Chapter XXIII: Letter X: Habit (1)

MY DEAR FRIENDS:

If you wish to have power to say, in the words of the imperial slave of the beautiful Egyptian,

"Let me, . . . . . . .
With those hands that grasp'd the heaviest club,
Subdue my worthiest _self_,"

you must not wholly overlook the importance of _Habit_, while establishing your system of life.

Always indicative of character, habit may yet, to a certain extent, do us the greatest injustice, through mere inadvertency. Indeed, few young persons attach much importance to such matters, until compelled by necessity to unlearn, with a painful effort, what has been insensibly acquired.

Permit me, then, a few random suggestions, intended rather to awaken your attention to this branch of a polite education, than to furnish elaborate directions in relation to it.

Judging from the prevalent tone of social intercourse among our countrymen, both at home and abroad, one might naturally make the inference, that most of them regard _Rudeness_ and _Republicanism_ as synonymous terms. Depend upon it, that as a people, we are retrograding on this point. Our upper class--or what would fain be deemed such--in society, may more successfully imitate the fashionable follies and conventional peculiarities of the Old World, than their predecessors upon the stage of action did; but fashion is not good breeding, any more than arrogant assumption, or a defiant independence of the amenities of life, is true manliness. Breaking away from the ceremonious old school of habit and manner, we are rapidly running into the opposite extreme, and the masses who, with little time or inclination for personal reflection, on such subjects, naturally take their clue, to some extent, from the assumed exponents of the laws of the fickle goddess, exaggerating the value of the defective models they seek to imitate, into the grossest caricature of the whole, and, mistaking rudeness for ease, and impudence for independence, so defy all abstract propriety, as, if not to "make the angels weep," at least to mortify and disgust all observant, thinking men, whose love and pride of country sees in trifles even, indications more or less auspicious to national advancement.

All this defiance of social restraint, this professed contempt for the suavities and graces that should redeem existence from the complete engrossment of actualities, is bad enough at home; but its exhibition abroad is doubly humiliating to our national dignity. Every American who visits foreign countries, whether as the accredited official representative of his government, or simply in the character of a private citizen, owes a duty to his native land, as one of those by the observance of whom strangers are forming an estimate of the social and political advancement of the people who are making the great experiment of the world, and upon whom the eyes of all are fixed with a peculiar and scrutinizing interest.

It has been well said of us, in this regard, that "_our worst slavery is the slavery to ourselves_." Trammelled by the narrowest social prejudices at home, Americans, breaking loose from these restraints abroad, run riot, like ill-mannered school-boys, suddenly released from the discipline which, from its very severity, prompts them to indulge in the extreme of license. Thus, we lately had accounts of the humiliating conduct of some Americans, who, being guests one night at the Tuileries, actually so far forgot all decency as to intrude their drunken impertinence upon the personal observation of the Emperor! And, when informed, the next morning, that, at the instance of their insulted host, the police had followed them, when they left the palace, to ascertain whether they were not suspicious characters who had surreptitiously obtained admittance to the imperial fete, they are reported to have pronounced the intelligence "_rich!_" Shame on such exhibitions!--they disgrace us nationally.

If our countrymen would be content to learn from older peoples on these points, it would be well. In the Elegant and Ideal Arts, in Literature, in general Science, the superiority of our predecessors in the history of Progress, is cheerfully admitted. Can we, then, learn nothing from the matured civilization of the Old World in regard to the _Art of Living_? Shall we defy the race to which we belong, on this point alone? This secret is possessed in greatest perfection by those who have longest studied its details, and some long existent nations who display little practical wisdom in matters of political science, are greybeard sages here. So then, let us learn from them what they can easily save us the trouble of acquiring by difficult experiments for ourselves, and, concentrating our energies upon higher objects, give them back a full equivalent for their knowledge of the best mode of serving the _Lares_, the _Muses_, and the _Graces_, by a successful illustration of the truth, that _as a people we are capable of self-government_! We shall, then, no longer have the wife of an American minister ignorantly invading the Court Rules at Madrid, by sporting the colors sacred to royal attire there, and so giving occasion for national offense, as well as individual conflict, nor furnish Punch with material for the admonitory reflection that the bond of family union between John Bull and his cousin Jonathan must be somewhat uncertain "when so small a matter as the _tie of a cravat can materially affect the price of stocks_!" And, when vulgar bluster and braggadocio are no longer mistaken for the proper assertion of national and individual independence, we shall not have an American gentleman who, like our justly-distinguished countryman, George Peabody, constantly exhibits the most urbane courtesy, alike towards foreigners and towards the citizens of the native country to which his life has been one prolonged paean, accused of _toadying_, because he quietly conforms to the social usages of the people among whom he lives!

But pardon me these generalities. I have been unintentionally led into them, I believe, by my keen sense of mortification at some of the incidents to which I have alluded.

Coming then to details, let us, primarily, resolve to be slaves to nothing and to no one--neither to others nor to ourselves; and to endeavor to establish such habits as shall entitle each of us, in the estimation of discriminating observers, to the distinctive name of _gentleman_.

_Constant association with well-bred and well-educated society_, cannot be too highly estimated as an assistant in the acquisition of the attributes of which we propose to speak. A taste for such companionship may be so strengthened by habit as to form a strong barrier to the desired indulgence of grosser inclinations. "Show me your friends, and I'll tell you what you are," is a pithy Spanish proverb. Choose yours, I earnestly entreat, in early life, with a view to self-improvement and self-respect. And, while on this point, permit me to warn you against mistaking pretension, wealth, or position, for intrinsic merit; or the advantages of equality in elevated social rank, for an equivalent to mental cultivation, or moral dignity.

