicated. As too long a retirement weakens the mind, so too much company dissipates it. Too much society is nearly as bad as none. A man secluded from company can have none but the devil and himself to tempt him; but he that converses much in the world has almost as many snares as he has companions. The great object of society is refreshment of spirit. This is not to be obtained by luxury or by the cankerous habit of speaking against others, but by a bright and easy interchange of ideas on subjects which, even in their brightest and most playful aspects, are worthy to engage the thoughts of men.

There is an essential vulgarity in one phase of social life,—that which considers the welfare of the guest's stomach to be the essential part of the host's duty, and the great question of the guests to relate to the decorating of their own backs. Such views elevate nobody; they refine nobody; they inspire and instruct nobody; they satisfy nobody. This view loses sight of the great end and aim of society, which is to refine and elevate mankind, not to feed them upon dainties, or to enable them to show off good clothes. Dean Swift had a better relish for good society than for choice viands. When invited to the houses of great men he sometimes insisted upon knowing what persons he was likely to meet. "I don't want your bill of fare, but your bill of company."

It is this losing sight of the true end of society which causes it to present so many strange anomalies. Yet with all its defects it is well-nigh indispensable to one who would wield power and influence in the world's arena. There is no way to act out the promptings of your better nature, and to move men in the right direction, so potential as that offered to the social man. You can not move men until you show yourself one among them. You can not know their wants and needs until you have mingled with them. By refusing to cast your lot with others socially, you are as powerless to do good as the mountain peak is to raise tropical flowers.

It is the manner of some to forego meeting others socially. There will certainly come a time when they will regret it; for the human heart is like a millstone in a mill: When you put wheat under it, it turns and bruises the wheat into flour. If you put no wheat in it, it still grinds on; but then it grinds away itself. In society the sorrows and griefs of others are the object from which we extract the flour of charity and loving kindness; but to the hermit from society his own griefs and sorrows have the effect to render him cold and selfish. Man in society is like a flower-bud on its native stalk. It is there alone his faculties, expanded in full bloom, shine out; there only reach their proper use. "It is not safe for man to be alone." In the midst of the loudest vauntings of philosophy, nature will have her yearning for society and friendship. A good heart wants something to be kind to; and the best part of our nature suffers most when deprived of congenial society.

It becomes all men to seek the general good of society in return for the benefits they receive from it. Though the general good of society sometimes requires the individual members to give up private good for that of the public, yet it is always to be supposed that individuals receive more advantage than disadvantage from society, on the whole. Indeed, there is scarcely any comparison in this case. The public blessings are always immensely great and numerous. They are more in number than can be reckoned up, and greater in worth than can be easily described.

The most independent individuals in society owe their principal independence to society, and the most retired and inactive persons feel the happy influence of society, though they may seem to be detached from it. No man can reflect upon that constant stream of good which is perpetually flowing down to him from well-regulated society, without feeling his obligation to maintain and support it. Should this stream of happiness cease to flow, the most careless and indifferent would feel their loss, and feel a sense of their duty to uphold the good of society. Let the head of society cease to direct and the hands to execute, and the other members of the public body would soon find themselves in a forlorn and wretched state.

"The dignity of man into your hands is given, Oh keep it well, with you it sinks or lifts itself to heaven."

—SCHILLER.

Dignity denotes that propriety of mien and carriage which is appropriate to the different walks and ranks of life. In regard to our intercourse with men we should often reflect, not only whether our conduct is proper and correct, but whether it is urbane and dignified. Dignity of carriage is nearly always associated with high endowments; the reverse is, at any rate, true, that high endowments are associated with dignity. "A trifling air and manner bespeaks a thoughtless and silly mind," saith a Chinese proverb, "but a grave and majestic outside is, as it were, the palace of the soul."

True dignity is never gained by place, and never lost when honors are withdrawn. There may be dignity in a hovel as well as in a court; in one who depends on the sweat of his brow as well as one who is placed, by reason of his wealth, in a position of independence. In all ranks and classes it is equally acceptable and worthy of esteem. True dignity is without arms. It does not deal in vain and ostentatious parade. In proportion as we gratify our own self-esteem by a love of display we commonly forfeit to the same degree the respect of those whose good opinion is worth possessing. A dignified manner is not necessarily an imposing manner; for true dignity is but the outward expression of inherent worth of character, but an imposing manner is generally ostentatious in degree, and as such may be taken as an evidence of imposition. That dignity which seeks to make an ostentatious display is often only a veil between us and the real truth of things. It is only the false mask of appearance put on to conceal inherent defects.

The ennobling quality of all politeness is dignity. Have you not noticed that there are some persons who possess an inexpressible charm of manner—a something which attracts our love instantaneously, when they have neither wealth, position, nor talents? You will find that a dignity of manner characterizes their actions, and that a spirit of dignity hovers around them. On the other hand, have you not seen persons of wealth who were surrounded by luxury and all the comforts of affluence, yet, in lacking a spirit of dignity, lacked the essential to render their lives influential for good? Where there is an inherent want of dignity in the character, how many distinguished and even noble acquisitions are required to supply its place! But when a natural dignity of character exists, what a prepossession does it enlist in its favor, and with how few substantial and real excellencies are we able to pass creditably through the world!