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MANNER.

My dear Nephews:

In the order of sequence adopted at the commencement of our correspondence, the subject of manner comes next in succession.

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

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.

It has been somewhat paradoxically said, that the fashionable manner of the present day is no manner at all! which means simply—that the manners of the best bred people are those that are least obtruded upon the notice of others—those most quiet, natural, and unassuming.

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 language is not always used to "conceal our ideas," then should manner, which is the natural adjunct that lends additional expressiveness to words, be in a degree modified by circumstances—be individualized.

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!

In this, as in too many similar matters, Americans are prone to excess. Because scenes are considered bad ton, 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 nonchalance! Now, take it as a rule through life, my young friends, that all servile imitation degenerates into caricature, and let your adoption and illustration of every part of your system of life be modified by circumstances, and regulated by good sense and manly independence.

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—politeness so cosmopolitan that it would be a passport to "good society" everywhere.

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—"Self-respect, and a delicate regard for the rights and feelings of others."

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 a part of himself—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 moral sublime; but it was, also, only a legitimate result of the instinctive politeness of a Christian gentleman!

Manner, then, may be regarded as the expression of inherent qualities, and though it must, necessarily, 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.

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—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—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 "kindness kindly expressed!" Having now established general principles, let us turn to the consideration of practical details.

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 mother, in his personal intercourse with her, as well 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—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.

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.

Next to the reverence ever due to parents, may 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.

Here, the universally-applicable law of kindness 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!

While the general proposition—that manner is, to a considerable extent character in action, is undoubtedly 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.

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.

The early acquisition of habits of self-possession and 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.

Lose no opportunity, therefore, for studiously observing the best living models, 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 genius, by the great masters of art, to avail yourself of the matured knowledge resulting from experience.

But now for an exemplary anecdote or two:—

"Colonel Lunettes, do you know some gentleman going to U—— in this train?" inquired my friend ex-Governor T——, 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."

"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."

"Uncle T——, there is H—— B—— just getting out of that car," cried a young lady, approaching us, with two or three fair companions, "perhaps he is going on."

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

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

Removing his hat, as he somewhat hesitatingly advanced, and passing his hand over a beard of several days' growth, glancing downward, at the same time, upon heavy-soled boots, thickly encrusted with dry mud—

"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—the blessings of civilization!" 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.

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 clean); not an absurd apology for not being well-dressed, and I liked his use of the good, significant Saxon word that most truthfully described his condition.

After an exchange of civilities, turning respectfully to the governor, he said: "Governor T——, can I be of any service? You seemed to be looking for some one."

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!

A few days after this trifling adventure, I went, by invitation, to pass a day with my friend the ex-governor, at his beautiful residence a little out of the city.

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.

"There is H—— B——!" 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. B——.

"Did Mr. B—— 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.

"Certainly he did," answered the governor, "Mr. B—— is too much of a sybarite to heat himself by walking out here to dinner, on such a day as this."

"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."

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

"Uncle T——," whispered she ("excuse me, Col. Lunettes), John need not get up our carriage; Mr. B—— 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."

"He happened to know that John has to be up with the lark, about another matter," remarked the host, "and"——

"How kind!" returned the lady; "but Mr. B—— does everything so agreeably that one does not know which to admire most—the charm of his manner, or"——

"The good breeding, from which it springs!" exclaimed the governor, finishing the eulogy.

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 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 must be delivered by me in person. Ah, there he is now!" and she advanced a step towards an elderly gentleman accompanying a lady.

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

"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."

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

"I beg your pardon, madam, for depriving you of your cavalier; nothing but necessity could excuse it"—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.

"Pray don't name it—and allow me to renew my slight acquaintance with you," offering her hand.

"With pleasure," returned my fair friend, instantly; but she looked a little puzzled, despite her courtesy.

"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."

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.

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——, a distinguished savant, 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.—They had been married but a short time, when Col. V—— was ordered to the seat of war, and the lady was a belle and a beauty, of scarce nineteen—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.

Taking advantage of the temporary absence of Mrs. V——, the Frenchwoman, turning to Dr. de H——, 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. Willard has no reception room for travellers.' Before I could 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'—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 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."

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—— 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——, it is the only stranger American lady who has ever been polite in our journey."

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

"I beg your pardon, madam," returned the foreigner, "the Americans are the most kind-hearted people in the world, but they do not say it! it is the—manner!"

"I shall really begin to think," said Mrs. V——, "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."

"I am not surprised," exclaimed Dr. de H——, "my friend Sir C—— G——, who saw you this morning, asked me afterwards what country was you of?"

"Why, how was that?"

"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."

Here the silvery laugh of Mrs. V—— interrupted the Russian. "Excuse me," said she, "I remember it!—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 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 there, while I waited here. Observing a gentleman who seemed already to have required his services, I bade him go first for him, of course. 'Apres vous, madame, je vous prie,'[3] said he, with the most courtly air;—so that was Sir C—— G——?"

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

"Speaking of not speaking," 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—the only one in the room—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 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:

"'Now, 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; '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.'

"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 long row of high wooden seats, hurried to the sufferer. 'I fear, madame,' said she, 'that you suffare ver' much:—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.

"The little Frenchwoman, apparently wholly unable to class so anomalous a specimen of humanity, cautiously retreated.

"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.

"The sprightly Frenchwoman again ventured upon the theatre of action.

"'You find yourself now much improved, madame?' she asked, with considerable vivacity. A very slight nod was the only answer.

"'And you feel dis fauteuil, really ver' com-for-ta-ble?' pursued the little woman, with augmented energy of voice. Another nod was just discernable.

"No intonation of mine can do justice to the very ecstasy of impatience with which the pertinacious questioner now actually screamed out:

"'Bien, madame, vil you say so, if you please!'"

I meant to repeat an impressive little story told us by my lovely friend, Mrs. V——, 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 dramatis personæ until then.

Meanwhile, here is one other anecdote for you:

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 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 verbatim, though the phrase "pretty fellow" may seem incongruous in the mouth of a dirty little Irish boy. I only hope the lady—whose gentle smile indicated that she too understood the scene—was compensated for being so incommoded, by discerning the inbred politeness of her little champion.

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,"

Your affectionate uncle

Hal.