One of the collateral benefits resulting from proper social associations, will be an escape from _eccentricities_ of manner, dress, language, etc.; erroneous habits in relation to which, when once established, often cling to a man through all the changes of time and circumstance.

But, as observation proves that this, though a safeguard, is by no means always a sufficient defense, it is well to resort to various precautions, additionally--as a prudent general not only carefully inspects the ramparts that guard his fortress, but stations sentinels, who shall be on the look-out for approaching foes.

So then, my dear boys, do not regard me as descending to puerilities unworthy of myself and you, when I call your attention to such matters as your attitude in standing and sitting, or any other little individualizing peculiarities.

Some men fall into a habit of walking and standing with their heads run out before them, as if doubtful of their right to keep themselves on a line with their fellow-creatures. Others, again, either elevate the shoulders unnaturally, or draw them forward so as to impede the full, healthful play of the lungs. This last is too much the peculiar habit of _students_, and contracted by stooping over their books, undoubtedly. Then again, you see persons swinging their arms, and see-sawing their bodies from side to side, so as to monopolize a good deal more than their rightful share of a crowded thoroughfare, steamer cabin, or drawing-room floor. Nothing is more uncomfortable than walking arm in arm with such a man. He pokes his elbows into your ribs, pushes you against passers-by, shakes you like a reed in the wind, and, perhaps, knocks your hat into the gutter with his umbrella--and all with the most good-humored unconsciousness of his annoying peculiarity. If you are so unfortunate as to be shut up in a carriage with him, his restless propensity relieves itself to the great disturbance of the reserved rights of ladies, and the frequent impalement upon his protruding elbows of fragments of fringe, lace, and small children! At table, if it be possible, his neighbors gently and gradually withdraw from his immediate vicinity, leaving a _clearing_ to his undisputed possession. He usually may be observed to stoop forward, while eating, with his plate a good foot from the customary locality of that convenience, pushed before him towards the middle of the table, and his arms so adjusted that his elbows play out and in, like the sweep of a pair of oars.

A little seasonable attention to these things will effectually prevent a man of sense from falling into such peculiarities. Early acquire the habit of standing and walking with your chest thrown out--your head erect--your abdomen receding rather than protruding--not leaning back any more than forward--with your arms _scientifically_ adjusted--your hat on the _top_ (not on the back, or on one side) of your head--with a self-poised and firm, but elastic tread; not a tramp, like a war-horse; not a stride, like a fugitive bandit; not a mincing step, like a conjurer treading on eggs; but, with a compact, manly, homogeneous sort of bearing and movement.

Where there has been any discipline at least, if not always, inklings of character may be drawn from these tokens in the outer man. For instance--the light, quick, cat-like step of Aaron Burr, was as much a part of the man as the Pandemonium gleam that lurked in the depths of his dark, shadowed eyes. I remember the one characteristic as distinctly as the other, when I recall his small person and peculiar face. So with the free, firm pace by which the noble port of De Witt Clinton was accompanied--one recognized, at a glance, the high intellect, the lofty manhood, embodied there.

Crossing the legs, elevating the feet, lounging on one side, lolling back, etc., though quite excusable in the _abandon_ of bachelor seclusion, should never be indulged in where ceremony is properly required. In the company of ladies, particularly, too much care cannot be exhibited in one's attitudes. It is then suitable to sit upright, with the feet on the floor, and the hands quietly adjusted before one, either holding the hat and stick (as when paying a morning visit), or the dress-hat carried in the evening, or, to give ease, on occasion, a book, roll of paper, or the like. Habits of refinement once established, a man feels at ease--he can trust himself, without watching, to be _natural_--and nothing conduces more to grace and elegance than this quiet consciousness. Let me add, that true comfort, real enjoyment are no better secured under any circumstances, by indulging in anything that is _intrinsically unrefined_, and that a certain _habitual self-restraint_ is the best guarantee of ease, propriety and elegance, when a man would fain do entire justice to himself.

Habits connected with matters of the table, as indeed with all sensuous enjoyments, should always be such as not to suggest to others ideas of merely selfish animal gratification. Among minor characteristics, few are so indicative of genuine good-breeding as a man's mode of _eating_. Upon Poor Richard's principle, that "nothing is worth doing at all that is not worth doing well," one may very properly attach some consequence to the formation of correct habits in relation to occasions of such very frequent recurrence. It is well, therefore, to learn to sit uprightly at table, to keep one's individual "aids and appliances" compactly arranged; to avoid all noise and hurry in the use of these conveniences; neither to mince, nor fuss with one's food; nor yet to swallow it as a boa-constrictor does his,--rolled over in the mouth and bolted _whole_; or worse still, to open the mouth, to such an extent as to remind observers that alligators are _half mouth_. Eating with a knife, or with the fingers; soiling the lips; using the fork or the fingers as a tooth-pick; making _audible_ the process of mastication, or of drinking; taking soup from the _point_ of a spoon; lolling forward upon the table, or with the elbows upon the table; soiling the cloth with what should be kept upon the plate; putting one's private utensils into dishes of which others partake; in short, everything that is odd, or coarse, should nowhere be indulged in.

Cut your meat, or whatever requires the use of the knife, and, leaving that dangerous instrument conveniently on one side of your plate, eat with your fork, using a bit of bread to aid, when necessary, in taking up your food neatly.

When partaking of anything too nearly approaching a liquid to be eaten with a fork, as stewed tomato, or cranberry, _sop_ it with small pieces of bread;--a _spoon_ is not used while eating meats and their accompaniments. Never take up large bones in the fingers, nor bite Indian corn from a mammoth ear. (In the latter case, a long _cob_ running out of a man's mouth on either side, is suggestive of the mode in which the snouts of dressed swine are adorned for market!) If you prefer not to cut the grain from the ear, break it into small pieces and cut the rows lengthwise, before commencing to eat this vegetable.

When you wish to send your plate for anything, retain your knife and fork, and either keep them together in your hand, or rest them upon your bread, so as not to soil the cloth.

Should you have occasion for a tooth-pick, hold your napkin, or your hand, before your mouth while applying it, and on no account resort to the _perceptible_ assistance of the tongue in freeing the mouth or teeth from food.

Have sufficient self-control, when so unfortunate as to be disgusted with anything in your food, to refrain from every outward manifestation of annoyance, and if possible, to conceal from others all participation in your discovery.

Accustom yourself to addressing servants while at table, in a low, but intelligible tone, and to a good-natured endurance of their blunders.

Avoid the appearance of self-engrossment, or of abstraction while eating, and, for the sake of health of mind and body, acquire the practice of a cheerful interchange of both civilities and ideas with those who may be, even temporarily, your associates.

It is now becoming usual among fashionable people in this country to adopt the French mode of conducting ceremonious dinners, that of placing such portions of the dessert as will admit of it, upon the table, together with plateaux of flowers, and other ornaments, and having the previous courses served and carved upon side-tables, and offered to each guest by the attendants. But it will be long before this custom obtains generally, as a daily usage, even among the wealthier classes. It will, so far continue rather an exception than a rule, that the _art of carving_ should be regarded as well worth acquiring, both as a matter of personal convenience, and as affording the means of obliging others. Like every other habit connected with matters of the table, exquisite _neatness_ and discrimination should characterize the display of this gentlemanly accomplishment. Aim at dexterous and rapid manipulation, and shun the semblance of hurry, labor, or fatigue. Familiarity with the _anatomy_ of poultry and game, will greatly facilitate ease and grace in carving.

Always help ladies with a remembrance of the moderation and fastidiousness of their appetites. If possible, give them the choice of selection in the cuts of meats, especially of birds and poultry.

Never pour gravy upon a plate, without permission. A little of the filling of fowls may be put with portions of them, because that is easily laid aside, without spoiling the meat, as gravy does, for many persons.

All meats served in mass, should be carved in _thin slices_, and each laid upon one side of the plate, carefully avoiding soiling the edge, or offending the delicacy of ladies, in particular, by too-ensanguined juices.

Different kinds of food should never be mixed on the plate. Keep each portion of the accompaniments of your meats neatly separated, and, where you _pay for decency and comfort_, take it as a matter of course that your plate, knife, and fork are to be changed as often as you partake of a different dish of meat.

_Fish_ is eaten with bread and condiments only; and the various kinds of meat with vegetables appropriate to each. _Game_, when properly cooked and served, requires only a bit of bread with it.

By those who best understand the art of eating, _butter_ is never taken with meats or vegetables. The latter, in their simple state, as potatoes, should be eaten with salt; most of them need no condiment, in addition to those with which they are dressed before coming to table. Salads, of course, are prepared according to individual taste; but the well-instructed take butter at dinner only after, or as a substitute for, the course of pastry, etc. with bread, if at all. The English make a regular course of bread, cheese, and butter, preceding the dessert proper--nuts, fruit, etc.; but they never eat both butter and cheese at the same time.

Skins of baked potatoes, rinds of fruit, etc., etc., should never be put upon the cloth; but _bread_, both at dinner and breakfast, is placed on the table, at the left side of the plate, except it be the small bit used to facilitate the use of the fork.

Never drum upon the table between the courses, fidget in your chair, or with your dress, or in any manner indicate impatience of due order and deliberation, or indifference to the conversation of those about you. A _gentleman_ will take time to dine decorously and comfortably. Those whose subserviency to _anything, or any one_, prevents this, are not _freemen_!

Holding, as I do, that

"_To enjoy is to obey,_"

let me call your attention, in this connection, to the truth that the pleasures of the table consist not so much in the _quantity_ eaten as in the _mode of eating_. A moderate amount of simple food, thoroughly and deliberately masticated, and partaken of with the agreeable accessories of quiet, neatness and social communion, will not only be more beneficial to the physical man, but afford more positive enjoyment, than a larger number of dishes, when hurriedly eaten in greater quantities.

I have frequently remarked among our young countrymen a peculiarity which a moment's reflection will convince you is exceedingly injurious to health--that of swallowing an enormous amount of fluid at every meal. Reflect that the human stomach is scarcely so large as one of the goblets which is repeatedly emptied at dinner, by most men, and that all liquids taken into that much-abused organ, must be absorbed before the assimilation of solid food commences, and you will see, at once, what a violation of the natural laws this practice involves. Here, again, is one of the evil effects of the fast-eating of fast Americans. Hurrying almost to feverishness, at table, and only half masticating their food, the assistance of _ice-water_ is invoked to facilitate the process of swallowing, and to allay the more distressing symptoms produced by haste and fatigue!

Before we leave these little matters, let us return for an instant, to that of the _position_ assumed while _sitting_. The "_Yankee_" peculiarity, so often ridiculed by foreigners, of tipping the chair back upon the two hind feet, is not yet obsolete, even in our "best society." Occasionally some uninstructed rustic finds his way into a fashionable drawing-room, where "modern antique furniture," as the manufacturers call it in their advertisements, elicits all the proverbial ingenuity of his native land, to enable him to indulge in his favorite attitude. "I thought I saw the ghost of my chair!" said a fair friend to me, as soon as a visitor had left us together, one morning, not long since. "I was really distressed by his efforts to tilt it back--these fashionable chairs are so frail, and he would have been intensely mortified had he broken it! Have you seen the last 'Harper,' Colonel?"

Do not permit yourself, through an indifference to trifles, to fall into any unrefined habits in the use of the handkerchief, etc., etc. Boring the ears with the fingers, chafing the limbs, sneezing with unnecessary sonorousness, and even a too fond and ceaseless caressing of the moustache, are in bad taste. Everything connected with _personal_ discomfort, with the mere physique, should be as unobtrusively attended to as possible.

When associated with women of cultivation and refinement--and you should addict yourself to no other female society--you cannot attend too carefully to the niceties of personal habit. Sensitive, fastidious, and very observant of _minutiae_--indeed often judging of character by _details_--you will inevitably lose ground with these discriminating observers, if neglectful of the trifles that go far towards constituting the _amenities of social life_. An elegant modern writer is authority for the fact that the Gauls attributed to woman, "an additional sense--the _divine sense_." Perhaps the Creator may have bestowed this gift upon the defenseless sex, as a counterpoise to the superior strength and power of man, even as he has given to the more helpless of the lower creatures swiftness of motion, instead of capacity for resistance. But be that as it may, no man should permit himself any habit that will not bear the scrutiny of this _divine sense_--much less, one that will outrage all its fine perceptions.

Apropos of _details_--I will take leave to warn you against the _swaggering manner_ that some young men, whose bearing is otherwise unexceptionable, fall into among strangers, apparently with the mistaken idea that they will thus best sustain their claims to an unequivocal position in society. So in the sitting-rooms at hotels, in the pump-rooms at watering-places, on the decks of steamers, etc., persons whose juvenility entitles them to be classed with those who have nursery authority for being "seen and not heard," are frequently the most conspicuous and noisy. Shallow, indeed, must be the discernment of observers who conceive a favorable impression of a young man from such an exhibition!

In company, do not stand, or walk about while others sit, nor sit while others stand--especially ladies. Acquire a light step, particularly for in-door use, and a _quiet_ mode of conducting yourself, generally. Ladies and invalids will not then dread your presence as dangerous--like that of a rampant war-horse, ill-taught to

"Caper nimbly in a lady's chamber!"

If you are fond of playing at chess and other games, it will be worth your while to observe yourself until you have fixed habits of entire politeness, under such circumstances. All unnecessary movements, every manifestation of impatience or petulance, and all exultation when successful, should be repressed. Thus, while seeking amusement, you may acquire self-control.

Begin early to remember that health and good spirits are easily impaired, and that _habit_ will materially assist us in the patient endurance of suffering we should manifest for the sake of those about us--attendants, friends, "the bosom-friend dearer than all," whom no philosophy can teach insensibility to the semblance of unkindness from one enthroned in her affections.

Don't fall into the habit, because you are a branch of the _Lunettes_ family, of using glasses prematurely. _Students_ are much in error here. Every young divinity-student, especially, seems emulous of this troublesome appendage. Depend on it, this is all wrong, either absurd affectation, or ignorance equally unfortunate.

Ladies, it is said, are the _readers_ of America, but who ever sees the dear creatures donning spectacles in youth? Enter a female college and look for the glasses that, were the youthful devotees of learning there assembled of the other sex, would deform half the faces you observe. Much better were it to inform yourselves of the laws of optics, and use the organs now so generally abused by the young, judiciously, resting them, when giving indications of being overtaxed, rather than endeavoring to supply artificial aid to their natural strength. Students, especially, should always read and write with the _back to the light_, so seated that the light falls not upon the eyes, but upon the book or paper before them. That reminds me, too, how important it is that one should not _stoop forward_ more constantly than is necessary, while engaged in sedentary pursuits, but lean back rather than forward, as much as possible, throwing out the chest at the same time. Many books admit of being raised in the hand, in aid of this practice, and the habit of rising occasionally, and expanding the chest, and straightening the limbs will be found to relieve the weariness of the sedentary.

But nothing so effectually prevents injury to health, from studious habits, as _early rising_. This gives time for the out-door exercise that is so requisite as well as for the use of the eyes by _daylight_. There is a great deal of nonsense mixed up with our literature, which seizes the fancy of the young, because embodied in poetry, or clothed with the charm of fiction. Of this nature is what we read about, "trimming the midnight lamp," to search for the Pierean spring. Obey the

"Breezy call of incense-breathing morn,"

and she will environ you with a joyous band of blooming Hours, and guide you gaily and lightly towards sparkling waters, whose properties are Knowledge and Health!

But if you would habitually rise early, you must not permit every trivial temptation to prevent your also _retiring early_. The laws of fashionable life are sorely at variance with those of Health, on this point, as well as upon many others; but, happily, they are not _absolute_, and those who have useful purposes to accomplish each day, must withstand the tyranny of this arbitrary despot. Time for the toilet, for exercise, for intellectual culture and mental relaxation, is thus best secured. By using the earlier hours of each day for our most imperative occupations, we are far less at the mercy of contingent circumstances than we can become by any other system of life. "Solitude," says Gibbon, "is the school of Genius," and the advantages of this tuition are most certainly secured before the idlers of existence are abroad!

Avoid the habit of regarding yourself as an invalid, and of taking nostrums. A knowledge and observance of the rules of _Dietetics_ are often better than the concentered wisdom of a Dispensary, abstinence more effective than medical applications, and the recuperative power of Nature, when left to work out her own restoration, frequently superior to the most skillful aid of learned research. But when compelled to avail yourself of medical assistance, seek that which _science_ and _integrity_ render safest. No sensible man, one would think, will intrust the best boon of earth to the merciless experiments of unprincipled and ignorant charlatans, or credulously swallow quack medicines recommended by old women: and yet, while people employ the most accomplished hatter, tailor, and boot-maker, whose services they can secure, they will give up the _inner_ man to the influence of such impositions upon the credulity of humanity!

Assuming, as an accepted truth, that it is your purpose, through life, to admit the rights of our fair tyrants

"In court or cottage, wheresoe'er their home,"

I will commend to you the early acquisition of habits appropriate to our relations to women as their _protectors_. In dancing, riding, driving, walking, boating, travelling, etc., etc.,--wherever the sexes are brought together in this regard (and where are they not, indeed, when commingled at all?)--observe the gentle courtesies, exhibit the watchful care, that go far towards constituting the settled charms of such intercourse. It is not to be forgotten, as I think I have before remarked, that women judge of character, often, from trifling details; thus, any well-bred woman will be able to tell you which of her acquaintances habitually removes his hat, or throws aside his cigar, when addressing her, and who, of all others, is most watchful for her comfort, when she is abroad under his escort. Be sure, too, that this same fair one could confess, if she would make a revelation on the subject, exactly what men she shuns because they break her fans, disarrange her bouquets, tear her flounces, touch her paintings and prints with moist fingers (instead of merely _pointing_ to some part) handle delicate _bijouterie_ with dark gloves, dance with uncovered hands, etc., etc. But even if you are her _confidant_, she will not tell you how often her quick sensibility is wounded by fancying herself the subject of the _smirks_, _whispers_, and _knowing glances_ in which some men indulge when grouped with their kindred bipeds, in society!

At the risk of subjecting myself to the charge of repetition, I will endeavor, before concluding this letter, to enumerate such Habits as, in addition to those of which I have already spoken, I deem most entitled to the attention of those who are establishing a system of life.

_Habits of reading and studying_ once thoroughly formed, are invaluable, not only as affording a ready resource against _ennui_, or idleness, everywhere and under all circumstances, but as necessarily involving the acquisition of knowledge, even when of the most desultory character. It is wonderful how much general information may be gleaned by this practice of reading _something_ whenever one has a few spare grains of the "_gold-dust of Time_,"--minutes. I once found a remarkably well-informed woman of my acquaintance waiting to make breakfast for her husband and me, with a little old _dictionary_ open in her hand. "For what word are you looking, so early?" I inquired, as I discovered the character of the volume she held. "For no one in particular," returned she, "but one can always add to one's stores from any book, were it only in the matter of _spelling_." But the true way, of course, to derive most advantage from this enjoyment is to _systematize_ in relation to it, reading well-selected books with care and attention sufficient to enable us permanently to add the information they contain to our previous mental possessions.

You will only need to be reminded how much ease and elegance in _Reading aloud_ depend upon _habit_.

Without the _Habit of Industry_, good resolutions, the most sincere desire for self-improvement, and the most desirable natural gifts, will be of comparatively little avail for the practical purposes of existence. This unpretending attribute, together with _System_ and _Regularity_, has achieved more for the good of the race, than all the erratic efforts of genius combinedly.

"Don't run about," says a sensible writer, "and tell your acquaintances you have been unfortunate; people do not like to have unfortunate men for acquaintances. Add to a vigorous determination, a cheerful spirit; if reverses come, bear them like a philosopher, and get rid of them as soon as you can." _Cheerfulness_ and _Contentment_, like every other mental quality, may be cultivated until they materially assist us in enduring

"The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,"

and early attention to the attainment of these mental habits is a matter of both personal and relative duty.

Cherish _self-respect_ as, next to a firm religious faith, the best safeguard to respectability and peace of mind. Entirely consistent with--indeed, in a degree, productive of the most careful consideration of the rights of others, the legitimate development of this quality will tend to preserve you from unwise confidences, from injudicious intimacies, and from gross indulgences and unworthy pursuits. This will sustain you in the manly acknowledgment of _poverty_, if that shall chance to be your lot, when pride and principle contend for the mastery in practical matters, and enable you to realize fully, that

"To bear, is to conquer our fate!"

This will strengthen you to the endurance of that which nothing but absolute insignificance can escape--_calumny_. It will preserve you alike from an undue eagerness in defending yourself from unjust aspersion, and from a servile fear of "the world's dread laugh," from meriting and from resenting scandal, and convince you that its most effectual contradiction consists in a _virtuous life_. By listening to the dictates of this powerful _coadjutor of conscience_, you will believe with the poet, that

"Honor and Fame from no _condition_ rise,"

and thus, with straightforward and unvarying purpose, illustrate your adoption of the motto,

"_Act well your part_, there all the honor lies!"

While I would earnestly counsel you to avoid that constant _self-consciousness_ which is nearly allied to vanity and egotism, if not identical with them, you will find the habitual practice of _self-examination_ greatly conducive to improvement. A calm, impartial analysis of words and actions, tracing each to their several motives, must tend to assist us to _know ourselves_, which an ancient philosopher, you may remember, pronounced the highest human attainment. Arraign yourself, without the advantage of _special pleading_, to borrow a legal phrase, at the bar of conscience, regarding this arbiter as the voice of Divinity enshrined within us, whenever assailed by doubts respecting any course of conduct you have adopted, or propose to adopt, and where you are thus taught to draw the line of demarcation between right and wrong,

"Let that aye be your border."

In this connection permit me to recommend the regular study of the _Bible_, and a systematic attendance upon public worship on the Sabbath. Do not read this most wonderful of books as _a task_, nor yet permit the trammels of early associations, hereditary prejudice, or blind superstition, to interfere with your search for the truths contained in its pages. Try to read the Scriptures as you would any other book, with the aid of such collateral information as you may be able to obtain respecting the origin of the several, and wholly, distinct productions of which it is composed, the authors of each, the purposes for which they were composed, and, in short, possess yourself of every available means of giving reality, simplicity, and truthfulness to your investigations. Study the _Life of Christ_, as written by the personal friends who were most constantly and intimately associated with him. Ponder upon his familiar sayings, remembered, and recorded in their simple memoranda, by the unlettered men who most frequently listened to them, compare the acts of Christ with his doctrines as a teacher, and judge for yourselves whether history, ancient or modern, has any parallel for the _Perfection of the Model_ thus exhibited to the human race. Decide whether he was not the only earthly being who "never did an injury, never resented one done to him, never uttered an untruth, never practised a deception, and never lost an opportunity of doing good." Having determined this point in your own minds, adopt this glorious pattern for imitation, and adhere to it, until you find a truer and better model. We have nothing to do in judging of this matter with the imperfect illustrations afforded by the lives of professed imitators of Christ of the perfectibility to which his teachings tend. Why look to indifferent copies, when the great original is ever before us! Why seek in the frailty and fallibility of human nature a justification of personal distrust and indifference?

No _gentleman_--to come to practicalities again--will indulge in ridiculing what intelligent, enlightened persons receive as truth, on any point, much less upon this. Nor will a well-bred man permit himself the habit of being _late at church_--were it only that those who stand in a _servile relation to others_, are often deprived of time for suitable preliminaries of the toilet, etc., he will carefully avoid this vulgarity.

The tendency to _materialism_, so strongly characterizing the age in which we live, produces, among its pernicious collateral effects, a disposition to reduce "Heaven's last, best gift to man" to the same practical standard by which we judge of all matters of the outer life,--of _each other_ especially. Well might Burke deplore the departure of the Age of Chivalry! But not even the prophetic eye of genius could discern the degeneracy that was to increase so rapidly, from the day in which he wrote, to this. As a mere matter of personal gratification, I would cherish the inclination to _idealize_ in regard to the fairer part of creation! There is enough that is stern, hard, baldly utilitarian, in life; we have no need to rob this "one fair spirit" of every poetic attribute, by system! Few habits have so much the effect to elevate us above the clods we tread ploddingly over in the dreary highway of mortal existence, as that of investing woman with the purest, highest attributes of our common nature, and bearing ourselves towards her in accordance with these elevated sentiments. And when compelled, in individual instances, to set aside these cherished impressions, let nothing induce us to forget that _passive, silent forbearance_ is our only resource. True manhood can never become the active antagonist of _defencelessness_.

I am almost ashamed to remind you of the gross impropriety of speaking loosely and loudly of ladies of your acquaintance in the hearing of strangers, of desecrating their names by mouthing them in bar-rooms and similar public places, scribbling them upon windows, recording them, without their permission, in the registers kept at places visited from curiosity, etc., etc. _You have no moral right to take such liberties in this respect, as you would not tolerate in the relation of brother, son, or husband._

_Think_, then, and _speak_, ever, with due reverence of those guardian angels,

"Into whose hands from first to last,
This world with all its destinies,
Devotedly by Heaven seems cast!"

If you determine to conform yourselves, as far as in you lies, to the model presented for your imitation by Him who said--"Be ye, therefore, perfect, even as I am perfect," you will not disregard the cultivation of a _ready sympathy_ with the sufferings and trials of your fellow beings. In place of adopting a system that will not only steel your heart, but infuse into your whole nature distrust and suspicion, you will, like Him who went about doing good, quickly discern suffering, in whatever form it presents itself, and minister, at least, the balm of a kind word, when naught else may be offered. You will thus learn not only to pity the erring, but, perchance, sometimes to ask yourselves in profound humility--"_who hath made me to differ_?"

Young men sometimes fall into the impression that a mocking insensibility to human woe is manly--something grand and distinguished. So they turn with lofty scorn from a starving child, make the embarrassment and distress of a poor mother with a wailing infant the subject of audible mirth in a rail-car, or stage-coach, ridicule the peevishness of illness, the tears of wounded sensibility, or the confessions of the penitent! Now, it seems to me, that all this is super-human in its sublime elevation! My small knowledge of the history of the greatly good, affords no parallels for the adoption of such a creed. I have read of a Howard who terminated a life devoted to the benefit of his race, in a noisome dungeon, where he sought to minister to human suffering; of a Fenelon, and a Cheverus whose _Catholic_ spirit broke the thralling restrains of sectarianism, in favor of general humanity; of the graceful chivalry and large benevolence of Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Philip Sidney; of triumphant soldiers who bound up the wounds and preserved the lives of a fallen foe; of a Wilberforce, a Pease, and a Father Mathew; of Leigh Richmond, Reginald Heber, and Robert Hall; of the parable of the good Samaritan, and of its Divine Author--and I believe the mass of mankind agree with me in, at least, an abstract admiration for the characters of each! And though no great achievements in the cause of Philanthropy may be in our power, though no mighty deeds may embalm our memories amid the imperishable records of Time, let us not overlook those small acts of kindness, those trifling proofs of sympathy, which all have at command. A look, a word, a smile--what talismanic power do even these sometimes possess! Remember, then, that,

"----Heaven decrees
To all the _gift of ministering to ease_!"

In close association with the wish to minister to the happiness of others, as far as in us lies, is that of avoiding every self-indulgence that may interfere with the comfort or the rights of others. Hence the cultivation of _good-humor_, and of habits of _neatness_, _order_, and _regularity_. Prompted by this rule, we will not _smoke_ in the streets, in rail-cars, on the decks of steamers, at the entrance of concert and lecture rooms, or in parlors frequented by ladies. We will not even forget that neglect of _matters of the toilet_, in the nicest details, may render us unpleasant companions for those accustomed to fastidiousness upon these points.

To the importance of well-regulated habits of Exercise, Temperance, and Relaxation, I have already called your attention in a previous Letter.

Nothing tends more effectually to the production of genuine independence, than personal _Economy_. No habit will more fully enable you to be generous as well as just, and to gratify your better impulses and more refined tastes, than the exercise of this unostentatious art.

Remember that _meanness_ is not economy, any more than it is integrity.

To be wisely economical requires the exercise of the reflective faculties united with practical experience, self-denial, and moral dignity. Rightly viewed, there is nothing in it degrading to the noblest nature.

_Punctuality_ both in pleasure and in business engagements, is alike due to others, and essential to personal convenience. You will, perhaps, have observed that this was one of the distinguishing traits of Washington.

Somebody says--"Ceremony is the Paradise of Fools." The same may be said with equal truth, of _system_. To be truly _free_, one should not be the slave of any one rule, nor of many combined. _System_, like other agencies, if judiciously regulated, materially aids the establishment of good habits generally, and thus places us beyond the dominion of

"_Circumstance, that unspiritual god._"

Sir Joshua Reynolds used to remark that "Nothing is denied to well-directed effort." Let _Perseverance_ then, be united with _Excelsior_ in your practical creed.

I think I have made some allusion to the _Art of Conversation_. Let me "make assurance doubly sure," by the emphatic recommendation of _practice_ in this elegant accomplishment. All mental acquisitions are the better secured by the habit of _putting ideas into words_. By this process, thought becomes clearer, more _tangible_, so to speak, and new ideas are actually engendered, while we are giving expression to those previously in our possession.

In addition to the individual advantage accruing from this excellent mode of training yourselves for easy and effective _extemporaneous public speaking_, it should not be overlooked, as affording the means of conferring both pleasure and benefit upon others. Taciturnity and self-engrossment, you may remark, are not the prominent characteristics of the favorites of society.

Nor does the practice of ready speaking necessarily interfere with habits of _Reflection_ and _Observation_. On the contrary, the mental activity thus promoted, naturally leads to the accumulation of intellectual material by every available means. Discrimination in judging of character, and true _knowledge of the world_, without which all abstract knowledge is comparatively of little avail, can never be attained except through the persevering exercise of these powers.

Shall I venture to remind you, my dear young friends, that the manifestation of _respect for misfortune, suffering, and age_, may become one of your attributes by the force of habit strengthening good impulses.

Will you think me deficient in utilitarianism if I recommend to you a cultivation of the _power to discern the Beautiful_, as a perpetual source of pure and exalted enjoyment? Hard, grinding, soul-trammelling, is the dominion of real life; will we be less worthy of our immortal destinies, that we cherish an _inner sense_, by which we readily perceive moral beauty, shining as a ray from the very altar of Divinity, or the tokens of the presence of that Divinity afforded by the wonders of the natural world? Let us not be mere beasts of burden, so laden with the cares, the anxieties, or even the duties of life, as to have no eye for the unobtrusive, but often fragrant and lovely flowers, that bloom along the most neglected of our daily paths.

Speaking of the Beautiful, reminds me that ours is the only civilized land where the aesthetical perceptions of the people are not a sufficient safeguard to the preservation of _Works of Art_, in their humblest as well as most magnificent exhibitions. Nothing short of the brutalizing influence of a Reign of Terror will tempt a Parisian populace to the desecration of these expressions of refinement, taste, and beauty; while among us, not even an ornamental paling, inclosing a private residence, or the colonnade of a public edifice, escapes staring tokens of the presence of this gothic barbarism in our midst.

You will scarcely need to be cautioned against confounding mere _curiosity_ with a liberal and enlightened observation of life and manners. All those indications of undue curiosity respecting the private affairs of others, expressed by listening to conversation not intended for the general ear, watching the _asides_ of society, glancing at letters addressed to another, or asking direct questions of a personal nature, are unmistakable proofs of ignorance of the rules of polished life, though they are not as reprehensible as _evil-speaking_, a love of _scandal_, or the practice of violating either the _confidence_ of friends or the _sacredness of private conversation_.

Though a vast difference is created in this respect by difference of temperament, yet no man can hope to acquire the degree of _self-possession_ that shall fit him for a successful encounter with the ever-varying emergencies demanding its illustration, without repeated and re-repeated struggles and discomfitures. But so invaluable is the treasure, so essential to the legitimate exercise of every faculty of our being, that defeat should only render more indomitable the "will to do, the soul to dare," in persevering endeavors to secure its permanent acquisition.

Let me impress upon you the truth that self-possession is the legitimate result of a _well-disciplined mind_, and that it is properly expressed by a _quiet_ and _modest bearing_.

In conclusion, let me earnestly and affectionately assure you that the formation of right habits, though necessarily attended, for a time, by failures, difficulties, or discouragements, will eventually prove its own all-sufficient reward. Habitude of thought, language, appointment, and manner that shall entitle you to claim

"The good old name of _Gentleman_,"

once yours, and you will be armed, point of proof, against the exacting capriciousness of fashion, and forever exempted from the tortures often inflicted upon the sensitive, by the insidious invasions of self-distrust!

* * * * *

Strolling through the Crystal Palace at London, soon after it was opened, with a young fellow-countryman, he suddenly broke out with--"Will you just look at that fellow, colonel?" Turning and following the direction indicated by his eye (not his finger or walking-stick, he was too well-bred _to point_!) I discerned, in a different part of the building, Queen Victoria, accompanied by Prince Albert and two of the royal children, examining some articles in the American Department. Very near the stopping-place of this distinguished party, a representative of the "universal Yankee nation," had stationed himself--perhaps in a semi-official capacity--upon the apex of some elevation, with his hat on, and his long legs dangling down in front, nearly on a level with the heads of passers-by.

We could not hear the words of her Majesty, but it was apparent that she addressed some inquiry to him of the legs. First ejecting a torrent of tobacco-juice from his mouth, and rolling away the huge quid that obstructed his utterance, he deliberately proceeded to give the explanation desired, retaining not only his position, but his hat, the while!

Meantime, as soon as the Queen commenced addressing this person, her Royal Consort removed his hat, and remained uncovered until she again moved on. I shall not soon forget the face of my companion. Shame and indignation contended for the mastery on his burning cheek!

"Good G----, Colonel!" he exclaimed, "to think of such a mere brute as that being regarded as a fair specimen of the advance of civilization among us! 'Tis enough to make a decent man disclaim his birthright here! And yet, I have little enough to boast of myself! Only think of my taking some English gentlemen who were in New-York a month or two ago, to see our _parks_ (heaven save the mark!) among other objects of interest in the city! Yesterday, Sir John ----, who was one of the party, drove about London with me, and took me also to Kensington Garden, St. James' and Regent's Parks! I don't know what would tempt me again to undergo the thing! I rather think I am effectually cured, henceforth and for ever, of any inclination to _boast of anything whatever, personal or national_!"

* * * * *

"As you are the only 'gentleman of elegant leisure' in the family, at present, Harry, suppose you take these girls to New York for a week or two. For my part, it's as much as I can do to provide money for the expedition," said your uncle William to me, one evening.

"Oh, do, dear uncle Hal!" exclaimed Ida, with great vivacity, sitting down on a low stool at my feet, and clasping her hands upon my knee, "we always love dearly to go with you anywhere, you are so good to us."

"Yes!" broke in William junior, "uncle Harry spoils you so completely by indulgence that I can do nothing with you. You're a most unruly set, at home and abroad."

A sudden twitch at the end of his cravat effectually demolished the elegant tie upon which the young gentleman prides himself, as little Jule, who was close beside him, pretending to get her French lesson, and had perpetrated the mischief, cried out--"What's the reason, then, that you always take us all along, when you go out in the woods, and off to the shore--hey, Mr. Willie?"

"Do be quiet, children," interrupted Ida, reprovingly; "now, uncle dear, won't you take us? I want some new traps badly."

"What kind of traps?--mouse traps?"

"_Man traps_, to be sure!"

"Well, that's honest, at least, Puss."

"My purposes are more murderous than Ida's," said Cornelia, laughing; "I want to buy a new _mankiller_, as Willie calls them."

"It's too late in the season for mantillas," remarked Ida, profoundly.

"A fashionable cloak will serve Cornelia's purpose equally well," returned her father, quietly.

"And, like the mantle of charity, it will hide a multitude of sins," chimed in her brother.

"Your running commentaries are highly edifying, my dear nephew," said I, and at the same moment a large red rose hit him full on the nose.

It was soon arranged that your fair cousins should accompany me to the Empire City in a few days, and I, accordingly, sat down at once, and wrote to the "Metropolitan" for rooms.

"What glorious times mother and I will have," I overheard William exclaim. "I shall take Jule under my especial protection, and hear her French lessons regularly."

"No you won't, either," returned that young lady, with great spirit; "and I wish you'd stop tying my curls together, and mind your own affairs. No doubt you'll make noise enough to kill ma and me, while Corne and Dade are gone, drumming on the piano, and spouting your Latin speech before the drawing-room glass. All I wish is, that uncle Hal wasn't going away--he never lets you torment me."

As we were entering the dining-room of our hotel, on the day of our arrival, our friend Governor S---- joined us, and, after shaking hands, in his usual cordial way, with us all, said, as he courteously took Cornelia's hand and folded it within his arm, "Will you allow me to attend you, Miss Lunettes? Colonel, by your leave. Miss Ida, will you let a lonely old fellow join your party? Where do you sit, Colonel?"

"We have but just arrived," I replied, "but our seats are, of course, reserved; let me secure a seat for you with us, if possible. Ida, remain here a moment with Cornelia and Governor S----;" and presently, finding the proper person, the steward, or whatever the man of dining-room affairs is called, I arranged with him to seat us together, without interfering with other parties.

While I was taking my soup, I became suddenly conscious that something was annoying your cousin Cornelia, who sat between me and S----. Glancing at her face, I saw there, in addition to a heightened color, an expression of mingled constraint and hauteur, quite inconsistent with her usual graceful self-possession and animation.